“I hope not,” I answered, evasively; “I have seen very little of her, and she has said nothing about it.”

“You are evading my question, I see.  Do you know nothing of it?”

“Nothing,” I replied, telling an unnecessary lie.

“Caskoden, you are either a liar or a blockhead.”

“Make it a liar, Brandon,” said I, laughingly, for I was sure of my place in his heart and knew that he meant no offense.

I never doubt a friend; one would better be trustful of ninety-nine friends who are false than doubtful of one who is true.  Suspicion and super-sensitiveness are at once the badge and the bane of a little soul.

I did not leave the Tower until noon, and Brandon’s pardon had been delivered to him before I left.  He was glad that the first news of it had come from Mary.

He naturally expected his liberty at once, and when told that he was to be honorably detained for a short time, turned to me and said:  “I suppose they are afraid to let me out until she is off for France.  King Henry flatters me.”

I looked out of the window up Tower street and said nothing.

When I left I took a letter to Mary, which plainly told her he had divined it all, and she wrote a tear-stained answer, begging him to forgive her for having saved his life at a cost greater than her own.

For several days I was kept busy carrying letters from Greenwich to the Tower and back again, but soon letters ceased to satisfy Mary, and she made up her mind that she must see him.  Nothing else would do.  She must not, could not, and, in short, would not go another day without seeing him; no, not another hour.  Jane and I opposed her all we could, but the best we could accomplish was to induce her for Brandon’s sake—­for she was beginning to see that he was the one who had to suffer for her indiscretions—­to ask Henry’s permission, and if he refused, then try some other way.  To determine was to act with Mary, so off she went without delay to hunt the king, taking Jane and me along as escort.  How full we were of important business, as we scurried along the corridors, one on each side of Mary, all talking excitedly at once.  When anything was to be done, it always required three of us to do it.

We found the king, and without any prelude, Mary proffered her request.  Of course it was refused.  Mary pouted, and was getting ready for an outburst, when Wolsey spoke up:  “With your majesty’s gracious permission, I would subscribe to the petition of the princess.  She has been good enough to give her promise in the matter of so much importance to us, and in so small a thing as this I hope you may see your way clear toward favoring her.  The interview will be the last and may help to make her duty easier.”  Mary gave the cardinal a fleeting glance from her lustrous eyes full of surprise and gratitude, and as speaking as a book.

Henry looked from one to the other of us for a moment, and broke into a boisterous laugh.