“Stranger things have happened,” replied Cutbeard significantly. “If I am not greatly out of my reckoning,” he added, “these are the last jousts Queen Anne will behold.”
“The saints forefend!” cried Shoreditch; “what reason have you for thinking so?”
“That I may not declare,” replied Cutbeard; “but before the jousts are over you will see whether I have been rightly informed or not.”
“Hush!” exclaimed Shoreditch. “There is a tall monk eyeing us strangely; and I am not certain that he has not overheard what you have said.”
“He is welcome to the intelligence,” replied Cutbeard; “the end will prove its truth.”
Though this was uttered in a confident tone, he nevertheless glanced with some misgiving at the monk, who stood behind Paddington. The object of the investigation was a very tall man, with a cowl drawn over his brow. He had a ragged black beard, fierce dark eyes, and a complexion like bronze. Seeing Cutboard's glance anxiously fixed upon him, he advanced towards him, and said in a low tone—“You have nothing to fear from me; but talk not so loud if you value your head.”
“So saying he proceeded to another part of the lists.
“Who is that tall monk?” asked Paddington.
“Devil knows!” answered Cutbeard; “I never saw him before. But he has a villainous cut-throat look.”
Soon afterwards a flourish of trumpets was heard, and amid their joyous bruit the queen, sumptuously arrayed in cloth of gold and ermine, and having a small crown upon her brow, entered the gallery, and took her seat within it. Never had she looked more beautiful than on this fatal morning, and in the eyes of all the beholders she completely eclipsed her rival, Jane Seymour. The latter, who stood on her right hard, and was exquisitely attired, had a thoughtful and anxious air, as if some grave matter weighed upon her.