“Poor Heywood! Yes, now I understand. The king would, indeed, never have forgiven this; and had he known it, your son would have inevitably been condemned to the stake.”
“You saved him, queen! Do you not believe now that I shall be forever thankful to you?”
“I do believe it,” said the queen, with a pleasant smile, as she extended her hand for him to kiss. “I believe you, and I accept your service.”
“And you will need it, queen, for a tempest is gathering over your head, and soon the lightning will flash and the thunders roll.”
“Oh, I fear not! I have strong nerves!” said Catharine, smiling. “When a storm comes, it is but a refreshing of nature, and I have always seen that after a storm the sun shines again.”
“You are a brave soul!” swirl John Heywood, sadly.
“That is, I am conscious of no guilt!”
“But your enemies will invent a crime to charge you with. Ah, as soon as it is the aim to calumniate a neighbor and plunge him in misery, men are all poets!”
“But you just now said that poets are crack-brained, and should be hung to the first tree. We will, therefore, treat these slanderers as poets, that is all.”
“No, that is not all!” said John Heywood, energetically. “For slanderers are like earth-worms. You cut them in pieces, but instead of thereby killing them, you multiply each one and give it several heads.”