“Ah! little sister; I thought you would change your mind.  Now you are a good girl.”

“Oh! do not misunderstand me; I asked your forgiveness for the message; as to the marriage, I came to tell you that it would kill me and that I could not bear it.  Oh! brother, you are not a woman—­you cannot know.”  Henry flew into a passion, and with oaths and curses ordered her to leave him unless she was ready to give her consent.  She had but two courses to take, so she left with her heart full of hatred for the most brutal wretch who ever sat upon a throne—­and that is making an extreme case.  As she was going, she turned upon him like a fury, and exclaimed: 

“Never, never!  Do you hear?  Never!”

Preparations went on for the marriage just as if Mary had given her solemn consent.  The important work of providing the trousseau began at once, and the more important matter of securing the loan from the London merchants was pushed along rapidly.  The good citizens might cling affectionately to their angels, double angels, crowns and pounds sterling, but the fear in which they held the king, and a little patting of the royal hand upon the plebeian head, worked the charm, and out came the yellow gold, never to be seen again, God wot.  Under the stimulus of the royal smile they were ready to shout themselves hoarse, and to eat and drink themselves red in the face in celebration of the wedding day.  In short, they were ready to be tickled nearly to death for the honor of paying to a wretched old lecher a wagon-load of gold to accept, as a gracious gift, the most beautiful heart-broken girl in the world.  That is, she would have been heart-broken had she not been inspired with courage.  As it was, she wasted none of her energy in lamentations, but saved it all to fight with.  Heavens! how she did fight!  If a valiant defense ever deserved victory, it was in her case.  When the queen went to her with silks and taffetas and fine cloths, to consult about the trousseau, although the theme was one which would interest almost any woman, she would have none of it, and when Catherine insisted upon her trying on a certain gown, she called her a blackamoor, tore the garment to pieces, and ordered her to leave the room.

Henry sent Wolsey to tell her that the 13th day of August had been fixed upon as the day of the marriage, de Longueville to act as the French king’s proxy, and Wolsey was glad to come off with his life.

Matters were getting into a pretty tangle at the palace.  Mary would not speak to the king, and poor Catherine was afraid to come within arm’s length of her; Wolsey was glad to keep out of her way, and she flew at Buckingham with talons and beak upon first sight.  As to the battle with Buckingham, it was short but decisive, and this was the way it came about:  There had been a passage between the duke and Brandon, in which the latter had tried to coax the former into a duel, the only way, of course, to settle the weighty matters between them.  Buckingham, however, had had a taste of Brandon’s nimble sword play, and, bearing in mind Judson’s fate, did not care for any more.  They had met by accident, and Brandon, full of smiles and as polite as a Frenchman, greeted him.