“I ask your pardon, madam; but I only meant that he could not travel probably, yet awhile. He was on the rack for four hours, I understand.”
(Anthony felt that strange sickness rise again; but Mary laid her cool hand on his and smiled at him.)
“Well, well,” rasped out Elizabeth, “I do not ask impossibilities.”
“They would cease to be so, madam, if you did.”
(Mary within the little room put her lips to Anthony’s ear:
“Butter!” she whispered.)
“Well, sir,” went on the Queen, “you shall see that he has a physician, and leave to travel as soon as he will.”
“It shall be done, your Grace.”
“Very well, see to it.”
“I beg your Grace’s pardon; but what——”