eyes. He did not seem to see the others, but recited his tale like a man in a trance. “’Twas night,” he said, “and I was in my laboratory studying the heavens. Mars was red as blood. Suddenly, before me, there was a wide ray of white light which constantly expanded, until I saw in it a marvellous flower-garden,[79] a vast place, full of bloom and with great gates, on which were emblazoned the arms of England. Within, there was a tall white rose upon a single stem, and it shone lustrous. No one was in the garden, and without were the pope, the Emperor of the Germans, and the Queen of Hungary, while, closer to the gate, stood your grace’s champion, Reginald Pole. Presently I saw a woman walking through the garden dressed in cloth of gold, with a crown on her head, and on her robes the arms of England and Spain united. She came across the garden to the white rose, and it bowed down to her; she plucked it, holding it up and looking at Pole, and then I knew her. After that, she touched the gates with the white rose and they flew open, and those without came in and kissed her. When she kneeled to receive the pope’s blessing, I saw her face plainly; it was the Princess Mary.” [79] When he ceased speaking, Catherine covered her face with her hands; the superstition of the age and her blood stirred within a naturally strong woman. After a moment, she spoke almost in a whisper. “And the king?” she said. “Madam, you know the northern prophecy,” the wizard replied; “the decorate rose shall be[80] slain in his mother’s womb,—which means the death of one who hath offended. And she”—the speaker lowered his voice so that it was scarcely more than a whisper—“she who hath wrought this woe, her horoscope doth show a sudden and a shameful death.” [80] “I pray it may be so!” exclaimed one of the queen’s women; “may a curse light on her—may—” “Nay, curse her not,” interrupted Catherine, coldly; “the time is not far off when ye shall have great reason to pity her, yea, to commiserate her estate.” “Ay,” replied the wizard, “an agony awaits her—a blood-red axe is in her destiny.” This low-spoken conversation had irritated the attendant sent by Bedingfield, and conscious that to permit it to continue would be a transgression of his orders, he came forward now and reminded Sanders that he had exceeded
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