The Constable of the Tower

Catherine’s coldness and asperity towards his sister had much pained the amiable young monarch, and he was just about to interfere, when Seymour’s appearance dispelled the clouds, and turned the gloom into sunshine.

“On my faith, gentle uncle,” he said, with a smile, “you bring good humor with you. We seemed on the verge of some incomprehensible misunderstanding here, which your presence has sufficed to set right. What witchery do you practise?”

“None that I am aware of, my gracious liege,” replied Sir Thomas. “But were I an enchanter, my spells should undo mischief, not work it. I would put trust in the place of groundless suspicion, and gentleness in that of inconsiderate heat. By so doing, I might justly merit your Majesty’s commendation.”

“You give yourself a good character, Sir Thomas,” observed Catherine, with some remains of pique.

“Not better than he is fairly entitled to, gracious madam,” observed Edward. “If my uncle always exercises his talent for pleasing as beneficially as on the present occasion, he has a right to be vain of it.”

“An please your Majesty,” said Fowler, advancing and bowing profoundly, “the marshal of the hall hath just entered to announce to your Grace that the banquet is served.”

“Marry, then, we will to it at once,” replied Edward. “Fair cousin, your hand,” he added, to the Lady Jane Grey, “and do you, gentle uncle, conduct our sister to the banqueting hall.”

Secretly delighted, though drawing a discreet veil over his satisfaction, Seymour immediately tendered his hand to the princess, much to the mortification of Catherine; after which the whole party, preceded by a troop of pages, henchmen, ushers, and marshals, repaired to the banqueting hall, and entered it amid lively flourishes from the trumpeters stationed near the door.

At the banquet, the queen-dowager occupied the seat next the king, to which she had asserted her claim in the manner heretofore narrated, and of which no further attempt was made by the lord protector to deprive her. Sir Thomas Seymour, however, no longer stood behind her majesty’s chair, but placed himself between the Princess Elizabeth and the Countess of Hertford. Nothing of moment occurred at the entertainment, which was on the same scale of grandeur and profusion as those preceding it, and which numbered as guests all the members of the council, and all the nobles and other persons of distinction then staying at the Tower; but Catherine’s jealousy was re-awakened by the ill-disguised attentions of Seymour to her youthful rival—attentions which, it was quite evident, were anything but disagreeable to the princess. The slighted queen longed for an opportunity of launching her anger against them, but no pretext for such an outbreak being afforded her, she was obliged to devour her rage in silence.

Either Sir Thomas’s prudence had deserted him, or the violence of his passion deprived his judgment of its due control, for at the close of the banquet he made no attempt to join Catherine, but again gave his hand to the princess, and without casting even a look at the neglected queen, or, it may be, not even thinking of her, followed his royal nephew and the Lady Jane Grey out of the hall. Catherine stood still as if stupefied by his conduct, and pressed her hand against her heart to keep down the force of her emotions. She had not entirely recovered when Lady Hertford approached her.

“Methinks I can guess what is passing in your Highness’s breast,” observed the countess.

“What insolence is this?” cried Catherine, haughtily. “By what right do you pretend to penetrate the secrets of my breast?”

“Nay, it is your Highness’s unguarded manner that betrays the state of your feelings,” rejoined Lady Hertford. “Little penetration is requisite to discover that which must be apparent to all. My friendly intentions did not deserve this rebuff. I came to warn you that you are deceived—basely deceived by him in whom you place your trust. I overheard enough at the banquet to convince me of this. I could tell more—but my lips are now sealed.”

“No! no! speak!—speak! I implore you, dear countess,” cried Catherine, in extreme agitation. “You sat next him, and must have heard what passed—in pity, speak!”

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