Chapter III

IT was on the evening of a hot August day that the Queen came home once more to St. James'

Mistress Dormer had been unwell at Hampton Court, and had been sent up to London a week or two previously in the Royal litter, as the Queen thought that the journey by water would be harmful to her health; and she met Mary now at the foot of the stairs to welcome her back. The Queen asked her how she did.

" I am reasonably well, I thank your Grace."

" So am not I," said Mary, and went wearily upstairs.

It had been heavy weather both in town and country. Day had followed day, parched and breathless; the rain that fell from time to time had no freshness in it; the hot ground had drunk it and craved for more; the river that flowed past Hampton Court had reflected the trees on the other side as in an oily mirror; the foliage in the park had hung motionless day after day, and seemed to exhaust rather than enliven the starved air. Again and again by night there had been seen strange fires, pale and blue, that gathered, stirred, hovered and dispersed, and caused the supernaturally-minded to whisper of stakes and faggots, and the physically-minded to fear fever.

It had told terribly upon Mary. The face that Jane had seen at the foot of the stairs had been drawn with exhaustion, her eyes unnaturally bright under heavy lids, and she held painfully to the balustrade as she went up, stopping to pant at each landing.

The Queen's Tragedy

Mistress Dormer was not well herself; she had had a touch of fever at Hampton Court, and her convalescence had left her weak and tired out; but it did not prevent her, after she had seen the Queen to bed, from going into Magdalene's room to hear the details of the past fortnight.

"It is no more than before," said the girl wearily, leaning back in her chair in her loose wrapper with her hair on her shoulders. " We are all tired out together. Oh! Jane, it has been terrible."

" Terrible? "

" The whole spring together; all is amiss. God knows how it will end! His Highness will not write; he is angry at something, and she writes and no answer comes. And the folks are all against her, and crying out for her sister. And there was the matter of the child again, as you know, when she made her will, and all has ended in nothing."

" Has she spoken of it again? " asked Jane quickly.

" Not since April; she speaks very little now. She has not given me a word good or bad for a week, except what was necessary."

" Has aught been heard of his Highness' return? "

" Not a word. He will not come. She gave the word for the ships to disperse, and has not spoken of him again."

" Does she sleep? "

" A little towards morning, and sometimes after dinner in her chair."

" Does she complain? "

The girl shook her heavy head.

" She says nothing now."

Jane stared at the floor without speaking. She hated the thought of this lethargy; she distrusted the doctors, especially the Italian who prescribed for the Queen;

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey she furiously resented the King's absence; it was this, she thought, that caused more than half the mischief — that and his persistent efforts earlier in the year to make his wife grant what she would not. The Queen was suffering from despair of soul rather than an actual sickness of body; it was that that sapped her strength and allowed her infirmity to gain ground. There was but one thing for which Jane was thankful, and that was that her mistress had come home, and that she could tend her herself. She would have no more nonsense with drugs and bleeding; it was not that that was required.

" You look ill yourself, sweetheart," she said to the girl.

Magdalene opened her eyes slowly.

" I am just weary of it all," she said. " I would we had stayed in the country, or better still that I might go by myself."

" And leave her Grace? "

" I cannot help it, Jane. I cannot love her. She knows it now; she would sooner I were not with her."

Jane's lips worked a moment, but she said nothing.

Magdalene went on sleepily.

" I have tried, my dear, but she is so cold. I think she cares nothing "

" That is enough, my dear."

"Why, Jane!"

Mistress Dormer got up.

" I tell you that is enough. You have a pretty face, sweetheart, but I think you have no heart at all. I must go to her Grace."

Magdalene lay still a minute longer, wondering drowsily at her foolish friend. It was absurd to pretend to love such a mistress; it was insincere, she thought — a little unreal. Of course it was all sad enough; but there was a

The Queen's Tragedy plenty of sad things in this sad world. She must go to bed; the cool sheets would be better than this tapestry chair. So Magdalene went to bed.

Jane passed along the corridor and turned into the little parlour that adjoined the Queen's bedroom, nodding good-night as she went by the sleepy page who blinked at her and smiled back.

She was not in the least angry with Magdalene; she was only a little contemptuous. It was astonishing, she thought, that a woman of ordinary intuitions, who had had brains enough to refuse Master Norris, and who had such opportunities of observing her mistress, should call that mistress cold. Cold! Why it was a fever that burned in that infirm body — a fever of passion for a man who hated her; a fever of hope for a country that despised her; and a fever of love for God who had made her and redeemed her, and now seemed — Jane paused; then she finished her thought defiantly — a God who now seemed to have forgotten her altogether.

The little parlour was empty now except for one old woman who sat over her sewing at the further door that led through to the bedroom, with a candle on the table beside her. Jane signed to her to sit still, and came noiselessly across the floor towards her, raising her eyebrows in a question.

The old woman shook her head.

" She is awake yet, mistress," she whispered. " She called to me five minutes ago."

" She did not ask for me? "

" No, mistress — she asked for water."

" Has she been praying? "

" She was praying from her book when I went in."

" Is all ready for mass to-morrow? "

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey

" Yes, mistress."

Jane drew back the curtain softly, and pushed at the half-open door within. The great dark room was lighted by one candle outside the curtains of the bed. The single flame seemed to have no penetrating power in the huge gloom; it showed only the sombre wreaths embroidered on the hanging beside it, and half a dozen fleur-de-lis on the arras against the wall. Beneath the candle lay a book open. The rest of the room was in deep shadow, and Jane moved hesitatingly across it, afraid of stumbling or knocking against a piece of furniture The book was a hopeful sign; perhaps the Queen had laid it down when she felt sleep coming on.

She came across, scarcely daring to breathe, and looked down at the book; it was open at the old place — the prayer for the unity of Christendom. The petition for the woman in childbirth had not been used for three months now; that cause was lost, and left the other more imperative.

There was no sound from within the curtains, as Jane stood there listening. Perhaps indeed the Queen was asleep; the exhaustion of the journey might have done what drugs could not do

She stooped and drew off her shoes, and then, still without a sound, moved round the bed in the dusk to which her eyes were getting accustomed, closed a cupboard door, set the jewelled pins straight on the table beside the silver-framed standing mirror, looked at the altar set opposite the end of the bed, where mass would be said next morning and saw that the two candles had been put in the holders, and the three cloths laid in order over the stone slab. The cruets and the silver canister and the rest had been set there just now to prevent any confusion in the morning.

The Queen's Tragedy

At last she passed round to the further side of the bed, drew the curtain gently, and looked.

At first she thought that the Queen was asleep. Mar}' was lying on her back, with her hands as usual clasped across her breast, and her hair gathered up in a white linen cap, scarcely whiter than her face. Jane could make out the thin profile, the pursed lips, the sharp chin and wasted throat.

Then the eyes disclosed themselves wide, turned to Jane, and closed again.

" It is late, sweetheart," said the harsh passionless voice. " Go to bed."

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey

Downstairs in the guard-room there was plenty of talk about her Grace.

Master Wentworth, the cofferer, straddling across the hearth in his velvet and gold chain, was laying down the law about poisons to the group that was gathered about the back-gammon board at the end of the long table

" There be some," he said, " that leave no trace. Folks just waste away under them. There be some that give pain, and others that have a stench; but cunning fellows use not these. And of all men the Italians are the cleverest in such things."

" Who can tell? " said an officer who had just come off guard, and was still in his green-and-white. " Fever or poison are the same. Your shrewdest physician cannot tell. And I like the Italian man no more than you."

" He may be a blessing in disguise," remarked a humorous stout man in black, with a pen behind his ear, looking up from the board; " — a blessing to us all and to the poor lady herself. In God's hands be the issues! " He rolled his eyes piously.

" It may be there is another child toward," went on the officer chuckling. " And then what of my Lady Elizabeth? "

" My Lady Elizabeth has weathered more storms than this. In six months she will be no more at Hatfield."

" Please God I shall be there before that," said the secretary. " If I can make my way through the crowds that will run there. She is a jolly lady. And you, Master Wentworth? "

" I shall run when the rest do," he said, " with Master Norris here, if he can leave his lady-love."

Jack looked up smiling from his backgammon, and took up his pot of hypocras.

The Queen's Tragedy

" My lady-love may do as she wills. I shall neither run nor stay with her. I think I shall give myself to devotion."

There was a murmur of laughter, which silenced suddenly as a face looked in from the darkness outside. Jack glanced up, saw Guy, and dropped his eyes instantly.

Then the face vanished again without a word.

Jack went on with an effort.

" At least her Highness is no Catholic like this one," he said.

" Not like this one, thank God," said the officer. " I have never been so out of conceit with the Religion as now. Her Grace's blessing would turn sweet wine sour, I think."

He yawned and stood up.

" We shall run together, I tell you," repeated the man in black, " and so will Master Norris when the time comes, with young Bradshawe here."

Tom grinned uneasily across at Jack, from his corner.

" That will be when the King comes home," put in Master Bassett of the privy-chamber.

"He is all for my lady now, since De Feria went to her in June."

" He will marry her yet," said the officer, " and then we shall have children enough."

A page looked in through the open door.

" Good evening, gentlemen; we shall have rain to-morrow. The clouds are coming up."

" Come in, Roger," cried the soldier. " Give us the news."

" There is no news, sir," said the boy, " save that I am sleepy, and that Master Kearsley is in the inner court."

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey

" What is he doing there? "

"He is a- walking, sir, and a-cursing all who speak to him," said the page as he disappeared.

"The fellow is always a- walking," remarked the officer. " He was up and down in the privy-garden last night at Hampton Court. And Master Manton is another like him. God knows there is enough mourning without that."

" And a man cannot speak to Master Kearsley now-adays without being cursed at," complained the secretary. "He is more like a bear than a man Good-night, gentlemen, I am for bed."

The game ended as he spoice, and there was a clatter of the benches as the rest rose.

When the others had gone, two still lingered a minute. Then Jack took up his light cloak, and stood swaying a little.

" Come, Tom," he said, " it is time for us too. Roger will be back presently."

As they went across the floor together, the man took the boy's arm and sighed. He was a little drunk.

" It is a hard world, Tom; she has refused me again; and Master Manton will scarce speak to me."

Tom sighed sympathetically.

" But we shall all run," went on the other softly, " when the time comes; but we need not brag of it before. Now Master Manton will neither brag nor run."

" No, Master Norris."

" You are well rid of him. Now I am a wiser master, and a kinder, am I not? "

Jack's eyes filled with tears of self-appreciation.

The guard-room lights were out presently, and the palace lay asleep in the heavy dark.

The Queen's Tragedy

The night-sleeplessness of the Queen did not amend.

Throughout this hot noon of the year Jane watched her each day, drowsy after dinner when she would doze heavily in her chair, rousing herself for necessary interviews, and gradually awakening as night came on with its evening-fever; until by nine o'clock she sat bolt upright with bright eyes, a spot of hot colour in each cheek, and dry hands that clung and twisted and expanded their fingers over the cool carved bosses of her chair-arms.

There was a fierce irritability in her manner, but none in her words. The spasms of nervous anger that seized on her at contradictions of circumstance or sudden noises, exploded silently within her, and no more than the smoke of them was visible in her face.

She spoke very little, and she did not seem to welcome much conversation. Jane would have thought that she was indifferent as to whether she were alone or not, if it had not been for the little words and movements by which she would express herself, when Jane was thinking of leaving the room.

And still there came no letter from Philip.

Jane particularly disliked the doctors, and wished to exclude them, but the Queen would not hear of it, and followed their prescriptions with the greatest care. She drenched herself with drugs, the windows were kept carefully closed to keep out what was believed to be the poison of the miasmatic air, and at night the curtains of the bed were always drawn tightly to secure that result yet further.

As September passed on tnere was certainly a slight improvement, in spite of the horrible shock of the Emperor's death. The Queen was less irritable, a little

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey more inclined to hear conversation, she fell asleep two or three times even before midnight, and her face lost the look of an unnatural mask set with fixed, shining eyes.

The two had a long talk one evening shortly before the news of Charles' death arrived.

Jane came up from supper about six o'clock and found that the curtains were already drawn and the candles lighted in the Queen's parlour. Mary herself had sat up on her couch behind the screen, and had a piece of the old embroidery between her fingers on which she had worked so much at Hampton Court.

" I am better, sweetheart," she said. " I shall sleep better to-night, I think."

" Will your Grace not go to bed then? "

" Not yet," said the Queen, " an hour yet. Talk to me, Jane."

Mistress Dormer sat down at the end of the Queen's couch nearest the hearth with her hands in her lap.

" My lord Cardinal is better too," she said. " Master Man ton told me to-night."

Mary said nothing, and Jane watched her careful fingers, trembling a little with weakness, pushing the long steel needle strung with gold thread through the sheath of the stiff pomegranate that lay on her knee.

" Your Grace has near finished the piece," she said.

" I shall finish it," said Mary shortly. " I am pleased that my lord is better. The ague is all abroad just now."

" Your Grace must be careful "

" I do not need it," said the Queen smiling; " my old guest is enough."

" Madam "

" There, there," said Mary, " that is enough." 343

The Queen's Tragedy

They talked a long time that night, or rather Jane talked, and the Queen listened, patting her embroidery softly at intervals, smoothing it out, holding it up to look at it — of small events about the Court — Master Norris' new mare, and Magdalene's third refusal of him; the great happenings were not for that room. It seemed to Mistress Dormer that the Queen had not been so much herself for months past, and yet that self was more tranquil too. The girl did not fear hysteria as she had once feared it; the flame she watched was steadier and less liable to flare; but it was a little lower also.

They spoke at last of Croydon where they had stayed together more than once. The Queen laid down her embroidery and leaned back as if tired out. Jane sprang up and lifted the small silken feet on to the couch.

" There, there," said Mary, " that is enough. Do you remember the poor man there who had lost his cart? "

Jane remembered him perfectly. While the two ladies were out visiting the cottages they had discovered a man whose cart had been pressed for the Queen's service.

" Master Rochester had never paid him," said the Queen softly, " I have often thought of that; he took all and gave him nothing."

" Madam "

" Yes, sweetheart. I have been tempted to think that my God has used me like that."

Jane looked at her astonished; it was the first word of that kind that she had ever heard from her. She had complained of a lack of human sympathy sometimes, but never of Divine Love.

" It is a temptation, madam," she answered bravely.

" Have I not said so? "

Then a sudden thought came to the girl.

" But your Grace remembers the end? "

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey

" The end? "

" Your Grace paid him in full. The supreme Majesty was not unjust."

Mary signed.

" Well, well... The Little Office, my dear. I know I must give what I can."

Old Mrs. Clarentia came in before they had done, and waited by the door while the two voices, one harsh and the other soft, finished the stately prayers, and the two books were laid one upon the other on the table. Then she came forward.

" It is time for bed, Madam."

" Well, well, help me up, dear heart."

Once in the night the Queen called softly. Mistress Dormer was at her side in a moment.

" There is nothing in the room, Jane? " asked the Queen, sitting up and looking about her at the heavy curtains, with bright weary eyes.

" In the room, your Grace? "

" I thought I heard somewhat — a running of footsteps. Look, Jane."

The girl went obediently round the room with her candle, lifting the tapestry, stooping to peer beneath the bed, opening the great presses beside the hearth. She even went to the door, pulled aside the curtain and looked out. The woman in the outer room was sleeping heavily in her bed drawn across the door. Jane shook her softly by the shoulder.

" There has none been walking? " she whispered sharply, looking down at the bewildered face.

The maid shook her head; she was stupid with sleep. Jane pulled to the door and went back.

The Queen was still sitting up in bed, her hands clasped

The Queen's Tragedy round her knees. Her face was a little flushed and her lips parted.

" There is no one, your Grace. Perhaps it was a dream."

Mary shook her head. It seemed to Jane that she did not look so well again. Her eyes had the glassy look in them that had been there during the fever. The girl put out her hand and laid it on the Queen's.

" You are sure it was no dream, your Grace? "

Again Mary shook her head, sighed and lay down.

Jane lay awake an hour or more. The touch of those lean, hot hands had not been reassuring. Besides, she never remembered, during all the times that she had slept in the Queen's room, being deliberately awakened before. She had often gone to her, uncalled, as she heard her moaning in her sleep, or tossing to and fro with wakefulness; but the Queen had never called to her.

There had not been fear in her eyes just now, no more than a little apprehensiveness — that, and something like expectation or hope.

But it was all quiet enough again now; there was just the sound of even breathing from behind the curtains, with a deep breath like a sigh drawn now and then; and then the even breathing once more.

She was at the bedside again as the birds began to chirp outside two hours after, and the sounds of the awakening palace came up from the courtyard. Mary stirred in her sleep, and turned over, opening her eyes.

" Is the priest come? " she asked.

" Not yet, your Grace — it will be an hour yet. Will your Grace take something? "

Mary shook her head as it lay on the pillow.

" Go and dress, Jane, and make all ready."

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey

When Jane came back she went softly about the chamber, first drawing back the curtains to let the light in, and then clearing away all signs of the night; a woman came in to take the truckle bed into the next room, and in ten minutes all was prepared; the candles lighted on the altar, and the cruets placed close to the hand on a little table.

She went to the bedside again with the wrapper which the Queen wore while the priest was in the room, and drew back the hangings at the side.

" Madam "

Mary sat up without a word, put her arm through the loose sleeve, turned round and adjusted the other, and then sank down again.

" The curtains " she said.

Jane drew back too those at the end of the bed, so that a view was disclosed of the altar against the wall; returned and pulled forward those at the side, so that the occupant of the bed could see without being seen; then opened them again for a moment to give Mary her mass- book.

The Queen beckoned to her with her head.

" Jane, is the priest come? "

"He is ready if your Grace is ready."

" There is no one in the room?" whispered the other hoarsely.

"No, Madam."

" Nearer, sweetheart.... Do you know what I heard last night? "

" No, Madam."

" Nearer, sweetheart."

Jane knelt forward on to the bed, and Mary passed her arm over her neck so as to draw the head down to her mouth.

" Listen," whispered the Queen. " I heard it twice,

The Queen's Tragedy

I was lying awake. It was the running of a child; I heard his footsteps come across the floor; I thought he would look in at the curtains, but he did not."

She released the arm, and sank back on her pillows, smiling painfully at the bewildered eyes that stared at her.

The priest that said mass that morning — a pleasant rosy man — declared, as he broke his fast afterwards on beer and bread in the parlour downstairs, that her Grace was better, that she had made all the responses as loud as a clerk, and that they would soon have her about again.

But his talk was silenced as the doctor looked in half an hour later.

" Her Grace is not so well again," he announced to the expectant room. " Mistress Dormer sent for me just now."

There was a chorus of questions.

" No, no," he said, " but just a little fever. Her Grace did not sleep well, and was disturbed in the night."

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey

It was not until October was well advanced that the Queen knew that she was dying. She was silent for a long time after mass one morning, and at last sent Jane Dormer on a message.

There was intense excitement in the palace when it became known that Commissioners had started for Bishop's Hatfield; it was widely guessed on what errand they had gone, and a little crowd gathered that evening after sunset at the entrance to the palace to see them return. But the great personages rode by in the dusk with their guards about them, and paid no attention to the salutes of the mob outside or the courtiers and grooms and servants within the gate. They were seen to dismount at the door of the inner court, and disappeared within.

Magdalene Dacre was sitting alone in her private parlour an hour later when her servant came in to announce that Master Kearsley wished to have a few words with her ladyship, if he might be allowed.

He came in immediately, and she was astonished at his appearance; his hair was disordered, his sallow face was flushed as if with running, and his mouth worked. He was in riding-dress, and carried his hat and cane in his hand.

" For God's sake, Mistress! Is her Grace dying? "

" Dying, sir? Why, no."

" I am but just come from Richmond — they told me her Grace was dying. I could find no one who knew. What of these Commissioners, mistress? "

" They are returned from Bishop's Hatfield, sir."

" On what errand? " barked Kearsley.

" I do not know, sir; it is said "

The Queen's Tragedy

" Well, mistress? "

He came a step nearer in his anxiety; and she could see those fierce overhung eyes full of a kind of angry entreaty. She drew back in her chair.

"It is said, sir, — but I do not know with what truth — that her Grace sent them to ask the Lady Elizabeth of her religion again."

A sound between a sob and a snarl burst from the man, and he wheeled towards the door, but turned again.

" And you do not know what answer they brought, mistress? "

" I do not," said Magdalene.

As he reached the door it opened, and Jane came in. She stopped abruptly as Kearsley made a swift movement towards her.

" For God's sake, mistress, are you come from her Grace? My lady here knows nothing. Why did her Grace send to Bishop's Hatfield? "

Jane looked at him steadily.

" That is her Grace's affair, Master Kearsley."

He was gone in a moment, and the two girls heard his step cross the outer room and pass through the door.

Jane said something to herself softly that Magdalene could not hear.

She looked worn and distressed as she came across the room after closing the door, and sank down on a chair. Magdalene eyed her questioningly.

" Her Grace is silent again," she said in answer. " I cannot bear it; she will not talk or move."

" And the answer? " said Magdalene.

" Oh! her Highness swore she was a good Catholic; she desired the ground to swallow her up quick if she were not; she swore to defend the Faith with her life."

" And her Grace believes it? "

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey

" I think so. There are some jewels to be sent to-morrow. I have looked them out."

" Who is with her now? "

" Mistress Clarentia sits and sews by the bed."

The two sat silent awhile. Magdalene went on deliberately with her embroidery; she had not an idea what to say; she knew well enough that the Queen would not have sent to her sister if she had not lost hope of life; but she could not pretend to be brokenhearted. So far as she allowed herself to wish, she wished with all her power that this were all over. The slow process of dying on the part of a woman whom she knew and disliked was an unpleasant strain on the girl. A decorous grief was necessary, but she found it hard to present an appearance of it.

" Magdalene, I am tired to death," said Jane suddenly. " I must sleep, and I cannot sleep there."

Magdalene looked up with startled eyes.

" No, no, it is not that. I know she will not die yet; but I cannot sleep there. Will you sleep in her Grace's room to-night? "

" I cannot," wailed the girl. " I dare not."

" Sweetheart, I am so tired."

Magdalene threw herself on her knees and took Jane's hands in hers.

" My dearest, ask me anything but that. You must not ask me that. Oh, Jane! "

Jane closed her eyes again and nodded quietly, leaning her head back.

Magdalene felt intolerably selfish as she sat down, but she knew she was incapable of consenting to what the other had asked. She began to make excuses to herself. If she had cared for the Queen, if she had ever

The Queen's Tragedy been really sorry for her, it would not have been hard, but it was an unbearable thought to pass the night in that great sombre room, alone with the sick woman. Who knew what might happen? — what demand might not be made upon her? If a cry came from behind those curtains — if that dreadful sleep-talking began that she had heard once or twice — what would she do? If yet worse things happened — if some of the associations that hung round Mary Tudor — the thin presences that surely moved with her — manifested themselves in any way — if the candles flared into tall lances, or the curtains rustled with no hand to move them; if the pale eyes in the hangings seemed to move or the lips to speak — she had heard such stories before now; and the Smithfield fires had been seen phantom- wise in London — if something came what, could she do but go mad with fear — dear God! what could she do?

She was willing to do a great deal for Jane Dormer, but not this.

" Jane," she said uneasily, " is there aught else that I can do? Or cannot Mrs. Rise sleep there? "

The other opened her heavy eyes again for a moment.

" No, sweetheart."

Magdalene began to wonder presently about Master Kearsley, as she stitched on in silence. That had surely been remarkable behaviour for a gentleman of the privy- chamber! She did not like Master Kearsley; he was too silent and too sour-looking for her taste; he rather resembled her Grace in that. But she disliked his sudden burst of questions still more. What had the fellow meant by it?

Master Manton had lately become a little like him, she thought; Master Norris had told her so too; he had said that he could not understand Master Manton, that he

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey never talked now, that he seldom came to the gentlemen's parlour; and as for Tom Bradshawe, the singing boy, he had transferred his allegiance months ago now to a gayer patron.

All this was very unusual, and Lady Magdalene Dacre did not like the unusual. Then she sighed again, as the heavy pressure of memory came back. When would this dreadful situation be over, and she released from a position for which she felt so hopelessly inadequate? Court life was not what she had once hoped that it would be; she had thought it to be a comedy, and she was disappointed.

Jane stirred herself in her chair, and sat up. Then she rose to her feet.

" I must go, sweetheart. Good-night."

Magdalene threw her arms round her.

" Jane, you are not vexed? "

" Not vexed, my dear."

" You are vexed," cried the girl, looking into the bright tired eyes. " It is a shame, my dearest. Cannot Mistress Clarentia sleep there to-night? "

Jane shook her head, still looking steadily into Magdalene's face.

Magdalene kissed her and released her. She did not like to be looked at like that.

" My dear," said the elder girl steadily, " you understand nothing. If you knew one-tenth of what Master Kearsley knows "

" Master Kearsley? "

" Yes, that old bear as you call him — but he is better than poor Jack Norris. Good-night."

Jane went to her room for supper. She was silent until she had nearly finished, then she rang the hand-bell for her woman.

The Queen's Tragedy

" See if Master Manton can be found," she said. " I wish to speak with him."

She was standing by the hearth when he came in five minutes later. His gorgeous dress was in curious contrast with his face, as he stood, pale and grave, beyond the candles.

" Master Manton," she said quietly, " Master Kearsley was with me just now. I could not answer him before my lady Magdalene... and — and I cannot bear a scene. Will you tell him this, sir, if you please — that I do not think her Grace will live very long, but that I do not think she will die yet. She sent to her Highness to-day, as you know, and her Highness swore that she was a good Catholic, and would preserve the Faith.... That is all, sir."

He did not move, and, as she glanced at him, she saw that his steady eyes were on her still. She turned away.

" That is all, sir," she said again.

But there was no movement or sound. With a great effort she forced back her rising tears; there must be no scene, she told herself; she needed all her self-control. Her voice was quite steady as she spoke again.

" Yes, Master Manton, I understand. You shall know all that is to be known. And you shall be with her at the end, if that is possible. She spoke of you to-day, sir."

She turned to look at him again, and the sight of his face, pale and piteous, filled her own eyes with sudden, blinding tears.

" Oh! Oh! for Christ's sake, Master Manton! "

She leaned against the mantel-piece, trying to wipe away the tears. Then she heard his voice at once, broken and strong.

" Thank you, madam; that was what I wished."

" I must go to her Grace," she said tremulously.

As she passed out of the door she paused.

Mary the Queen Prepares for a Journey

" Your boy, Master Manton? What of him? " " He has left me, madam," said Guy, very upright, holding the door for her.

As she came into the lobby, through the door twenty yards away, she saw the lean overhung face of Master Kearsley watching beneath a lamp. Ah! well, there were some true hearts left after all; she was not the only friend who understood and cared.

As she came through into the Queen's room, Mistress Clarentia stood up from her seat by the curtained bed with her finger on her lips. Jane went back immediately into the ante-chamber, and the old woman followed her, closing the door behind her.

" I think she is asleep," said Mistress Clarentia softly. " She has not spoken since you went. I looked at her once, and she had her eyes closed. We must wake her presently for her draught, my dear."

The old lady was perfectly controlled and capable now that the crisis was so near; the only sign of anxiety was in her wide-open eyes that peered into the girl's face.

" She has not talked to herself? "

" She cried out ' Calais! ' once, my dear, but that was all. And what of my lady? "

" My lady will not come," said Jane briefly. " I must watch again."

" You will not let me be with you? "

Jane took the old woman's wrinkled hand a moment, and held it.

" No, no; you are too tired, my dear."

" But you will call for me if you need me? I shall be in the next room to-night."

" I promise," said Jane.

They stood so, an instant, looking at one another. Then together they turned and went into the Queen's room.

Ex vita ita discedo, tamquam ex hospitio, non tamquam ex domo. Cic. Cat. mat.