The Constable of the Tower

“For her sake—for yours, my liege—I will be to him all you could desire,” rejoined Seymour, earnestly.

As Sir Thomas retired, Henry said to his son, “Go to the queen, Edward, and conduct her to me.”

Upon this, the prince immediately tripped towards Catherine, who caught him in her arms, and kissed him tenderly; after which she arose and accompanied him to the king.

On drawing near her royal husband, the queen would have knelt down, but Henry would not permit her. Taking her hand kindly, he said, with the same earnestness with which he had spoken throughout, “Thou hast ever been an obedient wife, Kate, and in all things comformable to my will. Thou wilt not, therefore, I am well assured, disobey my last injunctions. This pretty boy has never known a mother’s love. Be thou a mother to him. Thou hast no child to wean thy tenderness from him—give it him all.”

“He has it already, sire,” replied the queen. “Dost thou not love me, Edward?”

“Ay, madam, as a mother,” replied the prince, affectionately.

“That is well,” said Henry; “but you must not humor his every whim, Kate. I hear he is somewhat wilful.”

“Those who have said so to your majesty, wrong him,” rejoined the queen. “Edward is ever good and gentle—yea, most tractable.”

“If he continue so, it shall be well,” said Henry. “Thou lov’st thy sisters, Edward? Speak the truth, boy!”

“I ever do speak truth, sire,” replied the prince. “I love them dearly. But I love Elizabeth best,” he added, in a lower tone, to the king, “for Mary is sometimes sharp and peevish with me, but Elizabeth is ever merry and ready for play.”

“Elizabeth is nearer thine own age, boy. Thou wilt find out Mary’s merits as thou growest older,” replied the king. “I would have ye all dwell together in unity—ha!”

“What ails your Majesty?” cried Catherine, alarmed by the sudden alteration of his countenance.

“A spasm—it is gone,” rejoined Henry, with a groan.

“Father—dear father! you look ill,” cried Edward, terrified.

“Take him away,” said the king, faintly, sinking backwards as he spoke.

All was now confusion and alarm, apprehension being generally entertained that the king was dying. Advancing quickly towards his royal patient, Doctor Butts placed his hand upon his pulse, and watched his countenance with great anxiety.

“Is he gone, think you?” asked Gardiner, anxiously, and in a low tone, of Wriothesley.

“It would seem so from Butts’s looks,” replied the other. “If he be, Norfolk’s life is saved, for they will not dare execute him.”

“Heaven grant it!” ejaculated Gardiner. “Mark you not Hertford’s trouble? Something has been left undone.”

“All may have been left undone,” rejoined Wriothesley. “I do not think the will is signed.”

“That were indeed a gain for us,” said Gardiner. “But I dare scarcely hope it.”

“How fares it with his Highness?” inquired the Earl of Hertford, whose countenance displayed much anxiety, as the physician moved away his hand.

“The king will live,” replied Butts. “Let the chamber be instantly cleared.”

“Ye hear, my lords?” said Hertford, evidently much relieved. “Doctor Butts declares that his Majesty is in no immediate danger, but he prays ye all to depart at once.”

Thus exhorted, the assemblage began instantly to disperse.

Prince Edward, however, still lingered, though the queen, who was moving away, beckoned him to come with her.

“May I not stay with the king, my father?” said the prince, plucking Doctor Butts’s robe.

“It grieves me to refuse your Highness, but it cannot be,” replied the physician.

“Come with me, Edward,” said Sir Thomas Seymour. “The queen waits for you. This is a scene unmeet for eyes like yours.”

The young prince took his uncle’s hand, and allowed himself to be led out of the room, looking wistfully at his father as he retired. He never beheld him more.

“You are sure he will revive?” inquired the Earl of Hertford of Doctor Butts, as they were left alone with the still inanimate monarch.

“I am certain of it,” replied the physician. “But I will not answer that he may live many hours. You look uneasy, my lord. What remains to be done?”

“Everything,” replied Hertford. “Norfolk still lives—and the king hath not signed his will.”