The secretary had no more to say; neither did His Highness speak again, but gazed out of the window at the sun-dried countryside, at the orchards where the dry wind blew the shrivelled leaves of red and gold from the fruit too early ripe, at the great elms and oaks rustling the foliage to the ground, at the thatched and gabled cottages where the children ran to the doors to watch the coach with the four horses and outriders and the troop of Lifeguards go by.
Soon they came in sight of the river, with islands and barges and reaches, where the boats were drawn above the tide and a few boys fished, knee-deep in mud.
Then they lost the river and passed between private mansions standing among trees, and so to the village of Hampton as the sun was sinking in a glow of unstained fire.
As they neared the Palace His Highness became very pale, and he looked once or twice with an air of dread from the window, as if he expected to see some awful change over the place.
But no scene could have been more peaceful: the river flowed softly between the fading willows and the banks where the tall grasses, white whorls of hemlock, and clusters of parsley flowers grew; the last light of the sun glowed on the red bricks of the Palace and cast long shadows from the summer flowers in the garden; up among the high chimney-stacks white pigeons fluttered home with light upon their wings.
Cromwell entered the Palace. The first to meet him was one of the grooms of his chamber; the man gave him a frightened look and moved away without speaking.
He went towards his daughter's apartments, and in the corridor Frances Rich, a child in widow's mourning, came towards him with staggering steps.
He paused.
"Oh, my father!" she said, and lifted a face swollen with weeping.