view, diverted from its first outbreak, was being guided in the directions she had destined.

It struck Henry's egregious vanity that she was an unusual girl, with opinions that did her credit.

"But if I love thee, it is thy duty to minister unto the happiness of thy king," he argued shrewdly. He was an adept at the game of sophist.

She shook her head. "And for mine own sake it cannot be. I am of honorable lineage, your Highness, and I would rather die than lose that which is the greatest and best part of the dowry I shall bring my husband.”

It was one of the phrases that she had prepared and she awaited anxiously its effect. Henry was hesitating. He had not expected so much mettle. It seemed to her that he was weakening in his pursuit.

"Hast thou a husband then in mind?" he asked.

Here, so suddenly, was her great chance. Was it too soon for it—the ground too unprepared? She wavered a moment, trying to read his expression but the impetuosity of her nature hurled her forward.

"Ah, if your Grace had but truly an affection for me!" she cried entreatingly. "If your princely heart would but grant one kindness . . . how I would honor and serve thee for it till the day of my death! I cannot yield my poor love to your Grace — thou art too high, too mighty. I can only go my way — remembering, with pride and happiness, that my king once thought me worthy of his kindness"

"What is this kindness?"

"'Tis 'tis but a trifle - to one as all-powerful as your noble self, but to me, it means it means" she dared not touch on her feeling for Percy but took refuge in other motives, " it means a gift so great, so princely Ah, if your Highness but only would!"

The cry came from her heart with pitiful beseechment. The desperate sense of crisis blanched her and for a moment held back the words in her throat. Then, "Dost thou recall Percy of Northumberland?" she asked, her eyes imploringly on his.

The gathering suspicion with which Henry had followed her incoherent appeal, concentrated in a glare of such sudden, startling ferocity that instinctively she fell back a step. She had a terrifying vision of a face swarthily suffused, of gray eyes like sword points, and thick lips curling back like an animal's over white teeth. "Thou lovest him? he snarled.

She lied, quickly, "Ah, no-no, your Majesty. He but loves me! But-"

"I remember," he said rancorously, a step nearer her, thrusting his face forward as if to read her own, "I remember the talk of him and thee."

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With a gesture she seemed to plead with him for forbearance till she could find the right words to explain: "It would have been a marvelous good match, your Majesty," she supplicated, " and one my — my pride was set on. An enemy, a silly, love-mad cousin, spied on us and all was broken off. I would love dearly, dearly, to be revenged on that cousin - and through your Majesty's all-powerful hand! It would be a wondrous triumph. If I have found favor at all in thy sight — if indeed

He seemed about to speak and she broke off, her eyes beseeching him still. A slow, cunning smile spread over Henry's great face.

"There are other ways, sweet Anne, of becoming a countess, an thou dost so pine for the coronet and the double train, than by wedding that beardless boy. Moreover, his father may live many years yet and defer thy

pride.

Speak not to me of Northumberland again, an thou dost value his head."

"Nay," she murmured faintly, while hope turned to mockery and laughed horribly within her. To have dreamed of Henry's disinterested kindness — of his better nature! Wearily she braced herself to face this destruction of her fool's paradise.

"I crave pardon for having presumed to offer my poor ambitions."

"We will find better ones for thee," he promised, now smiling again, "only be kind, Sweetheart"

“I will rejoin my father, an your Grace give me leave," she interrupted in the composure of utter despair. "My absence will give room for talk."

A certain show of virtue Henry enjoyed, as long as he was at no time hampered by the genuine essence. He stood in doubt now, trying to read the cold little face she turned toward him. If Anne's secret hopes were mortally wounded, it appeared to the king that he, too, had not advanced his designs very far in this interview. But at least there had been an éclaircissement she could not feign to misunderstand now and it only remained to ply her with assiduity.

With a vast show of respect he bent over her hand. "I shall continue to hope," he murmured, kissing her cold fingers.

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"I know not how your Highness should retain such hope," she said clearly, looking him full in the face. Your wife I cannot be, both in respect of mine own unworthiness and also because you have a wife already -aught else I will not be."

Startled, he returned her look. Decidedly this young maid of honor had an excellent respect for herself!

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At the least, Anne, take me for thy knight and serv

ant," he said, and unclasping a trinket from a dangling chain, extended it to her.

It was a gold pistol, an inch long, richly chased; the barrel, fashioned into a whistle, enclosed a set of toothpicks. About the handle twined a serpent with ruby

eyes.

66 A small token but 'tis a whistle that will ever call me," he vowed.

It occurred to the girl, with ironic humor, that it was a very small token indeed; a more royal gesture would have been to have swept the diamond star from his cap. Henry had a reputation for niggardliness with his lady loves.

She turned the trinket over, with outward smiles. "Ah, your Highness," she said over her shoulder from the threshold, "I fear this is a true omen. Look there is a serpent in the handle!"

I

CHAPTER VII

CALUMNY

'N the opinion of the court Anne was a netted bird. Her struggles were futile, her conquest

but a question of time. Indeed, there were few who did not believe that the girl, gauging with rare perspicacity the soon-slaked ardor of her admirer, was but feigning to refuse to draw him on the more. “She hath a rare prompter in her father — he hath already had experience in that quarter," was the sneer Sir Nicholas Carewe spread about the court.

Certainly Anne's denial only excited Henry to keener pursuit. From an idle diversion, the passion of a moment, Anne Boleyn became the king's engrossing thought. He coveted her more every day and every day was deeper in thrall to her young witchery, her gayety and grace, and that spiritual something that illumined all — her maiden inaccessibility.

She was as refreshing as an April morning to his jaded sense. Her sudden flashes of audacity delighted him, her verve and intelligence flattered him with the thought that here was a woman to understand him and do him justice in every talent. Her pride pleased his She was a fit conquest for a king.

own.

At every mask and revel and hunt Mistress Boleyn was now included and was fair to having her head turned by the amount of attention she received. And it was here that the girl's temperament was traitor to her, for