eness of God
into a horrible caricature. And that, my lord, you did! Before God and
your king, I accuse you of it--I, the queen! For you know, my lord and
husband, I was there when Anne Askew was racked. I saw her agony, and
John Heywood saw it with me."

The eyes of all were now directed inquiringly to the king, of whose
ferocity and choler every one expected a violent outbreak.

But this time they were mistaken. The king was so well satisfied to find
his consort clear of the crime laid to her charge, that he willingly
forgave her for having committed a crime of less weighty character.
Besides, it filled him with respect to see his consort confronting her
accusers so boldly and proudly; and he felt toward them just as burning
wrath and hatred as he had before harbored against the queen. He was
pleased that the malignant and persistent persecutors of his fair and
proud wife should now be humbled by her before the eyes of all his
court.

Therefore he looked at her with an imperceptible smile, and said with
deep interest: "But how could this happen, my lady? By what path did you
get thither?"

"That is an inquiry which any one except the king is authorized to make.
King Henry alone knows the way that I went!" said Catharine, with a
slight smile.

John Heywood, who was still standing behind the king's throne, now bent
down close to Henry's ear, and spoke with him a long time in a quick,
low tone.

The king listened to him attentively; then he murmured so loud that the
bystanders could very well understand him: "By God, she is a spirited
and brave woman; and we should be obliged to confess that, even were she
not our queen!"

"Continue, my lady!" said he then aloud, turning to the queen with
a gracious look. "Relate to me, Catharine, what saw you then in the
torture-chamber?"

"Oh, my king and lord, it horrifies me only to think of it," cried she,
shuddering and turning pale. "I saw a poor young woman who writhed in
fearful agony, and whose staring eyes were raised in mute supplication
to Heaven. She did not beg her tormentors for mercy; she wanted from
them no compassion and no pity; she did not scream and whine from the
pain, though her limbs cracked and her flesh snapped apart like glass;
she raised her clasped hands to God, and her lips murmured low prayers,
which, perhaps, made the angels of heaven weep, but were not able to
touch the hearts of her tormentors. You had ordered her to be racked,
if she would