Softly and noiselessly she slipped into the next room, the door of which stood ajar, and opened with hurried hand a carton filled with ribbons and bows. Then she drew from the velvet pocket, wrought with pearls, which hung at her side, suspended by a gold chain, a dark-red rosette, and threw it into the box. That was all.
Lady Jane now returned to the adjoining room; and her countenance, which had been previously gloomy and threatening, was now proud and joyful.
With a bright smile she walked up to the queen, and kneeling down at her side, she pressed a fervent kiss on the hand that was hanging down.
“What is my queen musing over?” asked she, as she laid her head on Catharine’s knee and tenderly looked up at her.
The queen gave a slight start, and raised her head. She saw Lady Jane’s tender smile, and her yet searching looks.
Because she felt conscious of guilt, at least of guilty thoughts, she was on her guard, and remembered John Heywood’s warning.
“She is observing me,” she said to herself; “she seems affectionate; so she is brooding over some wicked plot.”
“Ah, it is well you have come, Jane,” said she aloud. “You can help me; for, to tell you the truth, I am in great perplexity. I am in want of a rhyme, and I am thinking in vain how I shall find it.”
“Ah, are you composing poetry, queen?”
“Why, Jane, does that surprise you? Shall I, the queen, be able, then, to bear off no prize? I would give my precious jewels, if I could succeed in composing a poem to which the king was obliged to award the prize. But I am wanting in a musical ear; I cannot find the rhyme, and so shall be obliged at last to give up the idea of winning laurels also. How the king would enjoy it, though! For, to confess the truth to you, I believe he is a little afraid that Henry Howard will bear off the prize, and he would be very thankful to me if I could contest it with him. You well know the king has no love for the Howards.”