The Constable of the Tower

Nearly an hour passed by in this manner, and all the creature-comforts so anxiously looked forward to by the half-frozen gentleman of the privy chamber seemed as far distant as ever. The young king still continued occupied with Justinian, and showed no signs of returning to the palace. He had come to a stand, and was conning over a passage of unusual perplexity, when another person entered the garden. This was a young girl of extraordinary beauty, wrapped like the king in a furred mantle to defend her tender person from the severity of the weather, and, like him, provided with a book, on which her eyes were studiously fixed—so studiously indeed that she did not appear to observe the young monarch and his attendant. On his part, also, Edward was equally unconscious of her approach, and never once raised his eyes to look at her.

It was the duty of the gentleman of the chamber to warn the fair intruder from the royal presence; but either he was too cold to discharge his office properly, or curious to see what would happen, for he contented himself with coughing slightly, and failing to arouse the king’s attention, he took no other means of checking her advance.

By this time the fair young creature was within a short distance of Edward, who, hearing footsteps, lifted his eyes from his book, and regarded her with some astonishment, but with anything rather than displeasure.

At the same moment the young maiden looked up, exhibiting a countenance of wondrous loveliness. A slight blush suffused her features, and heightened, if possible, their beauty. She might have been a year older than the king—at all events, she was the taller of the two. Her high birth was proclaimed in her lineaments, in her carriage—which had a most charming dignity about it—and in her attire, which was such as became the daughter of one of the most powerful nobles of the land. Serene and gentle in expression, full of thought, and apparently free from any taint of humanity, her physiognomy presented that rare union of intelligence and beauty, which, when seen in perfection, as in the present instance, seems to raise its possessor to a level with a higher and purer order than those of earth. Her look and smile were little less than seraphic. Such was the youthful Lady Jane Grey, daughter of the Marquis of Dorset, great-niece of Henry VIII., and grand-daughter of his beautiful sister Mary, wedded first to Louis XII. of France, and secondly, to the illustrious Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.

“Good morrow, sweet cousin,” said the youthful king, graciously returning Jane’s lowly obeisance. “Marry, you are early astir. I should have thought, that on a frosty morn like this, a seat by the warm hearth would have been fitter for one so delicate as yourself than exposure to the keen air. But you seem to bear the cold bravely.”

“I do not feel it,” replied the young Lady Jane: “I am accustomed to exposure to all weathers, and take no hurt from it. Your Majesty is mistaken in supposing that I am at all delicate. I am far hardier than the slightness of my frame would seem to warrant. When I am at Bradgate, in Leicestershire, I ride to the chase with my father, and am never wearied by a long day’s sport. Sport did I call it?” she added, with a half-sigh—”hunting the deer is no pastime to me; but such it is generally considered, and so I must perforce style it. Then I rise betimes, for I am no lag-a-bed, and take my book, and stroll forth into the park, if it be summer, or into the garden if winter, and read and meditate till summoned to my slender repast.”

“Much the same mode of life as I have passed myself,” replied Edward, “though I have never yet had my fill of the chase. Now I am king I mean to gratify my inclinations, and kill plenty of deer in Windsor Forest and in Enfield Chase. But if you like not hunting, sweet coz, surely you must be fond of hawking? ‘Tis a noble pastime!”

“May be so,” rejoined Jane, gravely, “but I like it no better than hunting; and I like coursing with greyhounds less than hawking, and angling less than coursing. Your Majesty will smile when I tell you that I deem all these sports cruel. They yield me no delight. I cannot bear to have harmless creatures tortured to make sport for me. It sickens me to see a noble hart pulled down, and I have rescued more than one poor crying hare from the very jaws of its pursuers. Poor beasts, I pity them. I pity even the mischievous otter.”