You may say what you will, but I like a fighting woman; one with a touch of the savage in her when the occasion arises; one who can fight for what she loves as well as against what she hates.  She usually loves as she fights—­with all her heart.

So Mary was crowned, and was now a queen, hedged about by the tinseled divinity that hedgeth royalty.

It seemed that she was climbing higher and higher all the time from Brandon, but in her heart every day she was brought nearer to him.

There was one thing that troubled her greatly, and all the time.  Henry had given his word that Brandon should be liberated as soon as Mary had left the shores of England, but we had heard nothing of this matter, although we had received several letters from home.  A doubt of her brother, in whom she had little faith at best, made an ache at her heart, which seemed at times likely to break it—­so she said.  One night she dreamed that she had witnessed Brandon’s execution, her brother standing by in excellent humor at the prank he was playing her, and it so worked upon her waking hours that by evening she was ill.  At last I received a letter from Brandon—­which had been delayed along the road—­containing one for Mary.  It told of his full pardon and restoration to favor, greater even than before; and her joy was so sweet and quiet, and yet so softly delirious, that I tell you plainly it brought tears to my eyes and I could not hold them back.

The marriage, when once determined upon, had not cast her down nearly so deep as I had expected, and soon she grew to be quite cheerful and happy.  This filled me with regret, for I thought of how Brandon must suffer, and felt that her heart was a poor, flimsy thing to take this trouble so lightly.

I spoke to Jane about it, but she only laughed.  “Mary is all right,” said she; “do not fear.  Matters will turn out better than you think, perhaps.  You know she generally manages to have her own way in the end.”

“If you have any comfort to give, please give it, Jane.  I feel most keenly for Brandon, heart-tied to such a wilful, changeable creature as Mary.”

“Sir Edwin Caskoden, you need not take the trouble to speak to me at all unless you can use language more respectful concerning my mistress.  The queen knows what she is about, but it appears that you cannot see it.  I see it plainly enough, although no word has ever been spoken to me on the subject.  As to Brandon being tied to her, it seems to me she is tied to him, and that he holds the reins.  He could drive her into the mouth of purgatory.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know it.”

I remained in thought a moment or two, and concluded that she was right.  In truth, the time had come to me when I believed that Jane, with her good sense and acute discernment, could not be wrong in anything, and I think so yet.  So I took comfort on faith from her, and asked:  “Do you remember what you said should happen before we return to England?”