“You did?”

“Yes, but he made no effort at all, and when we met he treated me as if I were an ordinary girl.”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“Horrible.”

Mary was too intent on her story to heed the sarcasm, and continued:  “That made me all the more interested in him since it showed that he was different from the wretches who beset you and me with their flattery, and I soon began to seek him on every occasion.  This is an unmaidenly history I am giving, I know, but it is the truth, and must be told.  I was satisfied at first if I could only be in the same room with him, and see his face, and hear his voice.  The very air he breathed was like an elixir for me.  I made every excuse to have him near me; I asked him to my parlor—­you know about that—­and—­and did all I could to be with him.  At first he was gentle and kind, but soon, I think, he saw the dawning danger in both our hearts, as I too saw it, and he avoided me in every way he could, knowing the trouble it held for us both.  Oh! he was the wiser—­and to think to what I have brought him.  Brother, let me die for him—­I who alone am to blame; take my life and spare him—­spare him!  He was the wiser, but I doubt if all the wisdom in the world could have saved us.  He almost insulted me once in the park—­told me to leave him—­when it hurt him more than me, I am now sure; but he did it to keep matters from growing worse between us.  I tried to remember the affront, but could not, and had he struck me I believe I should have gone back to him sooner or later.  Oh! it was all my fault; I would not let him save himself.  So strong was my feeling that I could bear his silence no longer, and one day I went to him in your bed-chamber ante-room and fairly thrust myself and my love upon him.  Then, after he was liberated from Newgate, I could not induce him to come to me, so I went to him and begged for his love.  Then I coaxed him into taking me to New Spain, and would listen to no excuse and hear no reason.  Now lives there another man who would have taken so much coaxing?”

“No! by heaven! your majesty,” said Wolsey, who really had a kindly feeling for Brandon and would gladly save his life, if, by so doing, he would not interfere with any of his own plans and interests.  Wolsey’s heart was naturally kind when it cost him nothing, and much has been related of him, which, to say the least, tells a great deal more than the truth.  Ingratitude always recoils upon the ingrate, and Henry’s loss was greater than Wolsey’s when Wolsey fell.

Henry really liked, or, rather, admired, Brandon, as had often been shown, but his nature was incapable of real affection.  The highest point he ever reached was admiration, often quite extravagant for a time, but usually short-lived, as naked admiration is apt to be.  If he had affection for any one it was for Mary.  He could not but see the justice of his sister’s position, but he had no intention of allowing justice, in the sense of right, to interfere with justice in the sense of the king’s will.