nly be in the same room
with him, and see his face, and hear his voice. The very air he
breathed was like an elixir for me. I made every excuse to have him
near me; I asked him to my parlor--you know about that--and--and did
all I could to be with him. At first he was gentle and kind, but soon,
I think, he saw the dawning danger in both our hearts, as I too saw
it, and he avoided me in every way he could, knowing the trouble it
held for us both. Oh! he was the wiser--and to think to what I have
brought him. Brother, let me die for him--I who alone am to blame;
take my life and spare him--spare him! He was the wiser, but I doubt
if all the wisdom in the world could have saved us. He almost insulted
me once in the park--told me to leave him--when it hurt him more than
me, I am now sure; but he did it to keep matters from growing worse
between us. I tried to remember the affront, but could not, and had he
struck me I believe I should have gone back to him sooner or later.
Oh! it was all my fault; I would not let him save himself. So strong
was my feeling that I could bear his silence no longer, and one day I
went to him in your bed-chamber ante-room and fairly thrust myself and
my love upon him. Then, after he was liberated from Newgate, I could
not induce him to come to me, so I went to him and begged for his
love. Then I coaxed him into taking me to New Spain, and would listen
to no excuse and hear no reason. Now lives there another man who would
have taken so much coaxing?"

"No! by heaven! your majesty," said Wolsey, who really had a kindly
feeling for Brandon and would gladly save his life, if, by so doing,
he would not interfere with any of his own plans and interests.
Wolsey's heart was naturally kind when it cost him nothing, and much
has been related of him, which, to say the least, tells a great deal
more than the truth. Ingratitude always recoils upon the ingrate, and
Henry's loss was greater than Wolsey's when Wolsey fell.

Henry really liked, or, rather, admired, Brandon, as had often been
shown, but his nature was incapable of real affection. The highest
point he ever reached was admiration, often quite extravagant for a
time, but usually short-lived, as naked admiration is apt to be. If he
had affection for any one it was for Mary. He could not but see the
justice of his sister's position, but he had no intention of allowing
justice, in the sense of right, to interfere with justice in the sense
of the king