“Hush!” exclaimed Betty, softly, “look yonder, sir, and judge a man’s heart by the king’s.”
Raby turned quickly, following the direction of her glance. A door on the opposite side had opened, and Henry was coming out, followed by two of his attendants. The king was cloaked, but his figure could not be mistaken; and when Simon turned, he had paused upon the threshold and was looking up at a window above him. At the casement was the figure of a woman, and she waved her hand to the king as he looked up. Henry threw her a kiss and walked on, followed by his equerries.
“’Tis not the queen,” remarked Betty softly, as the party passed around and out of the quadrangle.
“Nay,” replied Raby, gravely, “it was Mistress Seymour.”
For a moment neither spoke; both were thinking of Queen Anne in the wizard’s house, both heard again her shriek of terror.
“Alas!” said Raby; “poor lady! I fear there is some truth in the whispers of the court.”
Betty looked at him with a sparkle of mischief in her dark eyes.
“Sir,” she said, “I fear that you have no very true witness for a man’s loyalty; you will need a better proof.”
And she made him a little curtsy as she turned to go back into the palace.
“Stay!” cried Raby, eagerly; “I said not that a king should be the standard. Why, mistress, a royal heart cannot be measured with that of a plain, honest man.”