"Then I'll bid Your Eminence farewell, until to-morrow."
"I am ever at Your Majesty's service. But before retiring I would crave one favour."
"I pray you speak."
"To speak to the Lady Ursula Glynde."
A long bitter laugh of the keenest disappointment came from Mary Tudor's oppressed heart.
"Nay!" she said in a tone of deep discouragement, "an you pin your faith on that hussy, Your Eminence had best give up the attempt at once."
"Did I not say that I would attempt the impossible?" said the Cardinal, unperturbed.
"The impossible indeed, an you wish to appeal to that wench," retorted Mary drily.
"Have I Your Majesty's permission to speak to the lady?" persisted the Cardinal blandly.
Mary shrugged her shoulders impatiently. She was terribly disappointed. All her hopes had been built on the clever machinations of this man, on some tortuous means which his brain would surely evolve if she held out a sufficiently tempting bait to him. She had half endowed him with supernatural powers . . . and now . . . an empty scheme to make an appeal to that heartless coward, who might save Wessex, yet refused to do it!