But with an agitated little cry she contrived to escape him. He seemed much amused at her nervousness; what had she to fear? was she not his own, to protect even from the semblance of ill? But Ursula, now fully awakened to ordinary, everyday surroundings, was fearful lest her own innocent little deception should be too crudely, too suddenly unmasked.

She had so earnestly looked forward to the moment when she would say to him that she in sooth was none other than Lady Ursula Glynde, the woman whom every conventionality had decreed that he should marry, and whom--because of these conventionalities--he had secretly but certainly disliked.

Her woman's heart had already given her a clear insight into the character and the foibles of the man she loved. His pa.s.sion for her now, sincere and great though it was, was partly dependent on that atmosphere of romance which his poetical temperament craved for, and which had surrounded the half-mysterious personality of exquisite, irresistible "f.a.n.n.y."

Instinctively she dreaded the rough hand of commonplace, that ugly, coa.r.s.e destroyer of poetic idylls. A few hastily uttered words might shatter in an hour the mystic shrine wherein Wess.e.x had enthroned her.

She had meant to tell him soon, to-morrow perhaps, perhaps only after a few days, but she wished to find her own time for this, when he knew her inner soul better, and the delicate cobwebs of this great love-at-first-sight had fallen away from his eyes.

She could not altogether have explained to herself why a sudden disclosure of her ident.i.ty at this moment would have been peculiarly unpleasant to her. It was a weak, childish feeling no doubt. But such as it was, it was real, and strong, and genuine.

Barely a minute had elapsed whilst these quick thoughts and fears went wildly coursing through her mind. There was no time to tell him everything now. The voices came from the next room, within the next few seconds probably the great door would be open to admit a group of people: the d.u.c.h.ess of Lincoln and the ladies mayhap, or the Queen on her way to chapel. And His Grace of Wess.e.x looked terribly determined.

"No! no! no!--not just this moment, sweet Grace," she entreated, "by your love! not _just_ this moment. . . . The Queen would be so angry . . . oh! not _just_ now!"

She looked so genuinely disturbed, and so tenderly appealing, that he could not help but obey.

"But you cannot send me away like this," he urged. "Another word, sweet saint. . . . Faith! I could not live without another kiss. . . ."

"No, no, no, I entreat Your Grace . . . not to-night," she protested feebly.

He thought, however, that he detected a sign of yielding in her voice, although she was already beginning to mount the steps ready for flight.

"Just one tiny word," he whispered hurriedly: "when the Queen has pa.s.sed through, linger up there for one brief minute only. I'll wait in there!"

And he pointed to a small door close behind him, which led to an inner closet at right angles with the gallery. Before she had time to protest--nay! perhaps she had no wish to refuse--he had disappeared behind its heavy panels, quickly calling to his dog to follow him. But in that one moment's hesitation, those few brief and delicious words hastily exchanged, she had lost her opportunity for escape.

The next instant the door at the further end of the room was thrown open, and the Queen entered followed by some of her ladies. She was accompanied by the d.u.c.h.ess of Lincoln, and His Eminence the Cardinal de Moreno was on her left.

As chance or ill-luck would have it, the first sight which greeted Her Majesty's eyes was the figure of Lady Ursula, midway up the steps which led to the gallery, some mysterious imp of mischief having contrived that the light from the wax tapers should unaccountably and very vividly fall upon the white-clad form of the young girl. An exclamation of stern reproval from Her Grace of Lincoln brought Ursula to a standstill.

Flight now was no longer possible; she could but trust in her guardian angel, or in any of those protective genii who have in their keeping the special care of lovers in distress, and who happened to be hovering nigh.

It was not seemly to be half-way up a flight of stairs when Her Majesty was standing on the floor below. Ursula, with her cheeks aflame with vexation, slowly descended, whilst encountering as boldly as she could the artillery fire of half a dozen pairs of eyes fixed steadily upon her.

Mary Tudor looked coldly severe, Her Grace of Lincoln horror-struck, His Eminence ironical, and the ladies vastly amused.

"Ah, child!" said Her Majesty, in her iciest tone of voice, "all alone, and in this part of the Palace?"

She looked the dainty young figure disdainfully up and down, then her eye caught the sheaf of roses lying in a fragrant tangle close to the foot of the stairs. There was a quick flash of anger in her face, then a frown. Ursula wondered how much she guessed or what she suspected.

But the Queen, after that one quick wave of pa.s.sionate wrath, made an obvious effort to control herself. She turned composedly to the d.u.c.h.ess of Lincoln.

"Your Grace is aware," she said drily, "that I deem it most indecorous for my maids-of-honour to wander about the Palace alone."

The wrinkled old face of the kindly d.u.c.h.ess expressed the most heartfelt sorrow.

"I crave Your Majesty's humble pardon . . ." she stammered in an agony of misery at this public reproof. "I . . ."

"Nay, d.u.c.h.ess, I know the difficulty of your task," rejoined Mary Tudor bitingly, "the other ladies are docile, and their behaviour is maidenly and chaste. 'Tis not always so with the Lady Ursula Glynde."

Mary's voice had been so trenchant and hard that it seemed to Ursula's sensitive ears as if its metallic tones must have penetrated to every corner of the Palace. She gave a quick, terrified look towards the door, longing with all her might for the gift to see through its ma.s.sive panels--to know what went on within that inner closet, where Wess.e.x was waiting and must have heard.

One pair of eyes, however, had caught that swift glance, and noted the sudden obvious fright which accompanied it. His Eminence had not taken his piercing eyes from off the young girl's face; he had seen every movement of the delicate nostril, every quiver of the eyelid.

What Mary Tudor only half suspected, what the good old d.u.c.h.ess could not even conjecture, that His Eminence had already more than guessed.

The delicate, rosy blush which suffused the young girl's cheeks, that indescribable something which emanated from her entire personality, the half-withered roses, all told their tale to this experienced diplomatist, accustomed to read his fellow-creatures' thoughts. Then that quick, apprehensive look towards the door had confirmed his every surmise.

"She has seen His Grace. . . . He is closeted in there!" were his immediate mental deductions. And whilst Ursula met Her Majesty's cold glances with as much boldness as she could command, and Her Grace of Lincoln lost herself in a maze of abject apologies, His Eminence, seemingly unconcerned, edged up to the low door, keeping the lock and handle thereof well in view.

"I crave Your Majesty's indulgence for the child," the d.u.c.h.ess of Lincoln was muttering. "She meant no harm, I'll take my oath on that, and she will, I know, return at once to her room, there to grieve over Your Majesty's disapproval of her. She----"

"Nay, d.u.c.h.ess," interrupted the Queen sternly, "repentance is far from Lady Ursula's thoughts, and her behaviour is not the thoughtlessness of a moment."

"Your Majesty . . ." protested the d.u.c.h.ess, whilst Ursula threw her head back in token of proud denial.

"The rumour has already reached us," continued Mary, "of a maid-of-honour's strange wanderings at night and in disguise outside the purlieus of the Palace, and that the maiden who so far forgot her rank and her modesty was none other than the Lady Ursula Glynde."

Again that quick apprehensive glance directed towards the closet door at mention of her name, a glance unseen by any one present save by His Eminence's watchful eyes. To him it had revealed all that he wished to know, whilst the Queen, blinded by her own jealousy, saw nothing but a rival whom she desired to humiliate.

"Wess.e.x is behind that door . . ." mused His Eminence. "She starts every time her name is uttered . . . ergo, he made love to her without knowing who she is."

It was natural and simple. The very logical sequence of a series of co-ordinated thoughts, together with a shrewd knowledge of human nature.

How this little incident would affect his own immediate plans His Eminence had not yet conjectured. That it would prove of vast importance, he was never for a moment in doubt. Therefore, at a moment when every one's eyes were fixed upon the Queen or Ursula, he quietly turned the key in the lock of that closet door, and slipped the key in his own pocket.

After that he rejoined the group of ladies, feeling that he could wait in peace until the close of the dramatic little episode.

"The rumour, if rumour there was," Ursula had retorted defiantly, "is a false one, Your Majesty."

"Indeed, child," said the Queen coldly, "did you not, then, some days ago leave the Palace with no other companion save weak-willed Margaret Cobham?"

"Verily, I . . ."

"In order to visit, in disguise, or masked, or cloaked--we know not--some public entertainment, a country fair, methinks?"

"Of a truth, but . . ."

"You do not deny that, meseems."

"I do not deny it, Your Majesty. I meant no harm."

"No harm! hark at the girl! Was there no harm then in your meeting certain gentlemen of our Court, under circ.u.mstances not altogether creditable to the fair fame of our English maidens?"

"Has the Marquis de Suarez dared. . . ."

"Nay! We did not name the Marquis, girl. Of a truth a gentleman will dare all, once a maid forgets her own dignity. But enough of this. I spoke a word of warning in your own interests. The Marquis--saving His Eminence's presence--has all the faults of his race. We warn you to cease this intercourse, which doth no credit to your modesty."