“’Tis false!” she exclaimed passionately, her agitation so genuine that the queen interposed.
“Why fret the child, sir wizard?” Catherine said; “what warrant have you for this statement?”
Sanders turned to her with courteous respect, although his face showed a certain malicious enjoyment.
“We read these matters in the stars, madam,” he said gravely, “and they cannot mislead us. Mistress Carew is promised to a tall, dark man with a sword-cut across his left eyebrow; one day she will find that the astrologer has not lied.”
Seeing Betty’s angry alarm, Catherine turned the matter aside; she had the tact to avoid a scene which was becoming unpleasant.
“You claim that all your knowledge is from the stars, sir?” she asked indifferently, “and there is no human agency in the affair?”
“None, madam,” the wizard rejoined solemnly; “we read the destinies of men and women in the heavens, and the future even of this realm unrolls itself in that great scroll for the marvelling eye of the seer to read.”
The queen leaned back in her chair and shaded her eyes with her hand.
“The future of this realm!” she said in a low voice; “I pray the saints for it! I, who have never done England any good, would be sorry indeed to do it harm.”
“You need have no fear, madam,” the sage rejoined, speaking as low as she, so that the usher sent by Bedingfield, who was posted at the door, could not catch their words.