_CHAPTER IX_
_Put not your Trust in Princesses_
I thought the king's dance that night would never end, so fond werethe Frenchmen of our fair ladies, and I was more than anxious to seeBrandon and learn the issue of the girls' escapade, as I well knew thedanger attending it.
All things, however, must end, so early in the morning I hastened toour rooms, where I found Brandon lying in his clothes, everythingsaturated with blood from a dozen sword cuts. He was very weak, and Iat once had in a barber, who took off his shirt of mail and dressedhis wounds. He then dropped into a deep sleep, while I watched thenight out. Upon awakening Brandon told me all that had happened, butasked me to say nothing of his illness, as he wished to keep the factof his wounds secret in order that he might better conceal the causeof them. But, as I told you, he did not speak of Buckingham's part inthe affray.
I saw the princess that afternoon, and expected, of course, she wouldinquire for her defender. One who had given such timely help and whowas suffering so much on her account was surely worth a littlesolicitude; but not a word did she ask. She did not come near me, butmade a point of avoidance, as I could plainly see. The next morningshe, with Jane, went over to Scotland Palace without so much as abreath of inquiry from either of them. This heartless conduct enragedme; but I was glad to learn afterward that Jane's silence was atMary's command--that bundle of selfishness fearing that anysolicitude, however carefully shown upon her part, might reveal hersecret.
It seems that Mary had recent intelligence of the forward state ofaffairs in the marriage negotiations, and felt that a discovery by herbrother of what she had done, especially in view of the disastrousresults, would send her to France despite all the coaxing she could dofrom then till doomsday.
It was a terrible fate hanging over her, doubly so in view of the factthat she loved another man; and looking back at it all from thevantage point of time, I cannot wonder that it drove other things outof her head and made her seem selfish in her frightened desire to saveherself.
About twelve o'clock of the following night I was awakened by a knockat my door, and, upon opening, in walked a sergeant of the sheriff ofLondon, with four yeomen at his heels.
The sergeant asked if one Charles Brandon was present, and upon myaffirmative answer demanded that he be forthcoming. I told thesergeant that Brandon was confined to his bed with illness, whereuponhe asked to be shown to his room.
It was useless to resist or to evade, so I awakened Brandon and tookthe sergeant in. Here he read his warrant to arrest Charles Brandon,Esquire, for the murder of two citizens of London, perpetrated, doneand committed upon the night of such and such a day, of this year ofour Lord, 1514. Brandon's hat had been found by the side of the deadmen, and the authorities had received information from a high sourcethat Brandon was the guilty person. That high source was evidentlyBuckingham.
When the sergeant found Brandon covered with wounds there was nolonger any doubt, and although hardly able to lift his hand he wasforced to dress and go with them. A horse litter was procured and weall started to London.
While Brandon was dressing, I said I would at once go and awaken theking, who I knew would pardon the offense when he heard my story, butBrandon asked the sergeant to leave us to ourselves for a short time,and closed the door.
"Please do nothing of the sort, Caskoden," said he; "if you tell theking I will declare there is not one word of truth in your story.There is only one person in the world who may tell of that night'shappenings, and if she does not they shall remain untold. She willmake it all right at once, I know. I would not do her the foul wrongto think for one instant that she will fail. You do not know her; shesometimes seems selfish, but it is thoughtlessness fostered byflattery, and her heart is right. I would trust her with my life. Ifyou breathe a word of what I have told you, you may do more harm thanyou can ever remedy, and I ask you to say nothing to any one. If theprincess would not liberate me ... but that is not to be thought of.Never doubt that she can and will do it better than you think. She isall gold."
This, of course, silenced me, as I did not know what new danger Imight create, nor how I might mar the matter I so much wished to mend.I did not tell Brandon that the girls had left Greenwich, nor of myundefined, and, perhaps, unfounded fear that Mary might not act as hethought she would in a great emergency, but silently helped him todress and went to London along with him and the sheriff's sergeant.
Brandon was taken to Newgate, the most loathsome prison in London atthat time, it being used for felons, while Ludgate was for debtors.Here he was thrown into an underground dungeon foul with water thatseeped through the old masonry from the moat, and alive with everynoisome thing that creeps. There was no bed, no stool, no floor, noteven a wisp of a straw; simply the reeking stone walls, covered withfungus, and the windowless arch overhead. One could hardly conceive amore horrible place in which to spend even a moment. I had a glimpseof it by the light of the keeper's lantern as they put him in, and itseemed to me a single night in that awful place would have killed meor driven me mad. I protested and begged and tried to bribe, but itwas all of no avail; the keeper had been bribed before I arrived.Although it could do no possible good, I was glad to stand outside theprison walls in the drenching rain, all the rest of that wretchednight, that I might be as near as possible to my friend and suffer alittle with him.
Was not I, too, greatly indebted to him? Had he not imperiled his lifeand given his blood to save the honor of Jane as well as ofMary--Jane, dearer to me a thousand-fold than the breath of mynostrils? And was he not suffering at that moment because of thisgreat service, performed at my request and in my place? If my wholesoul had not gone out to him I should have been the most ungratefulwretch on earth; worse even than a pair of selfish, careless girls.But it did go out to him, and I believe I would have bartered my lifeto have freed him from another hour in that dungeon.
As soon as the prison gates were opened next morning, I againimportuned the keeper to give Brandon a more comfortable cell, but hisreply was that such crimes had of late become so frequent in Londonthat no favor could be shown those who committed them, and that menlike Brandon, who ought to know and act better, deserved the maximumpunishment.
I told him he was wrong in this case; that I knew the facts, andeverything would be clearly explained that very day and Brandonreleased.
"That's all very well," responded the stubborn creature; "nobody isguilty who comes here; they can every one prove innocence clearly andat once. Notwithstanding, they nearly all hang, and frequently, forvariety's sake, are drawn and quartered."
I waited about Newgate until nine o'clock, and as I passed out metBuckingham and his man Johnson, a sort of lawyer-knight, going in. Iwent down to the palace at Greenwich, and finding that the girls werestill at Scotland Palace, rode over at once to see them.
Upon getting Mary and Jane to myself, I told them of Brandon's arreston the charge of murder, and of his condition, lying half dead fromwounds and loss of blood, in that frightful dungeon. The tale movedthem greatly, and they both gave way to tears. I think Mary had heardof the arrest before, as she did not seem surprised.
"Do you think he will tell the cause of the killing?" she asked.
"I know he will not," I answered; "but I also know that he knows youwill," and I looked straight into her face.
"Certainly we will," said Jane; "we will go to the king at once," andshe was on the _qui vive_ to start immediately.
Mary did not at once consent to Jane's proposition, but sat in areverie, looking with tearful eyes into vacancy, apparently absorbedin thought. After a little pressing from us she said: "I suppose itwill have to be done; I can see no other way; but blessed MotherMary!... help me!"
The girls made hasty preparations, and we all started back toGreenwich that Mary might tell the king. On the road over, I stoppedat Newgate to tell Brandon that the princess would soon have him out,knowing how welcome liberty would be at her hands; but I was notpermitted to see him.
I
swallowed my disappointment, and thought it would be only a matterof a few hours' delay--the time spent in riding down to Greenwich andsending back a messenger. So, light-hearted enough at the prospect, Isoon joined the girls, and we cantered briskly home.
After waiting a reasonable time for Mary to see the king, I sought heragain to learn where and from whom I should receive the order forBrandon'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 yetseen the king--that she had waited to "eat, and bathe, and dress," andthat "a few moments more or less could make no difference."
"My God! your highness, did I not tell you that the man who saved yourlife and honor--who is covered with wounds received in your defense,and almost dead from loss of blood, spilled that you might be savedfrom worse than death--is now lying in a rayless dungeon, a place offrightful filth, such as you would not walk across for all the wealthof London Bridge; is surrounded by loathsome, creeping things thatwould sicken you but to think of; is resting under a charge whosepenalty is that he be hanged, drawn and quartered? And yet you stop toeat and bathe and dress. In God's name, Mary Tudor, of what stuff areyou made? If he had waited but one little minute; had stopped for thedrawing of a breath; had held back for but one faltering thought fromthe 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 drivenme, but Mary took it all very well, and said slowly andabsent-mindedly:
"You are right; I will go at once; I despise my selfish neglect. Thereis no other way; I have racked my brain--there _is_ no other way. Itmust be done, and I will go at once and do it."
"And I will go with you," said I.
"I do not blame you," she said, "for doubting me, since I have failedonce; but you need not doubt me now. It shall be done, and withoutdelay, regardless of the cost to me. I have thought and thought tofind some other way to liberate him, but there is none; I will go thisinstant."
"And I will go with you, Lady Mary," said I, doggedly.
She smiled at my persistency, and took me by the hand, saying,"Come!"
We at once went off to find the king, but the smile had faded fromMary's face, and she looked as if she were going to execution. Everyshade of color had fled, and her lips were the hue of ashes.
We found the king in the midst of his council, with the Frenchambassadors, discussing the all-absorbing topic of the marriagetreaty; and Henry, fearing an outbreak, refused to see the princess.As usual, opposition but spurred her determination, so she sat down inthe ante-room and said she would not stir until she had seen the king.
After we had waited a few minutes, one of the king's pages came up andsaid he had been looking all over the palace for me, and that the kingdesired my presence immediately. I went in with the page to the king,leaving Mary alone and very melancholy in the ante-chamber.
Upon entering the king's presence he asked, "Where have you been, SirEdwin? I have almost killed a good half-dozen pages hunting you. Iwant you to prepare immediately to go to Paris with an embassy to hismajesty, King Louis. You will be the interpreter. The ambassador youneed not know. Make ready at once. The embassy will leave London fromthe Tabard Inn one hour hence."
Could a command to duty have come at a more inopportune time? I wasdistracted; and upon leaving the king went at once to seek the LadyMary where I had left her in the ante-room. She had gone, so I wentto her apartments, but could not find her. I went to the queen'ssalon, but she was not there, and I traversed that old rambling palacefrom one end to the other without finding her or Lady Jane.
The king had told me the embassy would be a secret one, and that I wasto speak of it to nobody, least of all to the Lady Mary. No one was toknow that I was leaving England, and I was to communicate with no oneat home while in France.
The king's command was not to be disobeyed; to do so would be as muchas my life was worth, but besides that, the command of the king Iserved was my highest duty, and no Caskoden ever failed in that. I maynot be as tall as some men, but my fidelity and honor--but you willsay I boast.
I was to make ready my bundle and ride six miles to London in onehour; and almost half that time was spent already. I was sure to belate, so I could not waste another minute.
I went to my room and got together a few things necessary for myjourney, but did not take much in the way of clothing, preferring tobuy that new in Paris, where I could find the latest styles in patternand fabric.
I tried to assure myself that Mary would see the king at once and tellhim all, and not allow my dear friend Brandon to lie in that terribleplace another night; yet a persistent fear gnawed at my heart, and asort of intuition, that seemed to have the very breath of certaintyin its foreboding, made me doubt her.
As I could find neither Mary nor Jane, I did the next best thing: Iwrote a letter to each of them, urging immediate action, and left themto be delivered by my man Thomas, who was one of those trusty soulsthat never fail. I did not tell the girls I was about to start forFrance, but intimated that I was compelled to leave London for a time,and said: "I leave the fate of this man, to whom we all owe so much,in your hands, knowing full well how tender you will be of him."
I was away from home nearly a month, and as I dared not write, andeven Jane did not know where I was, I did not receive, nor expect, anyletters. The king had ordered secrecy, and if I have mingled with allmy faults a single virtue it is that of faithfulness to my trust. So Ihad no news from England and sent none home.
During all that time the same old fear lived in my heart that Marymight fail to liberate Brandon. She knew of the negotiationsconcerning the French marriage, as we all did, although only by anindefinite sort of hearsay, and I was sure the half-founded rumorsthat had reached her ears had long since become certainties, and thather heart was full of trouble and fear of her violent brother. Shewould certainly be at her coaxing and wheedling again and on her bestbehavior, and I feared she might refrain from telling Henry of hertrip to Grouche's, knowing how severe he was in such matters and howfurious he was sure to become at the discovery. I was certain it wasthis fear which had prevented Mary from going directly to the king onour return to Greenwich from Scotland Palace, and I knew that hereating, bathing and dressing were but an excuse for a breathing spellbefore the dreaded interview.
This fear remained with me all the time I was away, but when Ireasoned with myself I would smother it as well as I could withargumentative attempts at self-assurance. I would say over and over tomyself that Mary could not fail, and that even if she did, there wasJane, dear, sweet, thoughtful, unselfish Jane, who would not allow herto do so. But as far as they go, our intuitions--our "feelings," as wecall them--are worth all the logic in the world, and you may say whatyou will, but my presentiments--I speak for no one else--are well tobe minded. There is another sense hidden about us that will develop asthe race grows older. I speak to posterity.
In proof of this statement, I now tell you that when I returned toLondon I found Brandon still in the terrible dungeon; and, worsestill, he had been tried for murder, and had been condemned to behanged, drawn and quartered on the second Friday following. Hanged!Drawn! Quartered! It is time we were doing away with such barbarity.
We will now go back a month for the purpose of looking up the doingsof a friend of ours, his grace, the Duke of Buckingham.
On the morning after the fatal battle of Billingsgate, the barber whohad treated Brandon's wounds had been called to London to dress abruised knee for his grace, the duke. In the course of the operation,an immense deal of information oozed out of the barber, one item ofwhich was that he had the night before dressed nine wounds, great andsmall, for Master Brandon, the king's friend. This established theidentity of the man who had rescued the girls, a fact of whichBuckingham had had his suspicions all along. So Brandon's arrestfollowed, as I have already related to you.
I afterward learned from various sources how this nobleman began toav
enge his mishap with Brandon at Mary's ball when the latter brokehis sword point. First, he went to Newgate and gave orders to thekeeper, who was his tool, to allow no communication with the prisoner,and it was by his instructions that Brandon had been confined in theworst dungeon in London. Then he went down to Greenwich to take careof matters there, knowing that the king would learn of Brandon'sarrest and probably take steps for his liberation at once.
The king had just heard of the arrest when Buckingham arrived, and thelatter found he was right in his surmise that his majesty would atonce demand Brandon's release.
When the duke entered the king's room Henry called to him: "My Lord,you are opportunely arrived. So good a friend of the people of Londoncan help us greatly this morning. Our friend Brandon has been arrestedfor the killing of two men night before last in Billingsgate ward. Iam sure there is some mistake, and that the good sheriff has the wrongman; but right or wrong, we want him out, and ask your good offices."
"I shall be most happy to serve your majesty, and will go to London atonce to see the lord mayor."
In the afternoon the duke returned and had a private audience with theking.
"I did as your majesty requested in regard to Brandon's release," hesaid, "but on investigation, I thought it best to consult you againbefore proceeding further. I fear there is no doubt that Brandon isthe right man. It seems he was out with a couple of wenches concerningwhom he got into trouble and stabbed two men in the back. It is a veryaggravated case and the citizens are much incensed about it, owingpartly to the fact that such occurrences have been so frequent oflate. I thought, under the circumstances, and in view of the fact thatyour majesty will soon call upon the city for a loan to make up theLady Mary's dower, it would be wise not to antagonize them in thismatter, but to allow Master Brandon to remain quietly in confinementuntil the loan is completed and then we can snap our fingers atthem."
"We will snap our fingers at the scurvy burghers now and have theloan, too," returned Henry, angrily. "I want Brandon liberated atonce, and I shall expect another report from you immediately, mylord."
Buckingham felt that his revenge had slipped through his fingers thistime, but he was patient where evil was to be accomplished, and couldwait. Then it was that the council was called during the progress ofwhich Mary and I had tried to obtain an audience of the king.
Buckingham had gone to pay his respects to the queen, and on his wayback espied Mary waiting for the king in the ante-room, and went toher.
At first she was irritated at the sight of this man, whom she sodespised, but a thought came to her that she might make use of him.She knew his power with the citizens and city authorities of London,and also knew, or thought she knew, that a smile from her couldaccomplish everything with him. She had ample evidence of hisinfatuation, and she hoped that she could procure Brandon's libertythrough Buckingham without revealing her dangerous secret.
Much to the duke's surprise, she smiled upon him and gave a cordialwelcome, saying: "My lord, you have been unkind to us of late and havenot shown us the light of your countenance. I am glad to see you oncemore; tell me the news."
"I cannot say there is much of interest. I have learned the new dancefrom Caskoden, if that is news, and hope for a favor at our next ballfrom the fairest lady in the world."
"And quite welcome," returned Mary, complacently appropriating thetitle, "and welcome to more than one, I hope, my lord."
This graciousness would have looked suspicious to one with less vanitythan Buckingham, but he saw no craft in it. He did see, however, thatMary did not know who had attacked her in Billingsgate, and he feltgreatly relieved.
The duke smiled and smirked, and was enchanted at her kindness. Theywalked down the corridor, talking and laughing, Mary awaiting anopportunity to put the important question without exciting suspicion.At last it came, when Buckingham, half inquiringly, expressed hissurprise that Mary should be found sitting at the king's door.
"I am waiting to see the king," said she. "Little Caskoden's friend,Brandon, has been arrested for a brawl of some sort over in London,and Sir Edwin and Lady Jane have importuned me to obtain his release,which I have promised to do. Perhaps your grace will allow me topetition you in place of carrying my request to the king. You arequite as powerful as his majesty in London, and I should like to askyou to obtain for Master Brandon his liberty at once. I shall holdmyself infinitely obliged, if your lordship will do this for me." Shesmiled upon him her sweetest smile, and assumed an indifference thatwould have deceived any one but Buckingham. Upon him, under thecircumstances, it was worse than wasted. Buckingham at once consented,and said, that notwithstanding the fact that he did not like Brandon,to oblige her highness, he would undertake to befriend a much moredisagreeable person.
"I fear," he said, "it will have to be done secretly--by conniving athis escape rather than by an order for his release. The citizens aregreatly aroused over the alarming frequency of such occurrences, andas many of the offenders have lately escaped punishment by reason ofcourt interference, I fear this man Brandon will have to bear thebrunt, in the London mind, of all these unpunished crimes. It will benext to impossible to liberate him, except by arranging privately withthe keeper for his escape. He could go down into the country and waitin seclusion until it is all blown over, or until London has a newvictim, and then an order can be made pardoning him, and he canreturn."
"Pardoning him! What are you talking of, my lord? He has done nothingto be pardoned for. He should be, and shall be, rewarded." Mary spokeimpetuously, but caught herself and tried to remedy her blunder. "Thatis, if I have heard the straight of it. I have been told that thekilling was done in the defense of two--women." Think of this poorunconscious girl, so full of grief and trouble, talking thus toBuckingham, who knew so much more about the affair than even she, whohad taken so active a part in it.
"Who told you of it?" asked the duke.
Mary saw she had made a mistake, and, after hesitating for a moment,answered: "Sir Edwin Caskoden. He had it from Master Brandon, Isuppose." Rather adroit this was, but equidistant from both truth andeffectiveness.
"I will go at once to London and arrange for Brandon's escape," saidBuckingham, preparing to leave. "But you must not divulge the factthat I do it. It would cost me all the favor I enjoy with the peopleof London, though I would willingly lose that favor, a thousand timesover, for a smile from you."
She gave the smile, and as he left, followed his retiring figure withher eyes, and thought: "After all, he has a kind heart."
She breathed a sigh of relief, too, for she felt she had accomplishedBrandon's release, and still retained her dangerous secret, thedivulging of which, she feared, would harden Henry's heart against herblandishments and strand her upon the throne of France.
But she was not entirely satisfied with the arrangement. She knew thather obligation to Brandon was such as to demand of her that she shouldnot leave the matter of his release to any other person, much less toan enemy such as Buckingham. Yet the cost of his freedom by a directact of her own would be so great that she was tempted to takewhatever risk there might be in the way that had opened itself to her.Not that she would not have made the sacrifice willingly, or would nothave told Henry all if that were the only chance to save Brandon'slife, but the other way, the one she had taken by Buckingham's help,seemed safe, and, though not entirely satisfying, she could not seehow it could miscarry. Buckingham was notably jealous of his knightlyword, and she had unbounded faith in her influence over him. In short,like many another person, she was as wrong as possible just at thetime when she thought she was entirely right, and when the cost of amistake was at its maximum.
She recoiled also from the thought of Brandon's "escape," and it hurther that he should be a fugitive from the justice that should rewardhim, yet she quieted these disturbing suggestions with the thoughtthat it would be only for a short time, and Brandon, she knew, wouldbe only too glad to make the sacrifice if it purchased for her freedomfrom the worse than damnation that
lurked in the French marriage.
All this ran quickly through Mary's mind, and brought relief; but itdid not cure the uneasy sense, weighing like lead upon her heart, thatshe should take up chance with this man's life, and should put nofurther weight of sacrifice upon him, but should go to the king andtell him a straightforward story, let it hurt where it would. Witha little meditation, however, came a thought which decided thequestion and absolutely made everything bright again for her, so greatwas her capability for distilling light. She would go at once toWindsor with Jane, and would dispatch a note to Brandon, at Newgate,telling him upon his escape to come to her. He might remain in hidingin the neighborhood of Windsor, and she could see him every day. Thetime had come to Mary when to "see him every day" would turn Plutonianshades into noonday brightness and weave sunbeams out of utterdarkness. With Mary, to resolve was to act; so the note was soondispatched by a page, and one hour later the girls were on their roadto Windsor.
Buckingham went to Newgate, expecting to make a virtue, with Mary, outof the necessity imposed by the king's command, in freeing Brandon. Hehad hoped to induce Brandon to leave London stealthily andimmediately, by representing to him the evil consequences of a breakbetween the citizens and the king, liable to grow out of his release,and relied on Brandon's generosity to help him out; but when he foundthe note which Mary's page had delivered to the keeper of Newgate, heread it and all his plans were changed.
He caused the keeper to send the note to the king, suppressing thefact that he, Buckingham, had any knowledge of it. The duke then atonce started to Greenwich, where he arrived and sought the king a fewminutes before the time he knew the messenger with Mary's note wouldcome. The king was soon found, and Buckingham, in apparent anger, toldhim that the city authorities refused to deliver Brandon except uponan order under the king's seal.
Henry and Buckingham were intensely indignant at the conduct of thescurvy burghers, and an immense amount of self-importance wasdisplayed and shamefully wasted. This manifestation was at its highestwhen the messenger from Newgate arrived with Mary's poor little noteas intended by the duke.
The note was handed to Henry, who read aloud as follows:
"_To Master Charles Brandon_":
"Greeting--Soon you will be at liberty; perhaps ere this is to your hand. Surely would I not leave you long in prison. I go to Windsor at once, there to live in the hope that I may see you speedily.
"MARY."
"What is this?" cried Henry. "My sister writing to Brandon? God'sdeath! My Lord of Buckingham, the suspicions you whispered in my earmay have some truth. We will let this fellow remain in Newgate, andallow our good people of London to take their own course with him."
Buckingham went to Windsor next day and told Mary that arrangementshad been made the night before for Brandon's escape, and that he hadheard that Brandon had left for New Spain.
Mary thanked the duke, but had no smiles for any one. Her supply wasexhausted.
She remained at Windsor nursing her love for the sake of the very painit brought her, and dreading the battle for more than life itselfwhich she knew she should soon be called upon to fight.
At times she would fall into one of her old fits of anger becauseBrandon had not come to see her before he left, but soon the angermelted into tears, and the tears brought a sort of joy when shethought that he had run away from her because he loved her. AfterBrandon's defense of her in Billingsgate, Mary had begun to see thewhole situation differently, and everything was changed. She still sawthe same great distance between them as before, but with thisdifference, she was looking up now. Before that event he had beenplain Charles Brandon, and she the Princess Mary. She was the princessstill, but he was a demi-god. No mere mortal, thought she, could be sobrave and strong and generous and wise; and above all, no mere mortalcould vanquish odds of four to one. In the night she would lie onJane's arm, and amid smothered sobs, would softly talk of her lover,and praise his beauty and perfections, and pour her pathetic littletale over and over again into Jane's receptive ear and warm responsiveheart; and Jane answered with soft little kisses that would haveconsoled Niobe herself. Then Mary would tell how the doors of herlife, at the ripe age of eighteen, were closed forever and forever,and that her few remaining years would be but years of waiting for theend. At other times she would brighten, and repeat what Brandon hadtold her about New Spain; how fortune's door was open there to thosewho chose to come, and how he, the best and bravest of them all, wouldsurely win glory and fortune, and then return to buy her from herbrother Henry with millions of pounds of yellow gold. Ah, she wouldwait! She would wait! Like Bayard she placed her ransom at a highfigure, and honestly thought herself worth it. And so she was--toBrandon, or rather had been. But at this particular time the marketwas down, as you will shortly hear.
So Mary remained at Windsor and grieved and wept and dreamed, andlonged that she might see across the miles of billowy ocean to herlove! her love! her love! Meanwhile Brandon had his trial in secretdown in London, and had been condemned to be hanged, drawn andquartered for having saved to her more than life itself.
Put not your trust in princesses!
When Knighthood Was in Flower Page 12