She appeared to be expecting this question, and drew from her packet a second paper, which she unfolded quietly and spread on the table, yet kept her palm over the writing on it while she answered, “Those who engage upon missions of State must look to meet with attacks, but not to be asked to explain them.  The mob at Dunquerque pursued me upon a ridiculous charge, yet was wisely incited by men who invented it, knowing the true purpose of my mission.”  She glanced from the Commissioner to Master Porson.  “Sir Nicholas Fleming—­surely I have heard his name spoken, as of a good friend to the Holy Father and not too anxious for the Emperor’s marriage with Mary Tudor?” The Commissioner started in his chair, while she turned serenely upon his companion.  “And Master Porson,” she continued, “as a faithful servant of His Majesty of Portugal will needs be glad to see a princess of Portugal take Mary Tudor’s place.  Eh?”—­for they were eyeing each the other like two detected schoolboys—­“It would seem, sirs, that though you came together, you were better friends than you guessed.  Glance your eye, Master Porson, over this paper which I shall presently entrust to you for furtherance; and you will agree with Sir Nicholas that the prudent course for both of you is to forget, on leaving this house, that any such person as I was on board the Saint Andrew.”

The two peered into the parchment and drew back.  “The Emperor—­” I heard the Commissioner mutter with an intake of breath.

“And, as you perceive, in his own handwriting.”  She folded up the paper and, replacing it, addressed my Master.  “Your visitors, sir, deserve some refreshment for their pains and courtesy.”

And that was the end of the conference.  What that paper contained I know as little as I know by what infernal sorcery it was prepared.  Master Porson folded it up tight in his hand, glancing dubiously at Sir Nicholas.  My lady stood smiling upon the both for a moment, then dismissed me to the kitchens upon a pretended errand.  They were gone when I returned, nor did I again set eyes upon the Commissioner or the factor.  It is true that the Emperor did about this time break his pledge with our King Henry and marry a princess of Portugal; and some of high office in England were not sorry therefore.  But of this enough.

As the days wore on and we heard no more of the wreck, my Master and Mistress settled down to that retirement from the world which is by custom allowed to the newly married, but which with them was to last to the end.  A life of love it was; but—­God help us!—­no life of happiness; rather, in process of days, a life of torment.  Can I tell you how it was?  At first to see them together was like looking through a glass upon a picture; a picture gallant and beautiful yet removed behind a screen and not of this world.  Suppose now that by little and little the glass began to be flawed, or the picture behind it to crumble (you could not tell which) until when it smiled it smiled wryly, until rocks toppled and figures fell askew, yet still kept up their pretence of play against the distorted woodland.  Nay, it was worse than this:  fifty times worse.  For while the fair show tottered, my Master and Mistress clung to their love; and yet it was just their love which kept the foundations rocking.