“Sir Thomas Wyat,” said the king, turning to him, “you have my full and free pardon. Quit this forest instantly, and make your way to Paris. If you are found within it to-morrow you will be lodged in the Tower.”
Wyat knelt down, and would have pressed Henry's hand to his lips, but the latter pushed him aside.
“No—no! Not now—on your return.”
Thus rebuffed, Wyat strode away, and as he passed the tree he heard a voice exclaim, “You have escaped him, but think not to escape me!”
“And now, sweetheart,” said Henry, turning to Mabel, “since you are so far on the way, you shall go with me to the castle.”
“On no account, my liege,” she returned; “my grandsire will wonder what has become of me. He must already be in great alarm.”
“But I will send an attendant to quiet his fears,” urged Henry.
“That would only serve to increase them,” she rejoined. “Nay, I must go.”
And breaking from him, she darted swiftly down the hill, and glanced across the marsh like a moonbeam.
“Plague on it!” cried Henry, “I have again forgotten to question her about her birth.”