s were ready to believe, never thought of saying
anything to establish her innocence or virtue, and her silence was put
down to shame and taken as evidence against her.

Jane met Mary at Windsor, and, of course, there was a great flood of
tears.

Upon arriving at the palace, the girls were left to themselves, upon
Mary's promise not to leave her room; but, by the next afternoon, she,
having been unable to learn anything concerning Brandon, broke her
parole and went out to see the king.

It never occurred to Mary that Brandon might suffer death for
attempting to run away with her. She knew only too well that she alone
was to blame, not only for that, but for all that had taken place
between them, and never for one moment thought that he might be
punished for her fault, even admitting there was fault in any one,
which she was by no means ready to do.

The trouble in her mind, growing out of a lack of news from Brandon,
was of a general nature, and the possibility of his death had no place
in her thoughts. Nevertheless, for the second time, Brandon had been
condemned to die for her sake. The king's seal had stamped the warrant
for the execution, and the headsman had sharpened his ax and could
almost count the golden fee for his butchery.

Mary found the king playing cards with de Longueville. There was a
roomful of courtiers, and as she entered she was the target for every
eye; but she was on familiar ground now, and did not care for the
glances nor the observers, most of whom she despised. She was the
princess again and full of self-confidence; so she went straight to
the object of her visit, the king. She had not made up her mind just
what to say first, there was so much; but Henry saved her the trouble.
He, of course, was in a great rage, and denounced Mary's conduct as
unnatural and treasonable; the latter, in Henry's mind, being a crime
many times greater than the breaking of all the commandments put
together, in one fell, composite act. All this the king had
communicated to Mary by the lips of Wolsey the evening before, and
Mary had received it with a silent scorn that would have withered any
one but the worthy bishop of York. As I said, when Mary approached her
brother, he saved her the trouble of deciding where to begin by
speaking first himself, and his words were of a part with his
nature--violent, cruel and vulgar. He abused her and called her all
the vile names in his ample vocabulary of billingsgate. The