in arrogant bravado, daring inspection, a smile curving her lips, a light of daring and of triumph in her sparkling eyes. She made so splendid a figure, the great ruby rising and falling at her throat with her scornful breath, the diamonds flashing in her dark hair like fireflies in a net, the hair that seemed almost too great a weight for that small head and delicate neck to bear, so vivid an embodiment of all that was regal and imperious and enchanting that Rochford's features relaxed their grim tension.

"Aye, you are fair enough," he admitted. "But you will need more than bright eyes and light feet to keep your place."

"You talk like a fool, brother," she retorted composedly. "Are we mice in a trap? Am I Queen of England or am I not? If I have the wit to make me queen, and God knows it was shrewd work all those years, then have I not the wit to keep me once I have worn the crown? Come, come, you are dreaming, man. You have been drinking too many horns - your nerves are on edge." Anne had talked herself into good humor and confidence. The admiration she had read in his grudging, brotherly eyes strengthened her sense of security.

"It is no dream," retorted her brother sullenly, "that Cromwell in his rage at Henry for outstanding him about the treaty, breathed into the Spaniard's ears — who breathed it to a woman who breathed it to me! — that Henry's obstinacy placed them in a pretty fix and it was necessary to appease the Papacy, and other things being so, the time had come for him to set the match to the powder. He said you would be out of the saddle in three days."

Anne answered his apprehensive emphasis with a laugh.

So

We'll match his powder with some of our own," she declared." A fine confection secured from France. think no more about it. You shall see me hereafter at Henry's side all soft words and honeyed devotion. You are right—I have perchance scamped my bounden duty and been too honest in my pride - I'll make amends and wear a heavier yoke." She sighed in weariness, then turned to the clock upon the fireplace. "If I can but see him to-day at the tourney! Run along now, brother, I must not begin by being late."

George hesitated a moment, then instead of going, he came a little closer to her; a curious diffidence seemed to hedge his speech.

"Hath not Carewe made love to you?" he muttered as he looked down at his hat.

Anne sniffed. "It hath been a constant practice of his."

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'Nay, but I mean of late. Made he not some advances? I remember that thou didst say something, to me, Anne_"

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Why, yes, I told thee. The knave had the assurance to come to me craving an appointment." Her face grew dark. A contemptuous curve twisted her lips into a line of disdain. He was as mad as a March hare. I would have ruined him with Henry with it but Henry was in the mood to turn on me for listening — and then, even as I hate the knave, I cannot undo him with what he cannot help."

"Did he threaten thee?"

"He always threatens."

George looked at her out of dark and wary eyes.

"Couldst thou not conciliate him with a

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a show of consent?" he muttered. Nay, I mean no real harm," for he saw the flash in Anne's face, “but

grant him soft words

or -or- well, you need not scorn him so witheringly as thou hast always done."

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So I am to go to school to you, brother, for soft ways of rejecting dishonor?" Anne said under her breath. She looked at her brother and in the shamed and defiant glance that refused to meet hers but flitted past like a thing of darkness she read the dark thing that was at the back of her brother's mind, which even his lips refused to bring into the light. She caught her breath; for a moment there was silence.

"You are indeed unnerved," she said quietly. “Dost thou think I will pander with that knave? Soft words! He hath no desire for words." She grew calm again quickly after that sudden flash. "George, thou art simple. Should I put my head into the lion's mouth? And were I so lost to pride and honor, so craven with fear, that I should make appointments to that evil knave, how long before he or another would not apprise Henry of the fact and declare that he had but been making test of mine integrity or else pack the blame on another's shoulders? Am I a fool that I would give mine enemies one jot or tittle of truth against me?"

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You talk as if II said naught," declared George hastily.

She gave him a look of dreadful sadness. "Thy fear spoke, George. . . . Now go, and trouble thyself no longer. It is a day of sun and good cheer. Before night thou shalt see thy sister in new estate."

CHAPTER XXIX

A BLOW IN THE DARK

AY DAY was a day of such sweet spring loveliness, of such bright gayeties of sun and breeze and bird song, that the anxious heart Anne guarded with her constant smiles became insensibly lightened. As she sat at the tourney in her chair of state, under the royal cloth of gold, the stir of life. and laughter about her, the pageant of color and motion, with its richly dressed throngs, its waving pennants and sun-flooded field where the light sparkled on the glittering accouterments of knights and horses, all served to engage her mood and banish all that was uneasy and apprehensive.

Impossible to be dismal on a day like this! Impossible that dark things should happen! Leaning forward, at some crisis in the encounter, she caught Henry's glance and sent a swift smile at him over her ladies' heads; he smiled back. What hope that shifty, evasive curve of his lips begot! She flouted the last remnant of her anxiety. What had she to fear? She would regain him yet. If only she could see him alone . . . that was the essential and that was exactly what her enemies took such bitter care to prevent, surrounding him on all sides from her, leading him hither and yon on his new love quests, opposing a continual barrier of distraction and revelry. But her time would come . . it must come . . she would make it come!

...

...

Rochford and Norris were the challengers that day and they were performing miracles of valor. As Norris, after three times splintering the lances of their successive opponents, was riding triumphantly past the royal stands, bowing to the applause and acclaim, the queen's handkerchief slipped from her hand and fluttered to the ground. Norris raised it skillfully on his lance and Anne caught it from its point. At that moment she was aware of a disturbance in the king's stand; Henry had risen from his place and was preparing to depart.

Her heart sank and sharp disappointment gripped her as she realized that their chance of meeting was indefinitely receding. In helpless chagrin she watched him mount and ride off attended only by Norris, who had hastily laid aside his mail at the command to accompany his sovereign; from a page she learned that they were returning to London. The sunshine went out of the day; the sports, continued by Rochford, left alone to defend the lists, proceeded half-heartedly for a few moments, then Anne, too, rose and returned to Greenwich Castle with her ladies. The gentlemen were making haste to follow the king. Norfolk and Paulet, however, and a small group of their satellites, appeared to be remaining; as Anne entered the castle she saw them standing talking closely together in a court. She found something more than usually significant in their aloof and confidential demeanor, and the glances of secure arrogance that they cast upon her in her passing seemed to hint at withheld knowledge.

At ten that night there arrived at Greenwich a breathless and disheveled rider. It was Roland Bulkley, a lawyer of Gray's Inn. He asked to be shown at once to the queen and Anne kept him waiting but a few minShe knew him for a devoted friend.

utes.