Anne pressed his hand, with a look of ineffable gratitude, and Surrey concealed himself behind the arras.
The door was opened, and Henry rushed in, followed by Richmond, Norfolk, Suffolk, and a host of attendants.
“Ah! God's death! where is the traitor?” roared the king, gazing round.
“Why is my privacy thus broken upon?” said Anne, assuming a look of indignation.
“Your privacy!” echoed Henry, in a tone of deep derision—“Your privacy! —ha!—ha! You bear yourself bravely, it must be confessed. My lords, you heard the voices as well as myself. Where is Sir Thomas Wyat?”
“He is not here,” replied Anne firmly.
“Aha! we shall see that, mistress,” rejoined Henry fiercely. “But if Sir Thomas Wyat is not here, who is? for I am well assured that some one is hidden in your chamber.”
“What if there be?” rejoined Anne coldly.
“Ah! by Saint Mary, you confess it!” cried the king. “Let the traitor come forth.”
“Your majesty shall not need to bid twice,” said Surrey, issuing from his concealment.