entered the castle.

"Oh, Thomas Seymour!" said John Heywood, utterly astounded. As if
paralyzed with horror, he stood there motionless, staring up at the sky
and repealing over and over, "Thomas Seymour! Thomas Seymour! So he is
a sorcerer who administers a love-potion to all the women, and befools
them with his handsome, saucy face. Thomas Seymour! The queen loves him;
the princess loves him; and then there is this Duchess of Richmond, who
will by all means be his wife! This much, however, is certain, he is
a traitor who deceives both, because to both he has made the same
confession of love. And there again is that imp, chance, which compels
me to be the confidant of both these women. But I will be well on my
guard against executing both my commissions to this sorcerer. Let him at
any rate become the husband of the princess; perhaps this would be the
surest means of freeing the queen from her unfortunate love."

He was silent, and still gazed up thoughtfully at the sky. "Yes," said
he then, quite cheerfully, "thus shall it be. I will combat the one
love with the other. For the queen to love him, is dangerous. I will
therefore so conduct matters that she must hate him. I will remain her
confidant. I will receive her letters and her commissions, but I will
burn her letters and not execute her commissions. I am not at liberty to
tell her that the faithless Thomas Seymour is false to her, for I have
solemnly pledged my word to the princess never to breathe her secret to
any one; and I will and must keep my word. Smile and love, then; dream
on thy sweet dream of love, queen; I wake for thee; I will cause the
dark cloud resting on thee to pass by. It may, perhaps, touch thine
heart; but thy noble and beautiful head--that at least it shall not be
allowed to crush; that--"

"Now, then, what are you staring up at the sky for, as if you read there
a new epigram with which to make the king laugh, and the parsons rave?"
asked a voice near him; and a hand was laid heavily on his shoulder.

John Heywood did not look round at all; he remained in the same
attitude, gazing up steadily at the sky. He had very readily recognized
the voice of him who had addressed him; he knew very well that he who
stood near him was no other than the bold sorcerer whom he was just then
cursing at the bottom of his heart; no other than Thomas Seymour, Earl
of Sudley.

"Say, John, is it really an epigram?" asked Thomas Seymour again. "An
epigram on