Mary talked, and laughed, and sang, for her soul was a fountain of gladness that bubbled up the instant pressure was removed.  She spoke of little but our last trip over this same road, and, as we passed objects on the way, told me of what Brandon had said at this place and that.  She laughed and dimpled exquisitely in relating how she had deliberately made opportunities for him to flatter her, until, at last, he smiled in her face and told her she was the most beautiful creature living, but that “after all, ‘beauty was as beauty did!’”

“That made me angry,” said she.  “I pouted for a while, and, two or three times, was on the point of dismissing him, but thought better of it and asked him plainly wherein I did so much amiss.  Then what do you think the impudent fellow said?”

“I cannot guess.”

“He said:  ‘Oh, there is so much it would take a lifetime to tell it.’

“This made me furious, but I could not answer, and a moment later he said:  ‘Nevertheless I should be only too glad to undertake the task.’

“The thought never occurred to either of us then that he would be taken at his word.  Bold?  I should think he was; I never saw anything like it!  I have not told you a tenth part of what he said to me that day; he said anything he wished, and it seemed that I could neither stop him nor retaliate.  Half the time I was angry and half the time amused, but by the time we reached Windsor there never was a girl more hopelessly and desperately in love than Mary Tudor.”  And she laughed as if it were a huge joke on Mary.

She continued:  “That day settled matters with me for all time.  I don’t know how he did it.  Yes I do....” and she launched forth into an account of Brandon’s perfections, which I found somewhat dull, and so would you.

We remained a day or two at Windsor, and then, over the objections of our chaperons, moved on to Berkeley Castle, where Margaret of Scotland was spending the summer.

We had another beautiful ride up the dear old Thames to Berkeley, but Mary had grown serious and saw none of it.

On the afternoon of the appointed day, the princess suggested a hawking party, and we set out in the direction of the rendezvous.  Our party consisted of myself, three other gentlemen and three ladies besides Mary.  Jane did not go; I was afraid to trust her.  She wept, and, with difficulty, forced herself to say something about a headache, but the rest of the inmates of the castle of course had no thought that possibly they were taking their last look upon Mary Tudor.

Think who this girl was we were running away with!  What reckless fools we were not to have seen the utter hopelessness, certain failure, and deadly peril of our act; treason black as Plutonian midnight.  But Providence seems to have an especial care for fools, while wise men are left to care for themselves, and it does look as if safety lies in folly.

We rode on and on, and although I took two occasions, in the presence of others, to urge Mary to return, owing to the approach of night and threatened rain, she took her own head, as everybody knew she always would, and continued the hunt.