was on the _qui vive_ to start immediately.

Mary did not at once consent to Jane's proposition, but sat in a
reverie, looking with tearful eyes into vacancy, apparently absorbed
in thought. After a little pressing from us she said: "I suppose it
will have to be done; I can see no other way; but blessed Mother
Mary!... help me!"

The girls made hasty preparations, and we all started back to
Greenwich that Mary might tell the king. On the road over, I stopped
at Newgate to tell Brandon that the princess would soon have him out,
knowing how welcome liberty would be at her hands; but I was not
permitted to see him.

I swallowed my disappointment, and thought it would be only a matter
of a few hours' delay--the time spent in riding down to Greenwich and
sending back a messenger. So, light-hearted enough at the prospect, I
soon joined the girls, and we cantered briskly home.

After waiting a reasonable time for Mary to see the king, I sought her
again to learn where and from whom I should receive the order for
Brandon's release, and when I should go to London to bring him.

What was my surprise and disgust when Mary told me she had not yet
seen the king--that she had waited to "eat, and bathe, and dress," and
that "a few moments more or less could make no difference."

"My God! your highness, did I not tell you that the man who saved your
life and honor--who is covered with wounds received in your defense,
and almost dead from loss of blood, spilled that you might be saved
from worse than death--is now lying in a rayless dungeon, a place of
frightful filth, such as you would not walk across for all the wealth
of London Bridge; is surrounded by loathsome, creeping things that
would sicken you but to think of; is resting under a charge whose
penalty is that he be hanged, drawn and quartered? And yet you stop to
eat and bathe and dress. In God's name, Mary Tudor, of what stuff are
you made? If he had waited but one little minute; had stopped for the
drawing of a breath; had held back for but one faltering thought from
the terrible odds of four swords to one, what would you now be? Think,
princess, think!"

I was a little frightened at the length to which my feeling had driven
me, but Mary took it all very well, and said slowly and
absent-mindedly:

"You are right; I will go at once; I despise my selfish neglect. There
is no other way; I have racked my brain--there _is_ no other way. It
must be done, and I will go at