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1 They traveled on. galloping when they
could, trotting when they could not gal
lop and walking when they must.
At one time they thought they heard the
sound of following horses, and hastened
on as fast as they dare go., until, stop
ping to listen and hearing nothing, they
concluded they were wrong. About II
o'clock, however, right out of the black
bank of night in front of them they heard,
in earnest, the sucking splash of horses*
hoofs. In an instant the sound ceased an- 1
the silence was worse than th* noise. Thr»
cry "Hello!" brought them all to a stand,
and Mary thought her time had come.
Both shouted. "Who comes there?" to
which there was a simultaneous and eager
answer. "A friend." and each party pass
ed its own way. only too glad to be rid of
the other. Mary's ?igh of relief could be
heard above even the wind and the owls,
and her heart beat as if It had a task to
finish within a certain time.
After this they rode on as rapidly as
they dared, and about midnight arrived at
the Inn where the relay of horses waa
The Inn was a rambling old thatched
roofed structure, half mud. half wood,
and all filth. There are many inns In
England that are tidy enough, but this
one was a little off the main road—select
ed for that reason— and the uncleannesa
was not the least of Mary's trials that
hard night. She had not tasted food since
noon, and felt the keen hunger natural
to youth and health such as hers, after
twelve hours of fasting and eight hours of
riding. Her appetite soon overcame her
repugnance, and she ate with a zest that
waa new to her the humblest fare that
had ever passed her lips. One often misses
the zest of life's joys by having too much
of them, and must want a thing before it
can be appreciated.
A hard ridef of five hours brought our
travelers to Bath, which place they rode
around just as the sun began to gild the
tile roofs and steeples, and another hour
brought them to Bristol.
Tho ship was to sail at sunrise, but as
the wind had died out with the night.
there was no clanger of Hs sailing without
them. Soon the gates opened, and tho
party rode to the Bow and String, where
Brandon had- left their chests. The men
were paid off; quick sale was made of the
horses; breakfast was served and they
started for the wharf, with their chests
following In the hands of four porters.
A boat soon took them, aboard the Royal
Hind, and now It looked as If their daring
scheme, so full of improbability a* to
seem Impossible, had really como to a
From the beginning. I think It had
never occurred to Mary to doubt -the re
sult. There had never been with her even
a suggestion of .possible failure, unless it
was that evening in our room, when,
prompted by her startled modesty, she
had said she could not bear for us to see
her In the trunk hose. Xow that fruition
seemed about to crown her hopes she was
happy to her heart's core; and when once
to herself wept for sheer joy. It Is llttl«
wonder she was happy.^_ She was leaving
behind no one whom she loved except
Jane, and perhaps, me. No father or
mother; only a sister whom she barely
knew, and a brother whose treatment of
her had turned her heart against him. She
was fleeing with the one man in all the
world for her, and from a marriage that
was literally worse than death.
Brandon, on the other hand, had always
had more desire than hope. The many
chances against success had forced upon
him a haunting sense of certain failure,
which, one would think, should have left
him now. It did not. however, and even
when on shipboard, with a score of men
at the windlass ready to heave anchor at
the first breath of -wind, it was as strons
as when Mary first proposed their flight,
sitting in the window on his great cloak.
Such were their opposite positions. Both
were without doubt, but with this dif
ference; Mary had never doubted success:
Brandon never doubted failure. He had
a keen analytical faculty that gave him
truthfully the chances for and against,
and. in this case, they were overv.-h-Mm
lngly unfavorable. Such hopes as he had
been able to distill out of his desire was
sadly dampened by an ever-present pre
monition of failure, -which he could not
entirely throw off. Too keen an insight for
the truth often stands in a man's way.
and too clear a view of an overwhelming
obstacle is apt to paralyze effort. Hop«
must always be behind a hearty endeavor.
Our travelers were, of course, greatly in
need of rest: so Mary went to her room,
and Brandon took a berth in the cabin
set apart for the gentlemen.
They had both paid for their passage,
although they had enlisted and were part
of the ship's company. They were not
expected to do sailor's -work, but "would
be called upon in case of fighting to do
their part at that. Mary was probably
as good a fighter, in her own line, a*
one could find in a long journey, but how
she wa3 to do her part ¦with sword and
buckler Brandon did not know. That,
however, was a bridge to be crossed when
they should come to it.
They had gone aboard about 7 o'clock,
and Brandon hoped the ship would b e well
down Bristol channel before "he should
leave his berth. But the wind that ha<!
tilled Mary's jackboots with rain and ha«l
howled so dismally all night lonff woulrl
not stir, now that it was wanted. Noon
came, yet no wind, and the sun shone as
placidly as if Captain Charles Brandon
were not fuming with impatience on the
poop of the Royal Hin«l. Thr»»- o"cloek
and no wind. The captain <*alrl It would
come with n'cht. but s""-'»v» w- al
most at hand and no wind yet. Bran
don knew this m*-ant fan -.!¦*•»• it it h< id a.
little longer for he was certain the King,
with Wolsey's help, would long since have
guessed the truth.
Brandon had not seen the 'Princess sinew
morning, and the delicacy he fe't about
going to her cabin made the situation
somewhat difficult. After putting it ol?
from hour to hour in hope that she would
appear of her own accord, he at last
knocked at her door and, of course, found
the lady In trouble.
The thought of the Princess going on
deck caused a sinking at his heart every
time it came, as he felt that it ¦was al
most Impossible to conceal her Identity.
He had not seen her in her new qialft
attire, for when she threw off her riding
habit on meeting him the night before
he had intentionally busied himself about
the horses, and saw her only after the
great cloak covered her as a gown. Ho
felt that however well her garments
might conceal her form, no man on earth
ever had such beauty in his face as her
transcendent eyes, rose-tinted cheeks and
coral lips, with their cluster of dimples;
and his heart sunk at the prospect. Sho
might hold out for a while with a straight
face but when thp smiles should come—
it were just as well to hang a placard
about her neck: "This is a woman." Th*
telltale dimples would be worse than Jan«
for outspoken, untimely truthfulness and
Upon entering. Brandon found Mary
wrestling with the problem of her com
plicated mala attire: the most beautiful
picture of pu2zled distress imaginable.
The port was open and showed her rosy
as the morn when she looked up at him.
The Jackboots were in a corner, and her
little feet seemed to put up a protest all
their own against going into them that
ought to have softened every peg. Sho
looked up at Brandon with a half-hearted
smile, and then threw her arms about hi»
neck and sobbed like the child that she
"Do you regret coming. Lady MaryF
asked Brandon, who, now that she «a.i
alone with him. felt that he must taka
no advantage of the fact to be familiar.
"No! no! not for one moment. I am
glad— only too glad. But why do you call
mo "Lady?" You used to call me 'Mary.* '*
"I don't know; perhaps because you -ore
"Ah. that is good of you: bnt you need
not be quite, so respectful."
The matter wan settled by mate but
satisfactory arbitration, and Brandon con
tinued: "You must make yourself ready
to go on deck. It will be hard, but it
must be done."
He helped her with the heavy Jackboots
and handed her the rain-stained slouch
hat. which she put on. and stood a com
plete man ready for the deck — that Is. an
«iomplet«. as could be evolved from her ut
When Brandon looked her over all hop«
went out of him. It seemed that every
change of dress only added to her be
witching beauty by showing It In a new
"It will never do: there Is no disguis
ing you. What la it that despite every
thing shows bo unmistakably feminine?
What shall we do? I have It; you shall
remain here under the pretense of illness
until we are well at sea, and then I will
tell the captain all. It is too bad. and
yet I would not have you one whit lesa
a woman for all the world. A man loves
a woman who is so thoroughly womanly
that nothing can hide it."
Mary was pleased at his flattery, but
disappointed at the failure In herself. She
had thought that surely these garments
would make a man of her In which the
keenest eye could not detect a flaw.
They were discussing the matter when
a knock came at the door with tho cry.
"AH hands on deck for inspection." In
spection! Jesu! Mary would not safely
endure It a minute. Brandon left her at
once and went to the captain.
"The ignorant creatures!" cried Mary.
'Brandon continued: "There will be a
hundred men, if the captain can Induce
S-0 HiiiliJ' tO trllllst."
"How df.es one procure passage?" In
"By *niisting with the captain, a man
named Bradhuret; at Bristol, where the
ship is now lying. There \a where I en
listed by iett».-r. But why do you ask?"
"Oh, 1 only wantfd to know."
We talked a while on various topic?,
but Mary always brought the conversa
tion back to th* vane subject, the Royal
Hind and New Spain. After asking many
questions, she s;at in silence for a time;
and then abruptly broke Into one of my
sentence*— she was always interrupting
me as if I were a parrot.
"I have I'-cn thinking and have made
up my rr.lnd what J will do. and you shall
rot r'h-suarie me. I will go to New Spain
with you. That will be glorious— far bet
ter than the humdrum life of sitting At
home— and will solve the whole question.
"But thiit would be impuss.ble. Mary,
said Brandon, into whose face this new
evidence of her regard had brought a
brightening Icok; utterly impossible. In
I'f-g'n with, no \v iman could stand the
voyage. r>ot even you. strong and vigor
ous as you are."
"Oh. >p:-. I »«*i. mid I will not allow
you to ffton tr.e foi that rc-as-m. I could
tear any hardship better than the tt.t
ture ui the i;i^i few w^ks In truth. I
cannot beat this at all: it Is killing me,
BO what would it ho when you are gone
and I am the wife of I>»uit ? Think of
that. Charles Brandon: think of that:
when I am the wife of I^ouls. JSvenMf
the voyagfl kills me. 1 micht as well die
one way as .mother: und then I shou.d be
with you. where it **<-rc sweet to d.e."
And 1 ba«i to sit there and lintcn to all
th's foolish talVl
Brandon Insisted: "But nn women arc
g-oijijr. As 1 to]<i you. Ihey would n:.t
take- one; besides, bow could you escape?
1 will an.-tver the first question you ever
afck.d me. You iiio of 'sufficient consid
eration about the court" for all your
movements to attract n«>t<e. It is im
possible: we must rot think of It; it can
not be done'. Why build up hopes only
to be cast down?"
"Oh, but it <i-n be done: never doubt it.
I will go. not as a woman, but as a man.
I have planned a!i the details while sit
ting here. To-morrow 1 wiil send to Bris
tol a sum of money asking a separate
room in the ship for a young noblempn
who wishes to go to New Spain incognito,
-ind will go aboard just before they sail.
1 will buy a man's complete outfit, and
v.iil practice being a man before you and
Sir Edwin." Here she blushed so that I
could tee the scarlet even in the gather
ing gloom. She continued: "As to my
escape. I can go to Windsor, and th»n
perhaps on to Berkeley Castle, over by
Heading, where there will be no one to
watch me. You can leave at once, and
there will be no cause for them to spy
upon me when you are gone, so it can
be don» easily enough. That is it: I will
go to my sister, who is now at Berkeley
Oastle. the other side of Reading, ycu
know, and that will make a shorter ride
to Bristol when we start."
The thoupht. of course, could not hut
please Brandon, to whom, in the warmth
of Mary's ardor, it had almost begun to
offer hope. And he said musingly: "I
wonder if it could be done? If It coulO —
If we couifl reach New • Spain we might
build ourselves a home In the beautiful
green mountains and hide ourselves safe
ly away from all the world, in the lap of
some cczy valley, rich with nature's boun
teous gift of fruit and flowers, shaded
from the hot sun and sheltered from the
blasts, and live in a little paradise of our
own. What a glorious dream: but it Is
only a dream, and we had better awake
Brandon must have bfen insane!
"No! no! It is not a dream." interrupt
ed downright, determined Mary; "it is
not a dream; It shall be a reality. How
glorious It will be; I can see our little
reuse now nf-stling among the hi!!s. shad
ed by great spreading trees with flowers
and vines and golden fruit all about it.
rich plumaged birds and gorgeous butter
flies. Oh! I can hardly wait. Who would
live in a musty palace when they have
within reach such a home, and that, too,
Here it was agin. I thought that in
terview would be the death of me.
Brandon held his face in his hands, and
then looking up said: "It is only a ques
tion of your happiness, and hard as the
voyage and your life over there would be.
yet I believe it would be better than life
with I>iuis of France. Nothing could be
Fo terrible as that to both of uf. If you
wish to go 1 will try to take you. though
I die In the attempt. There •will be am
ple time to reconsider, so that you can
turn back if you wish."
Her reply was Inarticulate, though sat
isfactory: and she took his hand in hers
as the tears ran gently down her cheeks;
this time tears of joy— the first she had
shed for many a day.
in the Siren country again without wax!
Overboard and lost!
Yes. Brandon's resolution not to' see
Mary was well taken, if It could
only have been as well kept. Observe,
as we progress, into what the breaking of
it led him.
He had known that if he should but see
her once more his already toppling will
would lose Its equipoise and he would be
led to attempt the impossible and invite
destruction. At first his scheme appeared
to me In its true light, but Mary's subtle
feminine logic made it seem such plain
and eat-y sailing that I soon began to
draw enthusiasm from her exha.ustless
store, a.nd our combined attack upon
Brandon eventually routed every vestige
of cautioo and common sense that even
he had left.
Siren logic has always been irresistible
and will continue so, no doubt, despite
I cannot define what it was about Mary
that made her little speeches, half ar
gumentative, all-pleading, so wonderfully
persuasive. Her facts were mere fancies
and her logic was not even good
sophistry. As to real argument and rea
soning there was nothing of either in
them. It must have been her native
strength of character and Intensely vig
orous personality; some unknown force
of nature, operating through her occultly,
that turned the channels of other per
sons' thoughts and filled them with her
own will. There was magic in her power,
I am certain, but unconscious magic to
Mary, I am equally sure. She never
would have used it knowingly.
There was still another obstacle to
which Mary administered her favorite
remedy, the Gordian knot treatment.
Brandon said: "It cannot be; you are
not my wife, and we dare not trust a
priest here to unite us."
"No;" replied Mary, with hanging head,
"but we can — can find one over there"
"I do not know how that will be; wo
shall probably not find one; at least, I
fear; I do not know."
After a little hesitation sh» answered:
"I will go with you anyway— aJid— and
risk It. I hope we nay find a priest."
and she flushed scarlet from her throat
to her hair.
Brandon kissed her and Bald: "You
shall go, my brave girl. You make mo
blush for my falnt-heartedness and pru
dence. I will make you my wife In some
way as sure as there Is a God."
Soon after this Brandon forced himself
to insist on her departure, and I went
with her full of hope and completely
blinded to the dangers of our cherished
scheme. I think Brandon never really
lost sight cf the danger and almost in
finite proportion of chance against this
wild, reckless venture, but was daring
enough to attempt It even in the face of
such clearly seen and deadly conse
What teems to be bravery, as In Mary's
case, for example. Is often but a lack of
perception of the real danger. True
bravery Is that which dares a danger
fully seeing it. A coward may face an
unseen danger and his act may shine with
the luster of genuine heroism. Mary was
brave, but It was th<! feminine bravery
that did not see. Show her a danger and
she was womanly enough-that is, If you
could make her see it. Her wuiftllness
sometimes extended to h<»r mental vision,
and she would not see. In common with
many others she needed mental spectacles
TO MAKE A MAN OK HER. •
So it was all arranged, and I converted
part of Mary's Jewels into money. She
paid she was sorry now she had not taken
De L«onguevlIIe*s diamonds, as they would
have added to her treasure: I, however,
procured auite a large sum, to which I
jiecretly added a goodly portion out of
my own store. At Mary's request I sent
part to Bradhurst at Bristol and retained
the rest for Brandon to take with him.
A favorable answer soon came from
Bristol, giving the young nobleman a
separate room in consideration of the
large purse he had eent.
The next etep was to procure the gen
tleman's wardrobe for Mary. This was a
little troublesome at first, for, of course,
she could not be measured In the regular
way. We managed to overcome this dif
ficulty by having Jane take the measure
ments under Instructions from the tailor,
which measurements, together with the
cloth, I took to the fractional little man
who did mv work.
you may be sure. Has she not won
everything her heart longed for? Then let
us make our own paradise, since we have
helped them make theirs. You have it,
Jane, just within your lips: speak the
word and it will change everything— if you
love me, and I know you do."
Jane's head was bowed and she remain
Then I told her of Lady Mary's message,
and begged, if she would not speak In
words what I so longed to hear, she would
at least tell it by allowing me to deliver
only one little thousandth part of the
message Mary had sent; but she diew
away und eaid she would return to the
castle if I continued to behave in that
manner. I begged hard, and tried to ar
gue the point, but'icg'.c seems to lose Its
force In such a situation, and all I said
availed nothing. Jane was obdurate, and
was for going hack at once. Her persist
ency was beginning to look like obstinacy,
and I soon grew so angry that 1 asked no
permission, but delivered Mary's mesage,
or a good part of it. at least, whether
she wouid or no. and then sat back and
asked her what she was going to da
Poor little Jane thought she was undone
for life. She sat there half pouting,
half weeping, and said she could do noth
ing about it: that she was alone now. and
if I; her only friend, would treat her that
way, she did not know where to look.
"Where to look?" I -demanded. "Look
here, Jane, here; you might as "well under
stand, first as last, that I will not be
trifled with longer, and that I Intend to
continue treating you that way as- long
hs vtf- bull) live. 1 have determined not
to rcrmit you to behave as you have for
.so loiig: f<r I know you love me. You
have i aif told me so a dozen times, and
even your half words are whole truths;
there is not a fraction of a He In you.
Besides, Mary told me that you told her
"SbB did not tell you thatf*
"Yes; upon my knightly honor." Of
i "iirst! there was but one answer to this—
t«ar«. 1 thtn brought the battle to close
quarters «t or.ee. and. with my arm un
interrupted at my lady's waist, asked:
"Did you not tell her so? I know you
will .ypcak nothing hut the truth. Did
you not tell h<>r? Answer me. Jane." The
fair h< «d nodded as she whispered be
t , ~ », t i « v rtPt js that covered her face:
"Yes; I— I— d-did": and I— well, I deliver
ed u.irr rest of Mary's message, and that,
too. without a protest from Jane.
Truthfulness is a pretty good thing after
So Jane was conquered at last, and I
heaved a sigh as. the battle ended, for it
had been a long, hard struggle. ¦
I asked Jane when we should be mar
ried, but she sa'd she could not think of
that now— not until she knew that Mary
was safe: but she would promise to be
my wife some time. I tod her that her
word was as good as gold to me;' and so
it was and always has bten: as good as
fine gold thrice refined. I then told her
I would bother her no more about it. now
that I was sure of her. but when she was
ready she should tell me of her own
acccnl and make my happiness complete.
She said she would, and I told her I be
lievfd her and was satisfied. I did. how
ever, suggest that the Intervening time
would be worse than wasted— happiness
thrown right in the face of Providence, as
it wore — and begged her not to waste any
more than necessary; to which she seri
ously and honestly answered that she
We went back to the castle, and as we
parted Jane said timidly: "I am glad X
told you. Edwin; g!ad it is over."
She had evidently dreaded it: but— I was
glad, too; right glad. Then I went to bed.
chaptetT x vi r.
Whatever tbe King might think. I knew
Lord Wolsey would quickly enough guess
the trutn when he heard that the Princess
was missing, and would have a party in
pursuit. The runaways, however, would
have at least twenty-four hours the start,
and a ship leaves no tracks. When Mary
left me she was perhaps two-thirds of a
league from the rendezvous, and night
was rapidly falling. As her road lay
through a dense forest all the way, she
would have a dark, lonely ride of a few
minutes, and I was somewhat uneasy for
that part of the journey. It had been
agreed that if everything was all right at
r the rendezvous, Mary should turn
loose her hcrse which had always been
stabled at Berkeley Castle and would
quickly trot home. To further emphasize
her safety a thread would be tied In his
forelock. The horse took his time in re
turning, and did not arrive until the sec
ond morning after the flight, but when
he came I found the thread, arid, unob
served, removed it. I quickly took it to
Jane, who has it yet. and cherishes it for
the mute message of comfort It brought
her. In case the horse shouldnot return,
I was to find a token In a hollow tree
near the place of meeting; but the thread
in the forelock to!d us our friends had
found each other.
When we left the castle Mary wore un
der her riding habit a suit of man's at
tire, and. as we rode along, she would
shrug her shoulders and laugh as if It
¦were a huge joke; and by the most com
ical little pantomime, call my attention
to her unusual bulk. So. when she found
Brandon, the only change necessary to
make a man of her ¦was to throw off the
riding habit and pull on the jack-boots
and sloyeh hat, both of which Brandon
had with him.
They wasted no time, you may be sure,
and were soon under way. In a few min
utes they picked up the two Bristol men
who were to accompany them, and. when
night had fairly fallen, left the bypaths
and took to the main road leading from
London to Bath and Bristol. The road was
a fair one; that is. it was well defined and
there was no danger of losing it; in fact,
there was more danger of losing one's
self in its fathomless mud-holes and
quagmires. Brandon had recently passed
over it twice, and had made mental note
of the worst places, so he hoped to avoid
Soon the rain began to fall in a soaking
drizzle; then the lamps of twilight went
out, and even the shadows of the night
were lost among themselves In blinding
darkness. It was one of those black nights
fit for witch traveling; and, no doubt,
every witch in England was out brewing
mischief. The horses' hoofs sucked and
splashed in the mud with a sound that
Mary thought might be he§rd at Land'"'
End; and the hoot of nn owl. now and
then disturbed by a witch, would strike
upon her ear with a volume of suund
infinitely disproportionate to the size of
any owl she had ever seen or dreamed of
Brandon wore our cushion, the great
cloak, and had provided a like one of
suitable proportions for the Princess. This
came in good play as her fine gentle
man's attire would be but poor stuff to
turn the water. The wind, which had
arisen with just enough . force . to
set up a dismal wail,. ;gave the
rain a horizontal slant and drove
it In at every opening. Tho flaps of the
comfortable gr«at cloak blew back from
Mary's knees and she felt many a chill
ing drop through her fine new silk trunks
that made her wish for buckram In their
place. Soon the water began to trickle
down her legs and find lodgment in the
jack-boots, and as the rain and wind cam©
In tremendous little whirrs, she felt
wretchedly enough— she who had always
been so well sheltered from every blast.
Now and then mud and water ¦would fly
up into her face^ — striking usually in the
eyes or mouth— and then again her horse
would stumble and almost throw her over
his head, as he sunk, knee deep, into some
unexpected hole. AH of this, with the
thousand and one noises that broke the
still worse silence of the Inky night soon
beRan to work upon her nerves and makn
Ik r fearful. The road was full of dangers
aside from stumbling horses and broken
necks, for many were the stories pf mur
«ler and robbery committed along tho
route they were traveling. It Is true they
had two stout men. and all were armed,
yet they might easily come upon a party
too strong for them; and no one could tell
what might happen, thought the princess.
There was that pitchy darkness through
which she couM hardly see her horse's
head— a thing of itself that seemed to
have Infinite powers for mischief, and
which no amount of argument ever In
duced any normally constituted woman to
bel'e.ve was the mere negat've absence of
light and not a terrible entity potent for
all sorts of«m!echlef. Then that walling
howl that rose and fell betimes: no wind
ever made s'ich a noise she felt sure.
There were those shining white gleams
which came from the little pools of water
on the road, looking like dead men's faces
upturned and pale: perhaps they were
water and perhaps they ¦were not. Mary
had all confidence In Brandon, but that
very fact operated against her. Having
that confidence and trust In him, ahe felt
no need to ¦waste her own energy In being
brave; so she relaxed completely, and had
the feminine satisfaction of allowing her
self to be thoroughly frightened.
Is it any wonder Mary's gallant but
womanly spirit sank In the face of all
those terrors? She held out bravely, how
ever, and an occasional clasp from Bran
don's hand under cover of the darkness
comforted her. When all those terrors
would not suggest even a thought of turn
ing back, you may ji-dge of the character
of this girl and her motive.
He looked at the measurements with
twinkling eye*, and remarked: "Sir Kd
win. that be the curiousest shaped man
over I see the measures of. Sure it would
made a mighty handsome woman, or I
know nothing of human dimensions.".
"Never you mind about uimensions;
make the garments as they are ordered
and keep your mouth shut, if you know
what is to your Interest. Do you hear?"
He delivered himself of a labored wink.
"1 do hear and understand too, and my
tongue Is IIW? tne tongue of an obelisk. 1
In due time I brought the suits to Mary
and they were tuon adjusted to her liking.
The days passed rapidly, till it was a
matter of less than a fortnight until the
K«.yal Hinn w uiti .-*ai!, . aim u mmy
looked as If the adventure might turn
out to our desire.
Jane was in tribulation and thought sh«
ought to be taken aiong. This, you may
be sure, was touching me very ch»- - ely,
and I began to wish the whole infernal
mess at the bottom of the sea. If Jane
vent, h.8 augtiht i^l jesty Kitic Me ry VIH
would bo without a master of dance just
a«< sure as tho stars twinkled in the
firmament. It \va.-4. however, soon • de
dded that Brandon would have hi.* h. an d3
more than full to get off with one woman
ami that two would surely spoil the ;>ian.
So June was to hr» ieti ben ml. iu. of
tribulation and Indignation, fir~i!y con
vinced that s?he wa> being treated very
Although at Mrst Jane was violently od
posed to the scheme, ' she poon caught the
contagious ardor 61 Mary's enthusiasm,
and 'knowing that her dear lady's every
chance of happiness was staked upon the
throw, grew more r?*. > onciled. To a per
son of Jane's uge this venture -for Hue
offers itse'f as the last and only ca -t~
the <ajt for all — and in this particular
ca^o. there was enough of romance to
catch the fancy of any girl. Nothing wa<
lacking to make Jt truly romantic. The
i yji'tnl S at, c.!-. of at *c>its, m •- i t ¦ he lov
ers; the rough road of their true i>ve:
i:i<> elopement, and, above all, the elope
r >** t to i-, ¦ « w woriri. wu> •¦ c sv -.lit
ii'-stlinp: in fragrant shades and glad with
tho notes of love from the throats of
countless song-birds-^-what more could a
romantic girl desire? So, to my
Juiic became more than recon
ciled, antl her fever of anticipation and
excitement grew upace with Mary's us
the time ilr<*W en.
Mary's vanity was delighted with hrr
elopement trousseau, for of course It mutt
he of the fin' st. Not that the quality was
any bettfr than her own. but tht» doublet
aril hose showed so differently on her.
£he paraded for an hour or so before
Jane, and <m she became accustomsd'-to
the new garb, and kp the steel reflected a
moHt beautiful image, she determined to
show herself to Krandon and me. She
said she wanted to become accustomed to
being seen In her doublet and hoae, and
would begin with us. She thought if she
could not bear our gaze she should surely
iruike a di.smal failure on shipboard
among fo many strange men. There was
seme good reasoning In this, and It, to
gether with her vanity, overruled her
modesty and prompted her to come to sse
u? in her character of young nobleman.
Jane made one of h«r mighty protests, so
infinitely disproportionate in size to her
Httte ladyship, but the self-willed Princess
would not listen to her, and was for com
ing alone if Jane would not come with
her. Once having determined, as usual
with her. she wasted no time about it,
but throwing a long cloak over her shoul
ders started for our rooms with angry,
weeping, protesting Jane at her heels.
When I heard the knock r was sure It
was the girls, for though Mary had prom
ised Brandon she would not. under any
circumstances, attempt another visit. I
knew so well her utter Inability to combat
her desire and her reckless disregard of
danger where there was a motive suffl
clent to furnish the nerve terslon, that I
was sure she would come, or try to come,
1 have spoken before about the quality
of bravery. What it Is. after all, and
how can we analyze it? Women, we say,
are cowardly, but I have sten a woman
t ike a rink that the bravest man's nerve
would turn on edge against. How It Is?
Can it be possible that they are braver
than we? That our bravery is of the
vaunting kind that tel'eth of itself? My
answer, made up from a long life of ob
servation, is: "Yes! Given the motive,
and a woman is the bravest creature on
earth." Yet hoW foolishly timid they are
I admitted the girls, and when the door
was shut Mary unclasped the brooch at
her throat and the great cloak fell at her
heels. Out she stepped, with a little
laugh of delight, clothed in doublet, hose,
and confusion— the prettiest picture mor
tal eyes ever rested on. Her hat, some
thing on the broad, flat style with a single
white plume encircling the crown, was of
purple velvet trimmed in gold braid and
touched here and there with precious
stones. Her doublet was of the same pur
ple velvet as her hat, trimmed in lace and
gold braid. Her short trunks were of
heavy black silk slashed by yellow satin,
with hose of lavender silk: and her little
shoes were of russet French leather.
Quite a rainbow you will say— but such a
Brandon and I were struck dumb with
admiration and could not keep from show
ing it. This disconcerted the girl, anil in
creased her embarrassment until we could
not tell which was the prettiest — the gar
ments, the girl, or the confusion; but this
I know, the whole picture was as sweet
and beautiful as the eyes of man would
Fine feathers will not make fine birds,
and Mary's masculine attire could no
more, make her look like a man than har
ness can disguise the graces of a ga
zelle. Nothing could conceal her intense,
exquisite womanhood. With our looks of
astonishment and admiration Mary's
"What is the matter? Is anything
wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing is wrong." answered Brandon,
smiling In spite of himself; "nothing on
earth Is wrong with you, you may be
sure. You are perfect — that is, for a wo
man; and one who thinks there is any
thing wrong about a perfect woman is
hard to please. But if you flatter your
self that you. in any way. resemble a
man, or that your cress in the fa'ntest de
gree conceals your sex, you are mistaken.
It makes it only more apparent."
"How can that be?" asked Mary, In
comical tribulation; "is not this a man's
doublet and hope, and this hat — Is it not
a man's hat? They are all for a man:
then why do I not look like one, I ask?
Tell me what is wrong. Oh! I thought I
looked just like a man; I thought the dis
guise was perfect."
"Well," returned Brandon, "if you will
permit mo to say so. you are entirely too
symmetrical and shapely ever to pass for
The flaming color was in her cheeks, as
Brandon went on: "Your feet are too
small, even for a boy's feet. I don't think
you could be made to look like a man if
you worked from now till doomsday."
Brandon spoke in a troubled tone, for he
was beginning to ?"<» in Mary's perfect
and Irrepressible womanhood an insur
mountable difficulty right, across his path.
"As to your feet, you might find larger
shoes, or t better still, jack-bootsf, and, as
to your hose, you might wear longer
trunks, but what to do about the doublet
I am sure T do not know."
Mary looked up helpless and forlorn,
and the hot face went Into her bended
elbow as a realization of the situation
seemed to dawn upon her.
"Oh! I wish I had not come. But I
w&nted to grow accustomed so that I
could wear them before others. I bellev«
I could bear it more easily with any one
else. I d:d not think of <t in that way,"
and she snatched her ck*ak from where it
had fallen on the floor and threw It
"What way. Mary?" asked Brandon
gently, and receiving no answr. "But
you will have to bear mv looking at you
all the time if you go with me."
"I don't believe. I <- a n do It.'
"No, no." answered he. bravely attempt-
Ing cheerfulness! "we may as well give it
up. I hav« had 1 no hope from the first.
1 knew it could not be done, and It should
not. I was both insane and criminal to
think of permitting you to try it."
Brandon's forced cheerfulness; died out
with his words, and he sank into a chair
with his elbows on his knees and his faca
in his hands. Mary ran to him at once.
There had been a little moment of falter
ing, but there was no real surrender in
Dropping on her knee beside him. she
said coaxingly: "Don't give up; you are
a man: you must not surrender, and let
me, a girl, prove the stronger. Shame
upon you when 1 look up to you so much
and expect you to help me be brave. I
will go. I will arrange myself in some
way. Oh! why am I not different? I wish
I were as straight as the Queen." and for
the first time in her life she bewailed her
beauty, because It stood between her and
She soon coaxed him out of his despon
dency, and we began again to plan the
matter in detail.
The girls sat on Brandon's cloak and ha
and I on the campstool and a box.
Mary's time was well occupied In vain,
attempts to keep herself covered with the
cloak, which seemed to have a right good
will toward Brandon and me, but she kept
track of our plans, which, in brief, were
as follows: As to her costume, we wuuld
substitute long trunks and jack-boots for
shoes and hose and as to the doublet,
Mary laughed and blushjngly said she
had a plan which she would secretly im
part to Jane, but would, not tell us. She
whispered it to Jane, whb. as serious as
the Lord Chancellor, gave judgment, and
"thought it would do.'' We hoped so, but
were full of doubts. '
This is all tame enough to write and
read about, but I can tell you it was,
sufficiently exciting at the time. Three
of us at least were playing with that com
ical old fellow. Death, and he gave the
game interest and point to our heart's
Through the thick time-layers of all
these years, I can still tee the group as
we sat there, haloed . by a hazy cloud of
tear mist. The figures rise before my
?ye6, s'i young and fair and rich In life
and yet so pathetic in their troubled earn
estness tnat a great flood of pity wells up
in my heart for the poor young souls, so
danger-bound and suffering, and withal.
so daring and so recklessly confident in
the might and right of love, and the om
nipotence of youth. Ah! If God had seen
tit in his inlinite wisdom to save just one
treasure from the wreck of Eden, what a
race t-f thankful hearts this earth would
bear, had In- n>ave.d us.youth a'one to
thereby compensate for every other 111.
As to the elopement, it was tVitermined
that Brandon -hIiouIiI leave Lend n the
following day for Bristol, and make all
tiriiingj-meiits aiong the line. 11^ would
carry with him two bund e.?, hf.s iw:i and
Mary's clothing, and if-ave- t. em to i e
taken up when they should go a-.-hi;,-*
board. K'ght horses would be pin.ut- U;
four to be left as a relay at* an i,,n b —
tween Berkeley Caste and Bristol, and
four to be kept at }he»rencJ<fxvoVtn *-..>:n"s
two leagues the other side of Berl'.o ey
[for the use of Brandon, Mary arid the two
men from Bristol who were to fust as an
escort on the eventful night. There was
or,e dlsraEreeab'e little feature that we
could not provide against nor fntireiy
eliminate. It was the fact that Jane ami
1 would he suspected as accomplices be
fore the fact of Mary's elopement; and, as
you know, to assist In the abduction of a
princess la treason— for wh:ch there Is but
one remedy.' I thought I had a plan to
keep ourselves safe if I could only stifle
for the once Jare'a troublesome and vig
orous tendency to pr<-a«'h the truth to nil
peop.e. upon all subjects and at all times
and place's. She prcm.sed to tell the story
I would drill into her. but I knew the
truth would seep cut in a thousand ways,
fehe lou.d no more hold it than a sieve
can hold water. We were playing for
great stakes, which, if I do say It, none
but the biavest hearts, bold and daring as
the truest knights • of chivalry, would
think of trying for. Nothing less than the
running away with the first princess of
the first royal blo<^ of the world. Think
of It! It aripallsme even now. Discovery
meart deafh to me of us Eurelv— Brandon;
possibly to two others— Jane and me; cer
tainly. If Jane's truthfulness should be
come unmanageable, as It was so apt to
After we had settled everything we
could think of, the girls took their leave;
Mary slying kjssing Brandon at the door.
I tried to induce Jane to follow her lady's
example, but she -w\s as cool and distant
as the new moon,
I saw Jane again that night and told her
in plain terms what I thought of her
treatment of me. I told her It was selfish
and unkind to take advantage of my love
for her and treat me so cruelly. I to!d
her that if she had one drop of generous
blood she would tell me of her love, if
she had any. or let me know it in some
way; and if she cared nothing for me
she was equally bound to be honest and
tell me plainly, so that I would not waste
my time and energy in a hopeless cause. I
thought it rather clever in ' me to force
her into a position where her refusal to
tell me that she did not care for me would
-drive her to a half avowal. Of course, I
had little fear of the former, or per
haps, I should not have been so anxious
to precipitate the Isue.
She did not answer me directly. • but
said: "From the way you looked at Mary
to-day, I was led to think you cared little
for any other girl's opinion."
"Ah! Miss Jane!" cried I joyfully; "I
have you at last; you are jealous."
"I give you to understand, sir, that your
vanity has led you Into a great mistake."
"As to your caring for me. or your jeal
ousy? Which?" I asked seriously. Adroit,
"As to the jealousy. Edwin. There, now;
I think that is saying a good deal. ! Too
much." she said pleadingly; but I got
something more before she left, even If it
was against her will; something that
made It almost impossible for me to hold
my feet to the ground.- -, c . . •. • - .
Jane. t>outed, gave me a sharp little slap
and then ran away, but at the door she
turned and threw back a rare smile that
was priceless to me; for it told me she
was not angry; and furthermore shed an
Illuminating ray upon a fact which I was
blind not to have seen long before; that
Is, that Jane was one of those girls who
must be captured vl et armis.
Some women cannot be captured at all:
they must give themselves; of this class
pre-eminently was Mary. Others again
will meet you half way and kindly lend a
helping hand: -while some, like Jane, are
always on the run, and are captured only
by pursuit. They are usually well worth
the trouble, though, and make do^le cap
tives. After that smilo from the door I
felt that Jane was mine; all I had to do
was to keep off outside enemies, charge
upon her defenses when the times were
ripe and accept nothing short of her own
sweet self as ransom.
The next day Brandon paid his respects
to the King' and Queen, made his adieus
to his friends and rede off alone to Bris
tol. You may be sure the King showed no
signs of undue grief at his departure.
A HAWKING PARTY.
A few days after Brandon's departure,
Mary, with the King's consent, organized
a small party to go over to Windsor for
a few weeks during the warm weather.
There were ten or twelve of us. in
cluding two chaperons,' the old Earl of
Hertford and the Dowager Duchess of
Kent. Henry might as well have sent
along a pair of spaniels to act as chaper
ons—it would have taken an army to
guard Mary alone— and to tell you the
truth our old chaperons needed watching
more than any of us. It was scandalous.
Each of them had a touch of the gout,
and when. they made wry faces it was a
standing Inquiry among us whether they
were leering at each other or felt a
twinge — whether it was their feet or their
hearts, that troubled them.
Mary led them a pretty life at all times,
oven at home In tho palace, and I know
they would rather have gone off with a
pack of imps than with us. The induce
ment was that it gave them better oppor
tunities to bo together— an arrangement
connived at by the Queen, I think— and
they were satisfied. The Earl nad a wife,
but he fancied the old dowager and she
fancied him, and probably the wife fan
cied somebody else, so they were all hap
py- It greatly amused the young people,
you may be sure, and Mary said, probably
without telling the exact truth, that cVery
night she prayed God to pity and forgive
their ugliness. One day the Princess said
she was becoming alarmed; their ugliness
was so intense she feared it might be con
taglous and spread. Then, with a most
comical seriousness, she added:
"Mon Dieu! Sir Edwin, what If I should
catch It? Master Charles would not take
"No danger of that, my lady; he is too
devoted to see anything but beauty In
you, no matter how much you might
"Do you really think so? Tie says so
little about it that sometimes 1 almost
Therein she f poke the secret of Bran
don's success with her, at Ie-.ist in the be
ginning: for there is wonderful potency in
the stimuli!? of a healthy little doubt.
We had a delightful canter over to
Windsor. I riding with Mary most of the
way. " I was not averse to this arrange
ment, as I not only relished Mary's mirth
and joyousnrss, which was at its height,
but hoped I might glvo by little Lady
Jane a twinge or two of .iea'o-isy per
chance to fertilize her sentiments toward
me. • - ->. \
Mary talked, and laughed, and sang, for
her soul was a fountairt of gladness that
bubbled up the instant pressure whs re
moved. She spoko of little but our last
trip over the same road, and, as we pass
ed objects on the way. told me of what
Brandon had said at this place and that.
She laughed and dimpled exquisitely in
relating how she had deliberately mado
opportunities for him to flatter her, until,
at last, he smiled in her face and told
her Rhe was the most beautiful creature
living, but that "after all, 'beauty was
as beauty did!' " t
¦ "That made me angry." said she. "I
pouted for a while, and, two or three
times, was on the" point of dismissing him,
but thought better of It and asked him
plainly wherein I did so much amiss. Then
what do you think the impudent fellow
said?" : : V ; v :_
"I cannot guess."
"He said: 'Oh, there Is bo much It would
take a lifetime to tell it.' ;
"This made me furious, but I could not
answer, and a moment later he said:
•Nevertheless, T should be only, too glad
to undertake the task.' ' •
"The thought never occurred to either
of us then that he would be taken at his
word. Bold? I should think he was; I
never saw naythlng like it! I have not told
you a tenth part of what he said to me
that day: he said anything he wished, and
it seemed that I could neither stop him
nor retaliate. Half the time I was angry
and half the time amused, but by tho
time we reached Windsor there never was
a girl more hopelessly and desperately In
love than Mary Tudor." "And she laughed
as if it were a huge joke on Mary.
She continued: "That day settled mat
ters with me for all time.. ¦ I don't know
how he did it. Yes I do • ? * " and she
launched -forth into an account of Bran
don's perfections, which I found some
what dull, and so would you.
We remained a day, or two at Windsor,
and then, over the objections of our chap
rrons, moved on to Berkeley Castle, where
Margaret of Scotland was spending the
We had another beautiful ride up the
dear old Thames to Berkeley, but Mary
had grown serious and saw none of it.
On the afternoon of the appointed day,
the Princess suggested a hawking party,
and we set out in the direction of the ren
dezvous. Our party consisted of myself,
three other gentlemen and three ladies
besides Mary. Jam: did not go: 1 was
afraid Jo trust her. She wept: and. w?th
difficulty, forced herse.f to say something
about arheadache, but the r<**st of the tn
njlites of the castle of course, lvi'l no
tffought that poHsbly they wcjro lak.iiK
tlieir'last iook upon Mary Tudor.
Think who th s gir. v.ad we were r :n- :
n'l'S away with!. Wha. r ck ess fools ?\c
vete not to have ,<e?n the utter hope;es
ness, certain failure and deadly peril of
our act: treason back as Plutonian rn' 1 '
night. Hut Providence ses ins; to have an
especial care for (fools, while wise tngn
aie left to care fur thernse >«h and it ti > s
look as if safety lies in folly.
We rode on and on, and although I tv>ok
two occasions hi the pr. s nee >>t
others to mpe Mary to return, wi;; t'>
the approach of night and ihreali nvH
rain, she took her own head, as every body
knew she always would, ami continued
Jutit before dark, as we n»'ared tlie ren
dezvous, Mary and I mai;»njed to ride
ahead of the party finite h dl.;tanc-.\ At
last we caw a heron rise, and the l'iliu-e. s
uncapped her hawk.
"This is my chance," she said: "I will
run away from you now a.nd lose myself;
¦keep them off my ttack for five minutes
and I shall be safe. Good-by. Kdvv\n;
you and Jane are the only person* I re
gret to leave. I love you as my brother
and sister. When we are settled In New
fc?pain we will have you both come to us.
Now, Kdwin, I shall tell you something:
don't let Jane put you off any longer. Shs
loves you; she told me so. There! Good
by. my friend: kiss her a thousand times
for me." And she flew her bird, and gal
loped after It at headlong speed.
' As 1 saw the beautiful young form re
cedi g from me, perhaps fo:ever, the tears
stood In my eyes, while 1 thought of the
strong heart that so unfalteringly braved
such dangers and was so loyal to itself
and daring for Its love. She ha4 shown
a little feverish excitement for a day or
two, but it was the fever of anticipation,
not of fear or hesitancy.
Soon the Princess was out of sight, and
I waited for the others to overtake me.
When they came up I was | greted in
chorus, "Where is the Princess?" 1 said
£h«> had gone off with her hawk, and had'
left me to bring them after her. I held
them talking while I could, and when
we started to follow took up the wrong
dcent. A short ride made. this apparent,
when I came in for my full share of abuse'
and ridicule, for I had led them against
judgment. I. was credited with being a
blockhead, when in fac.t they were the
We rode hurriedly back to the point of
Mary's departure and wound our horns
lustily, but my object had been accom
plished, and I knew that within twen.y
minutes from the time I last saw her. she
would be with Brandon, on the road to
Bristol, gaining on any pursuit we could
make at the rate of three miles for two.
We scoured the forest far and near, but of
eours<» found no trace. After a time rain
set in and one of the gentlemen escorted
the ladles home, while three of us re
mained to prowl, about the woods and
roads all night in a soaking drizzle. The
task was tiresome enough for me, as it
lacked motive; and when we rode into
Berkeley Castle next day, a sorrier set
of bedraggled, rain-stained, mud-covered
knighta you never saw. You may know
the castle was wild with excitement.
There were all sorts of conjectures, but
soon** we unanimously concluded it had
bcen.^he work of highwaymen, of whom
the country was full, and by whom the
Princess had certainly been abducted.
The chaperons forgot their gout and
each other, and Jane, who was the most
arfected of all, had a genuine excuse for
giving yent to her grief and went to bed
—by far the safest place for her.
What was to be done? ' First we sent a
message to the King, who would probably
have us all flayed alive — a fear In which
the chaperons shared to the fullest extent.
Next,- an armed party rode back to look
again for Mary, and, if possible, rescue
The fact that I had been out the entire
n!ght before, together with the small re
pute In which I was held for deeds of
arms, excused me from taking part in
this bootless errand, so again I profited
by tho small esteem in which I was held.
I say I profited, for I stayed at the castle
with Jane hoping to find an opportunity
in the absence of everybody else. AH the
ladles but Jane had ridden out, and tho
knights who had been with me scouring
the forest were sleeping, since they had
not my incentive to remain awake. They
had no message to deliver; no duty to
perform for an absent friend. A thousand!
Only think of it! I wished it had been a
million, and so faithful was I to my
trust that I swore in ray soul I would
deliver them, every one;
And Jane loved me! No more walking
on the hard, prosaic earth now; from this
time forth I would fly; that was the only
sensible method of locomotion. Mary had
said: "She told me so." Could it really
he true? You wl 1 at once Fee what an' ad
vantage this bit of information was to
I hoped that Jane would wish to see me
to talk over Mary's escape— so I sent word
to her that I was waiting, and she quickly
enough recovered her health and came
down. T suggested that we walk out to
a secluded little summer-house by the
river, and Jane was willing. Ah! my op
portunity was here at last.
She found her bonnet, and out we went.
"What an enchanting walk was that, and
how rich is a man who has laid up such
treasures of, memory to grow the sweeter
as he feeds upon them. A rich memory
is better than hope, for it lasts after
fruition, and serves us at a time when
hope has failed and fruition Is hut— a
memory. Ah! how we cherish it In our
hearts, and how it comes at our beck and
call to thrill us through and through antl
make us thank God that we have lived,
and wonder in our hearts why he has
yive.n poor undeserving us so much.
After we arrived at the summer-house,
Jane listened, half the time In tears, while
I told her all about Mary'n flight.
Shall I ever forget that summer day? A
sweet briar entwined our enchanted
bower and, when I catch its scent even
now, time-vaulting memory carries me
back, making years seem as days, and I
see, it all a3 I sav/ the light of noon that
moment — and all was Jane. The; softly
lapping river, as It gently sought the sea.
sang in soothing cadence of naught hut
.T;me: the south wind from his flowery
home, breather zephyr-voiced her name
again. }>nd. as it stirred the rustling leaves
on bush and tree they whispered back
the same sweet strain; and every fairy
voice found 'its- echo in my soul: for thero
'it was as 'twas with me, "Jane! Jan>»!
Jane!" I have heard men say they -would
not live their lives over and take its mea
ger grains of happiness, in such f infinite
disproportion to its grief and pain. but.
as for me, thanks to one "woman. I almost
have the minutes numbered all along the
wny, and know them 'one from thnjnhpr;
and when I sit alone to dream, and live
.igain some, portion of the happy past, I
hardl" know what time to choose, or in
cident to dwell upon, my life is so much
crowded with them all. Would I live again
my life? Aye. every moment except per
haps when jane was ill— and therein even
was happiness, for what a joy there was
it her recovery. 1 do not even regret that
it Is closing; it would he ungrateful: 1
have had so much more than my share
that' I simply fall upon my kneea and
thank God for what he has given.
June's whole attitude toward me was
changed, and sho seemed to cling to me, in
a shy. unconscious manner, that was
aweet beyond the naming, as the one so
lace for all her grief.
After I had answered; all her questions,
and had told her over and over again
every detail of Mary's flight, and had as
sured her that the Princess was. at that
hour breasting the waves with Brandon,
on tlieir high road to paradise. I thought
It time to start myself in the same direc
tion and to say a word In my own behalf.
So I spoke very freely and told Jane what
I felt and what! wanted.
"Oh. Sir Edwin," she responded, "let us
not think of anythmg but my mistress.
Think of the trouble she is in." ¦ .
"No! no! Jane: L#ady. Mary is out of her
troublo by now, and Is as happy as a lark,
Thus the royal ¦wrath was cppcased to
Kucfa an extent thai the crdtr £or expui
t-uni was modified to a comn-..;nd that
there be no more quartet gathering*
iii Lady Mary's j'ar'.ui. Thit. leniency
v*.;**s more easy for the Princess 10
twins; abnut by reason of the fact
th-.t she had not spoken to h~r
brother since the <1ay sin* went to pee
l:im after Wol*ey« \IfH. and hud been
W» roughly driven off. At first, upon her
refusal to f=peak to him-after the Wolsey
vf*It-7Henry vas angry on account of
what ho called her indolence; hut as she
<ii<l not sf-fm So caiv for that, and as his.
anger did nothing toward unsealing her
lipH. he pretended Indifference. Still the
same stubborn silence was maintained.
This soon hep.-'ii t-> unose the King. :;r.<J
• f laic hr- h>a'l been iiy:r"j? t;< be on friend
ly terms apain with his sifter through a
m.i i»-s of elephantine antic* beariike
•pleasantries. « hit h w^rt the moot dismal
i;iiiures=— that i.--. ttl the way of bringing
.-ibout a. reconciliation. They were more
successful from a comical point cf view.
>''i Henry was reaiiy Kiad Cor sum^thinc
;hat would loosen the tongue usually pt
lively, and l«-r iin opportunity to gratify
his sister from whein he was demanding
sv< h a sacrifu-e, and for whom ho cx
!>»¦•< s<=d to receive no less .< price than the
help of IajuIk r>f rranr*. the mo^t power
ful Kiig cf Europe, to the imperial
Tbtn <u;r m^'-'t ; !-!pp were broken up. and
Brandon kneir his diexm was ovr. aud
that any effort to pee the Princess would
probably result In disaster for them both;
!'>r bin orriainlj .
The Kirp uj>o:i that surr.e day told
Mary of :he int-?r<-;-5)tr<1 letter sent by
h*-r to Brandon jtt Ni-wcatr. and accused
her of what he was jut-used to term an
Improper f< * iinp: f< r a ktw-tooni fellow.
Mary at once sent a fall account of the
communication i'i a letter to Brandon.
who read It wUh !<«"> sraall degree of ill
comfort as the harbirfcer of .trouble.
"I 'had betu-t* Kave here soon, or I may
go nrithotxi ry head.? he. remarked.
"When ih-.ii ti "Mjrht c<ts to v.-nrking >n
the K-ns's traki he will strike, and 1—
I,etu:s began to con* to our rooms
from Mary, at first uepginc Urandon to
fom« to h«*r. and then upbraiding him
because cf hi? coldness and enwrrdire,
and telling bin) that if he cared for her
as she did for him he would ppo h»r.
though he had to wade through tire and
Mood. That was exactly where the trou-
We lay; it was not tire and blood through
whi<ii lie would have to pass: they were
smail matters, mere nothing that would
really have added Best au.i interest to
the achievement. But the frowning laugh
of the tyrant, who could bind him hand
sttI foot, and a vivid r*>m< mbrance of
tho Newgate dungeon, with a dangling
noose or a hollowed out block in the near
background, were matters that would
have taken the advwttttiroua temlen'-y out
of even the cracked brain of chivalry H
f=«*if. Brandon tared only to I'.ght where
there was a pbfislbte victory n r ransom.
or a. prospect of some sort, at least, of
achieving success. Eayard preferred a
stone wall, and thought to show his
l>rain? out several centuries before Bayard
and in a sense he couid do it. • • •
¦What a pity this senseless, stiff -kneed,
licht-hcaded chivalry did not beat its
brains out several centures before Bayard
put such an absurd price upon himself.
So every phase of the question which
hit) good sense presented told Brandon,
whose passion was as ardent though not
so impatient as Mary's, that it would
l.e worse than foolhardy to try to see
Ikt. He. however, determined to see
her once more before ho left, but as it
¦ ou]c\ in all probability be only once, he
was resr-rving the meetfr>jr until the last,
nnd hud written Mary that it was their
best ar.d only chance.
This brought to Mary a stinging real
ization of the fa«-t that Brandon was
about to leave her and that Fhe would
lose him if something were not done
quickly. Now for Mary, after a life of
pratified whims, to lose the very thins
slip wanted most of all — that for which
she woulri willingly have given up every
other desire her heart had ever coined—
was a thought hardly to be endured. She
fpR that the world would surely collapse.
It could not. would not. should not be.
Her vigorous young nerves were 1oo
etror.g to be benumbed by an overwhelm
ing agony, as is somf times the case with
those who are fortunate enough to be
weaker, ko she had to suffer and endure.
Life Itself, yes. life a thousand times,
was slipping: away from her. She mutt
be doing something- or she would perish.
Poor Mary! How a prand soul like hers,
full of faults ard weakness, can puffer.
What an infinite disproportion between
ber susceptibility to pain and her power
t'j combat it. She bad the maximum ca
] ac'ty for one ar.d the minimum strength
for the other. No wondpr it drove her
almost mad — that excruciating par.g of
She could not endure inaction, so «he
r!kl the wor?t thing possible. She went
alone one afternoon, just before dusk, to
*<>e Brandon at our rooms. I was not
tii^re when Fhe first went in. but. hav
ing seen her on tho way. suspected some
thing and followed, arriving two or three
minutes after her. 1 knew it was best
that I should be present, and was sur»
Brandon would wls*) It. When I entered
(hey were holding each other's hands, in
Filence. They had not yet found their
tongues, so full and crowded were their
h*srts. It was pathetic to see them, es
pecially the girl, who had not Brandon's
hopelessness to deaden the pain by par
Vpon my <n1 ranee she dropped his
hand? and turned quickly toward me with
h frightened look, but was reassured upon
Feeing who jt was. Brandon mechajiical
lv walked away from her and seated
himself on a stool. Mary, as mechani
caJly, moved to his side and placed hxr
hand on h!s fhoulder. Turning her face
toward me. she said: "Sir Kdwin. I know
you will forgive rr.*» when I tell you that
¦we have a great deal to say and wish to
I was about to go when Brandon stop
"No, no; Caskoden. please stay; it would
not do. It would be bad enough. God
knows, if the Princess should be found
here with both of us: but. with me alone.
I should be dead before morninjr. There
Is danger enough as it Is, for they will
Mary knew he was right, but she could
not resist' a vicious little plance toward
m«». who was in no way to blame.
Presently we all moved into the window.
nay, where Brandon and Mary sat upon
the great cloak and I on a campstool in
front of thfm. completely filling- up the
"I can bear this no longer." exclaimed.
TIary. "I will ro to my brother to-night
*nd tell him all; I will tell him how »I
suffer, and that I shall die if you are
allowed to go away and leave me for
rver. He loves me. and I can do any
thing with him whrn I try. I know I
can obtain his consent to our — our — mar
riage. He cannot know how I puffer, else
he would not treat me so. I will let him
fee— I Tv-Ill convince him. I have in my
mind everything I went to say and do.
I will ffit on his knee and stroke his hair
*nd kiss him." And she laughed 'softly as
V-r spirit revived in the breath of a grow
ing hope. "Then I will tell him how hand,
finif he le. and how I heax the ladies
Fighir.sr for him. and he will come around
sll right by the third visit. Oh, I know
how to do It; I have done it so' often.
Never fear! I wish I had gone at it long
Her enthusiastic fever of hope was real
ly contagious, but Brandon, whose life
was at stake, had his wits quickened by
"Mary, would you like to see ma a.
corpse before to-morrow noon?" he asked.
"Why: of course rot. Why do you ask
euch a dreadful question?"
"Because, if you wish to make sure of
it <io what you have just said— sro to the
King and tell him all. 1 doubt if he could
wait till morning, but believe he would
awaken me at midnight to put m* to
Fle*>p forever — at the end of a rope or on
d block pillow."
"Oh! no! you are r!1 wrong:; I know
what I can do with H*nrv."
"If that i« the case. I say pood-by now.
for I *hall be out of England. If possible.
by midnight. You must promise me that
you will not only not go to the King at
»ll about this matter, but that you will
truard your tongue jealous of Its Blljfht
«>st word, and remember with every
breath that on your prudence hangs my
life, which. T know, in desr to you. T)"o
you promise? If you do not. I must fly;
*o you will lose me one way or the other
if you tell the King, cither by my flight
or by my death."
"I promise." said Mary, with drooping
head, the embodiment of despair; all life
and hope having- left her a^ain.
After a few minutes her fac e brightened
find she asked Brandon what chip he
would sail in for New Spain, and whence.
"We sail in the Royal Hind, from Bris
tol, in about a fortnight." he replied.
"How many go out in her, and are there
"No! no!" he returned: "no woman
rnuld make the trip: and. besides, on
rhips of that port, half pirate, half mer
chant, they do not take women. The
sailors are superstitions about it and will
not sail with them. They say they bring
bad luck — adverse winds, calms, storms.
Slackness, monsters from the deep and
THE SUNDAY CALL.
Concluded Next Weeit.