Matters began to look dark to me.  Love had dawned in Mary’s breast, that was sure, and for the first time, with all its fierce sweetness.  Not that it had reached its noon, or anything like it.  In truth, it might, I hoped, die in the dawning, for my lady was as capricious as a May day; but it was love—­love as plain as the sun at rising.  She sought Brandon upon all occasions, and made opportunities to meet him; not openly—­at any rate, not with Brandon’s knowledge, nor with any connivance on his part, but apparently caring little what he or any one else might see.  Love lying in her heart had made her a little more shy than formerly in seeking him, but her straightforward way of taking whatever she wanted made her transparent little attempts at concealment very pathetic.

As for Brandon, the shaft had entered his heart, too, poor fellow, as surely as love had dawned in Mary’s, but there was this difference:  With our princess—­at least I so thought at the time—­the sun of love might dawn and lift itself to mid-heaven and glow with the fervent ardor of high noon—­for her blood was warm with the spark of her grandfather’s fire—­and then sink into the west and make room for another sun to-morrow.  But with Brandon’s stronger nature the sun would go till noon and there would burn for life.  The sun, however, had not reached its noon with Brandon, either; since he had set his brain against his heart, and had done what he could to stay the all-consuming orb at its dawning.  He knew the hopeless misery such a passion would bring him, and helped the good Lord, in so far as he could, to answer his prayer, and lead him not into temptation.  As soon as he saw the truth, he avoided Mary as much as possible.

As I said, we had spent several evenings with Mary after we came home from Windsor, at all of which her preference was shown in every movement.  Some women are so expressive under strong emotion that every gesture, a turn of the head, a glance of the eyes, the lifting of a hand or the poise of the body, speaks with a tongue of eloquence, and such was Mary.  Her eyes would glow with a soft fire when they rested upon him, and her whole person told all too plainly what, in truth, it seemed she did not care to hide.  When others were present she would restrain herself somewhat, but with only Jane and myself, she could hardly maintain a seemly reserve.  During all this time Brandon remained cool and really seemed unconscious of his wonderful attraction for her.  It is hard to understand why he did not see it, but I really believe he did not.  Although he was quite at ease in her presence, too much so, Mary sometimes thought, and strangely enough sometimes told him in a fit of short-lived, quickly repented anger that always set him laughing, yet there was never a word or gesture that could hint of undue familiarity.  It would probably have met a rebuff from the princess part of her; for what a perversity, both royal and feminine, she wanted all the freedom for herself.  In short, like any other woman, she would rather love than be loved, that is, until surrender day should come; then of course....