CHAPTER XIX

Proserpina

So the value received for Wolsey’s friendship to Brandon was Mary’s promise to marry Louis.

Mary wanted to send a message at once to Brandon, telling him his life would be spared, and that she had made no delay this time—­a fact of which she was very proud—­but the Tower gates would not open until morning, so she had to wait.  She compensated herself as well as she could by writing a letter, which I should like to give you here, but it is too long.  She told him of his pardon, but not one word upon the theme he so wished yet feared to hear of—­her promise never to wed any other man.  Mary had not told him of her final surrender in the matter of the French marriage, for the reason that she dreaded to pain him, and feared he might refuse the sacrifice.

“It will almost kill him, I know,” she said to Jane that night, “and I fear it is a false kindness I do him.  He would, probably, rather die than that I should marry another; I know that I should rather die, or have anything else terrible to happen, than for another woman to possess him.  He promised me he never would; but suppose he should fail in his word, as I have to-day failed in mine?  The thought of it absolutely burns me.”  And she threw herself into Jane’s arms, and that little comforter tried to soothe her by making light of her fears.

“Oh! but suppose he should?”

“Well! there is no need to borrow trouble.  You said he promised you, and you know he is one who keeps his word.”

“But I promised, too, and think of what I am about to do.  Mary in heaven, help me!  But he is made of different stuff from me.  I can and do trust his word, and when I think of all my troubles, and when it seems that I cannot bear them, the one comforting thought comes that no other woman will ever possess him; no other woman; no other woman.  I am glad that my only comfort comes from him.”

“I hoped that I might have been some comfort to you; I have tried hard enough,” said Jane, who was jealous.

“Oh! yes! my sweet Jane; you do comfort me; you are like a soothing balm to an aching pain,” and she kissed the hands that held hers.  This was all that modest little Jane required.  She was content to be an humble balm and did not aspire to the dignity of an elixir.

The girls then said their prayers in concert and Mary gently wept herself to sleep.  She lay dreaming and tossing nervously until sunrise, when she got up and added more pages to her letter, until I called to take it.

I was on hand soon after the Tower gates had opened and was permitted to see Brandon at once.  He read Mary’s letter and acted like every other lover, since love-letters first began.  He was quick to note the absence of the longed for, but not expected assurance, and when he did not see it went straight to the point.

“She has promised to marry the French king to purchase my life.  Is that not true?”