woman was eager to change the drift of Catherine’s thoughts.

The queen smiled as she turned to Betty.

“What say you, maiden?” she asked; “would this marvellous little man divert my poor girls for an hour?”

[69]“I cannot tell,” Betty answered soberly, for she was touched at the queen’s emotion—Catherine’s habitual coldness was repulsive, but in such moments of sorrow she was more attractive; “’tis certain that he furnished me with ten minutes of sharp entertainment this noon,” and she told them briefly of the wild gallop of the wizard and her own misadventure.

[69]

“We must see this fiery horseman, if Bedingfield will let us,” said the queen when she had heard the story; “see, my maids, how obedient I grow from force of habit! If her jailer wills it, the Queen of England would see a travelling wizard for an hour of wild diversion. Forsooth, ’twill cast in shadow the jousts at Greenwich in honor of the Marchioness of Pembroke! Go you, Mistress Carew, for you are in favor, and pray Sir Edmund to send this fortune-teller to us.”

Thus admonished, Betty went upon the errand with alacrity, glad to escape from the sadness that the queen’s mood had cast upon the scene, and moved, too, by a young girl’s curiosity which had been awakened by the reports of the wizard. She found Bedingfield still entertaining the small stranger, and preferred Catherine’s suit with some hesitation on account of his presence. Sir Edmund’s[70] face clouded a little at the proposition and he stood a few moments staring moodily at the floor. Betty, standing at a short distance, observed the two with interested eyes. The wizard had fastened his gaze on his companion’s face as soon as Betty told her errand and watched him much as a cat watches a mouse, but there was no expression on his small and wizened countenance to indicate his feelings. He was sitting on a low settle, his short legs drawn under it and his chin resting in his hands; something in his gray hair and dull skin, his brown clothing and diminutive size, gave him the appearance of some hobgoblin of fairy lore. Bedingfield was manifestly puzzled; the queen’s request was simple and natural enough, and there seemed no reasonable excuse for denying it, yet Sir Edmund was uneasy. There was something about the wizard which indicated a keen wit and no ordinary energy of purpose, and Bedingfield knew that there were dealings with Rome and Spain,—dealings that Cromwell and the king desired to break off,—and here was a stranger who might 

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