elted away like ice before the
sunshine. Again he was the master, whose right it was to rule her heart;
and she again the lowly handmaid, whose sweetest happiness it was to
submit and bow to the will of her lover.

"I can look you frankly in the eye," murmured she, "and no guilt burdens
my conscience. I have loved naught but you, and my God only dwells near
you in my heart." Wholly overcome, wholly intoxicated with happiness,
she leaned her head upon his shoulder, and as he clasped her in his
arms, as he covered with kisses her now unresisting lips, she felt only
that she loved him unutterably, and that there was no happiness for her
except with him.

It was a sweet dream, a moment of most exquisite ecstasy. But it was
only a moment. A hand was laid violently on her shoulder, a hoarse angry
voice called her name; and as she looked up, she encountered the wild
glance of Elizabeth, who stood before her with deathly pale cheeks,
with trembling lips, with expanded nostrils, and eyes darting flashes of
wrath and hatred.

"This, then, is the friendly service which you swore to me?" said she,
gnashing her teeth. "Did you steal into my confidence, and with scoffing
mouth spy out the secrets of my heart, in order to go away and betray
them to your paramour? That you might in his arms ridicule this pitiable
maiden, who allowed herself for the moment to be betrayed by her heart,
and took a felon for an honorable man! Woe, woe to you, Catharine, for
I tell you I will have no compassion on the adulteress, who mocks at me,
and betrays my father!"

She was raving; completely beside herself with anger, she dashed away
the hand which Catharine laid on her shoulder, and sprang back from the
touch of her enemy like an irritated lioness.

Her father's blood fumed and raged within her, and, a true daughter
of Henry the Eighth, she concealed in her heart only bloodthirsty and
revengeful thoughts.

She cast on Thomas Seymour a look of dark wrath, and a contemptuous
smile played about her lips. "My lord," said she, "you have called me
a child who allows herself to be easily deceived, because she longs so
much for the sun and for happiness. You are right: I was a child; and
I was foolish enough to take a miserable liar for a noble-man, who was
worthy of the proud fortune of being loved by a king's daughter. Yes,
you are right; that was a childish dream. Thanks to you, I have now
awoke from it; and you have matured the child into a woman,