announced the page, "and the Lieutenant of the Tower demands the prisoner."

"'Tis well! you may go."

"The Lieutenant of the Tower awaits Your Majesty's pleasure and His Grace of Wess.e.x in the next room."

"'Tis well. The Lieutenant may wait."

The page bowed again and retired.

Then only did Mary Tudor's self-control entirely desert her. Forgetting all her dignity and pride, her self-will and masterfulness, she clung to the man she loved with pa.s.sionate ardour, sobbing and entreating.

"No! no!--they shall not take you!--they dare not! Say but one word to me, my dear lord . . . what is it to you?--'twere all my life to me.

. . . What should we care for the opinion of the world?--Am I not above it? . . . so will you be when you are King of England. . . ."

Wess.e.x had need of all his firmness, and of all his courage, to free himself as gently as he could from her clinging arms. He waited until her half-hysterical paroxysm of grief had subsided, smoothing with tender hand her moist hair and burning forehead. She was a woman beside herself with grief, almost sublime in this hour of madness.

"I will not let you go!" she repeated persistently.

Through the door there came the sound of a slight clash of arms. The Lieutenant of the Tower and his guard were impatiently waiting for their prisoner. Wess.e.x saw Mary's whole figure stiffen at this m.u.f.fled sound.

Like an enraged animal she turned towards the door. For one second he wondered what she would do, how much humiliation her uncontrolled pa.s.sion would heap upon him, through some mad, impulsive action. He jumped to his feet, and, regardless of all save the imminence of this critical moment, he seized both her wrists in an iron grip, striving through the infliction of this physical pain to bring back her wandering senses.

She looked him straight in the face with a tender and appealing gaze

"Did you not know that I loved you even to humiliation?" she said.

"May G.o.d and all His angels bless you for that love," he replied earnestly, "but before Him and them I swear to you that if you do not allow the justice of your realm to have its will with me, I'll not survive your own disgrace and mine."

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out that picture of unbendable determination expressed in his whole att.i.tude, and which she at last felt that nothing would conquer. The rigidity of her figure relaxed, the fury died out from her heart, she only felt inexpressibly sorrowful, helpless and broken-hearted.

"G.o.d be with you, my dear lord," she whispered.

He kissed her hands: all the fever had gone out of them, they were icy cold: there was neither arrogance nor obstinacy in her face now, her eyes were still closed, and one by one, heavy tears fell down her wan cheeks.

The pathos of her helplessness and of her crushed pride made a strong appeal to the sentiments of tender loyalty which he had always felt for her, who was his Queen and Liege Lady. He saw that she was determined not to break down, that she was gathering all her courage for the supreme farewell.

"I beseech Your Majesty to allow me to order the guard," he urged.

She tottered and would have fallen, had he not put out his arm to support her.

"Do not forget that you are a Tudor and a Queen, and remember," he added quaintly, as her head fell against his shoulder, "remember . . . I am only a man!"

He led her back to her seat, then he touched the handbell, and when the page appeared he said firmly--

"I am at the Lieutenant's service."

He knelt once more before the Queen and finally bade her farewell. She could neither speak nor move, and scarcely had the strength to take a last look at the loved one, as with a firm step he pa.s.sed out of her sight.

There was a clash of steel against steel, a few words of command, the sound of retreating footsteps, then silence.

Queen Mary Tudor was alone with her grief.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

A BARGAIN

But Mary would not have been the woman she was if she admitted a failure, whilst there was still a chance of victory.

The first half-hour after Wess.e.x' departure she gave way to weakness and to a flood of tears, she turned to her prie-Dieu and prayed fervently for resignation to the heavenly will, for strength to bear her cross.

"Holy Mother of our crucified Lord, pray for me now and at the hour of _his_ death," was the burden of her pa.s.sionate orisons.

"Take my life since _he_ must die," she added, striking her breast and falling prostrate before the holy images.

And then reaction set in. She felt more calm after her prayers, and began to think more clearly. The inevitableness of a catastrophe seemed to become less tangible, a persistent and hopeful "if" crept in amongst her desperate litanies. She dried her tears, rang for her waiting-woman, had her face bathed with soothing, scented waters, her temples rubbed with perfumed vinegar.

All the while now she repeated to herself--

"I _will_ save him . . . I _will_ save him . . . but how? . . . how?"

She had less than twenty-four hours in which to do it, and she had spent fourteen days previously in the same endeavour, without arriving at any definite plan, save the one which had so signally failed just now.

"If being found guilty I were acquitted at Your Majesty's desire, 'twould be said the Queen had saved her lover--and then married a felon!" was his sole reply to her impa.s.sioned query whether he loved her and would be saved by her command.

She would have been content to lose her honour for his sake, he would not even jeopardize his own self-esteem for hers. If he had one spark of love for her he would have been content to challenge the opinion of the world, whilst accepting his life at her hands, but he cared naught about death, and all the world for another woman who was false, a coward, a wanton, and who boldly allowed him to sacrifice his honour for her, whilst she herself had none to lose.

"Then I will save him in spite of himself," repeated Mary for the hundredth time.

Suddenly a thought struck her. She rang her hand-bell, and to the servitor who appeared at the door she commanded briefly--

"His Eminence the Cardinal de Moreno;--I desire his presence here at once."

The servitor retired, and she waited in seeming calm, sitting at her desk, her trembling hand alone betraying the excitement of her mind.

Five minutes later, the Cardinal stood before her, placid, urbane, picturesque in his brilliant, flowing robes, with one white, richly be-ringed hand raised in benediction, as he stood waiting for the Queen to speak.

"I pray Your Eminence to be seated," began Mary, speaking with feverish haste. "I have something of grave import to say to you, which brooks of no delay, else I had not interrupted you at your orisons."

"My time is ever at Your Majesty's service," replied the Cardinal humbly. "In what way may I have the honour to serve the Queen of England to-day?"

He was looking keenly at her face: not a single sign of her intense mental agitation escaped his shrewd observation. A satisfied smile lurked round the corners of his thin lips, and a flash of triumph lit up the depths of his piercing eyes.

That searching glance at Mary Tudor had told the envoy of the King of Spain that victory was at last within his grasp.

"My lord Cardinal," rejoined Mary firmly, "you are aware of the fact that His Grace of Wess.e.x is on the eve of being tried by his peers, for a heinous crime of which he is innocent."