After we had waited a few minutes, one of the king’s pages came up and said he had been looking all over the palace for me, and that the king desired my presence immediately.  I went in with the page to the king, leaving Mary alone and very melancholy in the ante-chamber.

Upon entering the king’s presence he asked, “Where have you been, Sir Edwin?  I have almost killed a good half-dozen pages hunting you.  I want you to prepare immediately to go to Paris with an embassy to his majesty, King Louis.  You will be the interpreter.  The ambassador you need not know.  Make ready at once.  The embassy will leave London from the Tabard Inn one hour hence.”

Could a command to duty have come at a more inopportune time?  I was distracted; and upon leaving the king went at once to seek the Lady Mary where I had left her in the ante-room.  She had gone, so I went to her apartments, but could not find her.  I went to the queen’s salon, but she was not there, and I traversed that old rambling palace from one end to the other without finding her or Lady Jane.

The king had told me the embassy would be a secret one, and that I was to speak of it to nobody, least of all to the Lady Mary.  No one was to know that I was leaving England, and I was to communicate with no one at home while in France.

The king’s command was not to be disobeyed; to do so would be as much as my life was worth, but besides that, the command of the king I served was my highest duty, and no Caskoden ever failed in that.  I may not be as tall as some men, but my fidelity and honor—­but you will say I boast.

I was to make ready my bundle and ride six miles to London in one hour; and almost half that time was spent already.  I was sure to be late, so I could not waste another minute.

I went to my room and got together a few things necessary for my journey, but did not take much in the way of clothing, preferring to buy that new in Paris, where I could find the latest styles in pattern and fabric.

I tried to assure myself that Mary would see the king at once and tell him all, and not allow my dear friend Brandon to lie in that terrible place another night; yet a persistent fear gnawed at my heart, and a sort of intuition, that seemed to have the very breath of certainty in its foreboding, made me doubt her.

As I could find neither Mary nor Jane, I did the next best thing:  I wrote a letter to each of them, urging immediate action, and left them to be delivered by my man Thomas, who was one of those trusty souls that never fail.  I did not tell the girls I was about to start for France, but intimated that I was compelled to leave London for a time, and said:  “I leave the fate of this man, to whom we all owe so much, in your hands, knowing full well how tender you will be of him.”

I was away from home nearly a month, and as I dared not write, and even Jane did not know where I was, I did not receive, nor expect, any letters.  The king had ordered secrecy, and if I have mingled with all my faults a single virtue it is that of faithfulness to my trust.  So I had no news from England and sent none home.