“She did not tell you that?”

“Yes; upon my knightly honor.”  Of course there was but one answer to this—­tears.  I then brought the battle to close quarters at once, and, with my arm uninterrupted at my lady’s waist, asked: 

“Did you not tell her so?  I know you will speak nothing but the truth.  Did you not tell her?  Answer me, Jane.”  The fair head nodded as she whispered between the hands that covered her face: 

“Yes; I—­I—­d-did;” and I—­well, I delivered the rest of Mary’s message, and that, too, without a protest from Jane.

Truthfulness is a pretty good thing after all.

So Jane was conquered at last, and I heaved a sigh as the battle ended, for it had been a long, hard struggle.

I asked Jane when we should be married, but she said she could not think of that now—­not until she knew that Mary was safe; but she would promise to be my wife sometime.  I told her that her word was as good as gold to me; and so it was and always has been; as good as fine gold thrice refined.  I then told her I would bother her no more about it, now that I was sure of her, but when she was ready she should tell me of her own accord and make my happiness complete.  She said she would, and I told her I believed her and was satisfied.  I did, however, suggest that the intervening time would be worse than wasted—­happiness thrown right in the face of Providence, as it were—­and begged her not to waste any more than necessary; to which she seriously and honestly answered that she would not.

We went back to the castle, and as we parted Jane said timidly:  “I am glad I told you, Edwin; glad it is over.”

She had evidently dreaded it; but—­I was glad, too; very glad.  Then I went to bed.

CHAPTER XVII

The Elopement

Whatever the king might think, I knew Lord Wolsey would quickly enough guess the truth when he heard that the princess was missing, and would have a party in pursuit.  The runaways, however, would have at least twenty-four hours the start, and a ship leaves no tracks.  When Mary left me she was perhaps two-thirds of a league from the rendezvous, and night was rapidly falling.  As her road lay through a dense forest all the way, she would have a dark, lonely ride of a few minutes, and I was somewhat uneasy for that part of the journey.  It had been agreed that if everything was all right at the rendezvous, Mary should turn loose her horse, which had always been stabled at Berkeley Castle and would quickly trot home.  To further emphasize her safety a thread would be tied in his forelock.  The horse took his time in returning, and did not arrive until the second morning after the flight, but when he came I found the thread, and, unobserved, removed it.  I quickly took it to Jane, who has it yet, and cherishes it for the mute message of comfort it brought her.  In case the horse should not return, I was to find a token in a hollow tree near the place of meeting; but the thread in the forelock told us our friends had found each other.