But there, behind them, were the spying, all-observing, all-surmising courtiers; there was the Princess Elizabeth, who, had he ventured to speak to the queen, would have conjectured from his manner the words which she could not understand; for love sees so clearly, and jealousy has such keen ears!
Catharine suspected nothing of the thoughts of her companions. She alone was happy; she alone gave herself up with full soul to the enjoyment of the moment. She drew in with intense delight the pure air; she drank in the odor of the meadow blossoms; she listened with thirsty ear to the murmuring song which the wind wafted to her from the boughs of the trees. Her wishes extended not beyond the hour; she rested in the full enjoyment of the presence of her beloved. He was there—what needed she more to make her happy?
Her wishes extended not beyond this hour. She was only conscious how delightful it was thus to be at her beloved’s side, to breathe the same air, to see the same sun, the same flowers on which his eyes rested, and on which their glances at least might meet in kisses which were denied to their lips.
But as they thus rode along, silent and meditative, each occupied with his own thoughts, there came the assistance for which Thomas Seymour had prayed, fluttering along in the shape of a fly.
At first this fly sported and buzzed about the nose of the fiery, proud beast which the queen rode; and as no one noticed it, it was not disturbed by Hector’s tossing of his mane, but crept securely and quietly to the top of the noble courser’s head, pausing a little here and there, and sinking his sting into the horse’s flesh, so that he reared and began loudly to neigh.
But Catharine was a bold and dexterous rider, and the proud spirit of her horse only afforded her delight, and gave the master of horse an opportunity to praise her skill and coolness.
Catharine received with a sweet smile the encomiums of her beloved. But the fly kept creeping on, and, impelled by a diabolic delight, now penetrated the horse’s ear. The poor, tormented animal made a spring forward. This spring, instead of freeing him from his enemy, made him penetrate the ear still farther, and sink his sting still deeper into the soft fleshy part of the same.
Stung by the maddening pain, the horse cast off all control, and, heedless of bridle and scorning the bit, dashed forward in a furious run—forward over the meadow swift as an arrow, resistless as the lightning.
“On, on, to the queen’s rescue!” thundered the master of horse, and with mad haste, away flew he also over the meadow.
“To the help of the queen!” repeated Princess Elizabeth, and she likewise spurred her horse and hurried forward, accompanied by the whole suite.