ve none of
it."

He handed the queen the rosette, and she smilingly fastened it on her
shoulder again.

"John," said she, with a bewitching smile, extending her hand to him,
"John, when will you at length permit me to thank you otherwise than
with words? When will you at length allow your queen to reward you for
all this service of love, otherwise than with words?"

John Heywood kissed her hand, and said mournfully: "I will demand
a reward of you on the day when my tears and my prayers succeed in
persuading you to renounce this wretched and dangerous love. On that
day I shall have really deserved a reward, and I will accept it from you
with a proud heart."

"Poor John! So, then, you will never receive your reward; for that day
will never come!"

"So, then, I shall probably receive my reward, but from the king; and it
will be a reward whereby one loses hearing and sight, and head to boot.
Well, we shall see! Till then, farewell, queen! I must to the king; for
somebody might surprise me here, and come to the shrewd conclusion that
John Heywood is not always a fool, but sometimes also the messenger of
love! I kiss the hem of your garment; farewell, queen!"

He glided again through the private door.

"Now we will at once examine this paper," said he, as he reached the
corridor and was sure of being seen by no one.

He drew the paper out of his doublet and opened it. "I do not know the
hand-writing," muttered her, "but it was a woman that wrote it."

The letter read: "Do you believe me now, my beloved? I swore to deliver
to you to-day, in the presence of the king and all of my court, this
rosette; and I have done so. For you I gladly risk my life, for you are
my life; and still more beautiful were it to die with you, than to
live without you. I live only when I rest in your arms; and those dark
nights, when you can be with me, are the light and sunshine of my days.
Let us pray Heaven a dark night may soon come; for such a night restores
to me the loved one, and to you, your happy wife, Geraldine."

"Geraldine! who is Geraldine?" muttered John Heywood, slipping the
paper into his doublet again. "I must disentangle this web of lying
and deceit. I must know what all this means. For this is more than a
conspiracy--a false accusation. It concerns, as it seems, a
reality. This letter the queen is to give to a man; and in it, sweet
recollections, happy nights, are spoken of. So he who receives this
letter is in league