“Oh! but my dear princess; permit me; you do not seem to know your brother; you cannot in any way avoid this marriage.  I believe he will imprison you and put you on bread and water to force your consent.  I am sure you had better do willingly that which you will eventually be compelled to do anyway; and besides, there is another thought that has come to me; shall I speak plainly before Lady Jane Bolingbroke?”

“I have no secrets from her.”

“Very well; it is this:  Louis is old and very feeble; he cannot live long, and it may be that you can, by a ready consent now, exact a promise from your brother to allow you your own choice in the event of a second marriage.  You might in that way purchase what you could not bring about in any other way.”

“How do you know that I want to purchase aught in any way, Master Wolsey?  I most certainly do not intend to do so by marrying France.”

“I do not know that you wish to purchase anything, but a woman’s heart is not always under her full control, and it sometimes goes out to one very far beneath her in station, but the equal of any man on earth in grandeur of soul and nobleness of nature.  It might be that there is such a man whom any woman would be amply justified in purchasing at any sacrifice—­doubly so if it were buying happiness for two.”

His meaning was too plain even to pretend to misunderstand, and Mary’s eyes flashed at him, as her face broke into a dimpling smile in spite of her.

Wolsey thought he had won, and to clinch the victory said, in his forceful manner:  “Louis XII will not live a year; let me carry to the king your consent, and I guarantee you his promise as to a second marriage.”

In an instant Mary’s eyes shot fire, and her face was like the blackest storm cloud.

“Carry this to the king:  that I will see him and the whole kingdom sunk in hell before I will marry Louis of France.  That is my answer once and for all.  Good even’, Master Wolsey.”  And she swept out of the room with head up and dilating nostrils, the very picture of defiance.

St. George!  She must have looked superb.  She was one of the few persons whom anger and disdain and the other passions which we call ungentle seemed to illumine—­they were so strong in her, and yet not violent.  It seemed that every deep emotion but added to her beauty and brought it out, as the light within a church brings out the exquisite figuring on the windows.

[Illustration]

After Wolsey had gone, Jane said to Mary:  “Don’t you think it would have been better had you sent a softer answer to your brother?  I believe you could reach his heart even now if you were to make the effort.  You have not tried in this matter as you did in the others.”

“Perhaps you are right, Jane.  I will go to Henry.”

Mary waited until she knew the king was alone, and then went to him.

On entering the room, she said:  “Brother, I sent a hasty message to you by the Bishop of Lincoln this morning, and have come to ask your forgiveness.”