and said his master, Wolsey,
wished to speak to me privately at a convenient opportunity. So, when
the bishop left his card-table, an hour later, I threw myself in his
way. He spoke gayly to me, and we walked down the corridor arm in arm.
I could not imagine what was wanted, but presently it came out: "My
dear Caskoden"--had I been one for whom he could have had any use, I
should have grown suspicious--"My dear Caskoden, I know I can trust
you; especially when that which I have to say is for the happiness of
your friends. I am sure you will never name me in connection with the
suggestion I am about to make, and will use the thought only as your
own."

I did not know what was coming, but gave him the strongest assurance
of my trustworthiness.

"It is this: Louis of France is little better than a dead man. King
Henry, perhaps, is not fully aware of this, and, if he is, he has
never considered the probability of his speedy death. The thought
occurred to me that although the princess cannot dissuade her brother
from this marriage, she may be able, in view of her ready and cheerful
compliance, to extract some virtue out of her sore necessity and
induce him to promise that, in case of the death of Louis, she herself
shall choose her second husband."

"My lord," I replied, quickly grasping the point, "it is small wonder
you rule this land. You have both brain and heart."

"I thank you, Sir Edwin, and hope that both may always be at the
service of you and your friends."

I gave the suggestion to Mary as my own, recommending that she proffer
her request to the king in the presence of Wolsey, and, although she
had little faith or hope, she determined to try.

Within a day or two an opportunity offered, and she said to Henry: "I
am ready to go to France any time you wish, and shall do it decently
and willingly; but if I do so much for you, brother, you might at
least promise me that when King Louis is dead I may marry whomsoever I
wish. He will probably live forever, but let me have at least that
hope to give me what cheer it may while I suffer."

The ever-present Wolsey, who was standing near and heard Mary's
petition, interposed: "Let me add my prayer to that of her highness.
We must give her her own way in something."

Mary was such a complete picture of wretchedness that I thought at the
time she had really found a tender spot in Henry's heart, for he gave
the promise. Since then I have learned, as you will shortly,