She had repeated her demand; she had once more demanded of the king—who, speechless and completely overcome with anger, had fallen back into his seat—to name the crime of which she was accused.
“Now, then, my queen, you demand it, and you shall hear it,” cried he. “You want to know the crime of which you are accused? Answer me then, my lady! They accuse you of not always staying at night in your sleeping-room. It is alleged that you sometimes leave it for many hours; and that none of your women accompanied you when you glided through the corridors and up the secret stairs to the lonely tower, in which, was waiting for you your lover, who at the same time entered the tower through the small street door.”
“He knows all!” muttered Henry Howard; and again he laid his hand on his sword, and was about to approach the queen.
Lady Jane held him back. “Wait for the issue,” said she. “There is still time to die!”
“He knows all!” thought the queen also; and now she felt within herself the daring courage to risk all, that at least she might not stand there a traitoress in the eyes of her lover.
“He shall not believe that I have been untrue to him,” thought she. “I will tell all—confess all, that he may know why I went and whither.”
“Now answer, my Lady Catharine!” thundered the king. “Answer, and tell me whether you have been falsely accused. Is it true that you, eight days ago, in the night between Monday and Tuesday, left your sleeping-room at the hour of midnight, and went secretly to the lonely tower? Is it true that you received there a man who is your lover?”
The queen looked at him in angry pride. “Henry, Henry, woe to you, that you dare thus insult your own wife!” cried she.
“Answer me! You were not on that night in your sleeping-room?”
“No,” said Catharine, with dignified composure, “I was not there.”