infinitely to the pain of which her heart was already too full, and made her thoroughly wretched and unhappy.  As usual though, with the blunders of stubborn, self-willed people, some one else had to pay the cost of her folly.  Brandon was paymaster in this case, and when you see how dearly he paid, and how poorly she requited the debt, I fear you will despise her.  Wait, though!  Be not hasty.  The right of judgment belongs to—­you know whom.  No man knows another man’s heart, much less a woman’s, so how can he judge?  We shall all have more than enough of judging by and by.  So let us put off for as many to-morrows as possible the thing that should be left undone to-day.

CHAPTER IX

Put not your Trust in Princesses

I thought the king’s dance that night would never end, so fond were the Frenchmen of our fair ladies, and I was more than anxious to see Brandon and learn the issue of the girls’ escapade, as I well knew the danger attending it.

All things, however, must end, so early in the morning I hastened to our rooms, where I found Brandon lying in his clothes, everything saturated with blood from a dozen sword cuts.  He was very weak, and I at once had in a barber, who took off his shirt of mail and dressed his wounds.  He then dropped into a deep sleep, while I watched the night out.  Upon awakening Brandon told me all that had happened, but asked me to say nothing of his illness, as he wished to keep the fact of his wounds secret in order that he might better conceal the cause of them.  But, as I told you, he did not speak of Buckingham’s part in the affray.

I saw the princess that afternoon, and expected, of course, she would inquire for her defender.  One who had given such timely help and who was suffering so much on her account was surely worth a little solicitude; but not a word did she ask.  She did not come near me, but made a point of avoidance, as I could plainly see.  The next morning she, with Jane, went over to Scotland Palace without so much as a breath of inquiry from either of them.  This heartless conduct enraged me; but I was glad to learn afterward that Jane’s silence was at Mary’s command—­that bundle of selfishness fearing that any solicitude, however carefully shown upon her part, might reveal her secret.

It seems that Mary had recent intelligence of the forward state of affairs in the marriage negotiations, and felt that a discovery by her brother of what she had done, especially in view of the disastrous results, would send her to France despite all the coaxing she could do from then till doomsday.

It was a terrible fate hanging over her, doubly so in view of the fact that she loved another man; and looking back at it all from the vantage point of time, I cannot wonder that it drove other things out of her head and made her seem selfish in her frightened desire to save herself.

About twelve o’clock of the following night I was awakened by a knock at my door, and, upon opening, in walked a sergeant of the sheriff of London, with four yeomen at his heels.