I looked out of the window up Tower street and said nothing.

When I left I took a letter to Mary, which plainly told her he had
divined it all, and she wrote a tear-stained answer, begging him to
forgive her for having saved his life at a cost greater than her own.

For several days I was kept busy carrying letters from Greenwich to
the Tower and back again, but soon letters ceased to satisfy Mary, and
she made up her mind that she must see him. Nothing else would do. She
must not, could not, and, in short, would not go another day without
seeing him; no, not another hour. Jane and I opposed her all we could,
but the best we could accomplish was to induce her for Brandon's
sake--for she was beginning to see that he was the one who had to
suffer for her indiscretions--to ask Henry's permission, and if he
refused, then try some other way. To determine was to act with Mary,
so off she went without delay to hunt the king, taking Jane and me
along as escort. How full we were of important business, as we
scurried along the corridors, one on each side of Mary, all talking
excitedly at once. When anything was to be done, it always required
three of us to do it.

We found the king, and without any prelude, Mary proffered her
request. Of course it was refused. Mary pouted, and was getting ready
for an outburst, when Wolsey spoke up: "With your majesty's gracious
permission, I would subscribe to the petition of the princess. She has
been good enough to give her promise in the matter of so much
importance to us, and in so small a thing as this I hope you may see
your way clear toward favoring her. The interview will be the last and
may help to make her duty easier." Mary gave the cardinal a fleeting
glance from her lustrous eyes full of surprise and gratitude, and as
speaking as a book.

Henry looked from one to the other of us for a moment, and broke into
a boisterous laugh.

"Oh, I don't care, so that you keep it a secret. The old king will
never know. We can hurry up the marriage. He is getting too much
already; four hundred thousand crowns and a girl like you; he cannot
complain if he have an heir. It would be a good joke on the miserly
old dotard, but better on '_Ce Gros Garcon_.'"

Mary sprang from her chair with a cry of rage. "You brute! Do you
think I am as vile as you because I have the misfortune to be your
sister, or that Charles Brandon is like you simply because he is a
man?" Henry laughed, his health at th