Henry looked at Mary with the stare of a baited bull.

“If running off in male attire, and stopping at inns and boarding ships with a common Captain of the guard doesn’t justify my accusation and stamp you what you are, I do not know what would.”

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Even Henry saw her innocence in her genuine surprise.  She was silent for a little time, and I, standing close to her, could plainly see that this phase of the question had never before presented itself.

She hung her head for a moment and then spoke:  “It may be true, as you say, that what I have done will lose me my fair name—­I had never thought of it in that light—­but it is also true that I am innocent and have done no wrong.  You may not believe me, but you can ask Master Brandon”—­here the king gave a great laugh, and of course the courtiers joined in.

“It is all very well for you to laugh, but Master Brandon would not tell you a lie for your crown—­” Gods!  I could have fallen on my knees to a faith like that—­“What I tell you is true.  I trusted him so completely that the fear of dishonor at his hands never suggested itself to me.  I knew he would care for and respect me.  I trusted him, and my trust was not misplaced.  Of how many of these creatures who laugh when the king laughs could I say as much?” And Henry knew she spoke the truth, both concerning herself and the courtiers.

With downcast eyes she continued:  “I suppose, after all, you are partly right in regard to me; for it was his honor that saved me, not my own; and if I am not what you called me I have Master Brandon to thank—­not myself.”

“We will thank him publicly on Tower Hill, day after to-morrow, at noon,” said the king, with his accustomed delicacy, breaking the news of Brandon’s sentence as abruptly as possible.

With a look of terror in her eyes, Mary screamed:  “What!  Charles Brandon....  Tower Hill?...  You are going to kill him?”

“I think we will,” responded Henry; “it usually has that effect, to separate the head from the body and quarter the remains to decorate the four gates.  We will take you up to London in a day or two and let you see his beautiful head on the bridge.”

“Behead—­quarter—­bridge!  Lord Jesu!” She could not grasp the thought; she tried to speak, but the words would not come.  In a moment she became more coherent, and the words rolled from her lips as a mighty flood tide pours back through the arches of London Bridge.

“You shall not kill him; he is blameless; you do not know.  Drive these gawking fools out of the room, and I will tell you all.”  The king ordered the room cleared of everybody but Wolsey, Jane and myself, who remained at Mary’s request.  When all were gone, the princess continued:  “Brother, this man is in no way to blame; it is all my fault—­my fault that he loves me; my fault that he tried to run away to New Spain with me.  It may be that I have done wrong and that my conduct has been unmaidenly, but I could not help it.  From the first time I ever saw him in the lists with you at Windsor there was a gnawing hunger in my heart beyond my control.  I supposed, of course, that day he would contrive some way to be presented to me....”