to interrupt them by conversation.

But this long, extended walk at length wearied Catharine. She leaned
exhausted against the wall.

"Will you do me a favor, queen?" asked John Heywood. "Permit me to carry
you. Your little feet can bear you no farther; make me your feet, your
majesty!"

She refused with a friendly smile. "No, John, these are the
passion-stations of a saint; and you know one must make the round of
them in the sweat of his face, and on his knees."

"Oh, queen, how noble and how courageous you are!" exclaimed John
Heywood. "You do good without display, and you shun no danger, if it
avails toward the accomplishment of noble work."

"Yet, John," said she, with a bewitching smile, "I dread danger; and
just on that account I begged you to accompany me. I shudder at the
long, desolate way, at the darkness and grave-like stillness of this
passage. Ah, John, I thought to myself, if I came here alone, the shades
of Anne Boleyn and Catharine would be roused from their sleep by me who
wear their crown; they would hover about me, and seize me by the hand
and lead me to their graves, to show me that there is yet room there
for me likewise. You see, then, that I am not at all courageous, but a
cowardly and trembling woman."

"And nevertheless, you came, queen."

"I reckoned on you, John Heywood. It was my duty to risk this passage,
to save, perchance, the life of the poor enthusiastic girl. For it shall
not be said that Catharine deserts her friends in misfortune, and that
she shrinks back at danger. I am but a poor, weak woman, John, who
cannot defend her friends with weapons, and, therefore, I must resort to
other means. But see, John, here the path forks! Ah, my God! I know it
only from the description that was given me, but no one said anything of
this to me. John, which way must we now turn?"

"This way, queen; and here we are at the end of our journey. That path
there leads to the torture-chamber, that is to say, to a small grated
window, through which one can overlook that room. When King Henry was in
special good-humor, he would resort with his friend to this grating to
divert himself a little with the tortures of the damned and blasphemers.
For you well know, queen, only such as have blasphemed God, or have not
recognized King Henry as the pope of their Church, have the honor of the
rack as their clue. But hush! here we are at the door, and here is the
spring that opens it."

Catharine set her lamp