truth," shouted the King. "Be off,
ere the stool follows the inkpot."

Two ladies who stood by the fire talking together and taking no heed,
for to such rude scenes they seemed to be accustomed, looked up and
laughed a little, then went on talking, while Cromwell smiled and
shrugged his shoulders. Then in the midst of the silence which followed
Thomas Bolle, who had been watching open-mouthed, ejaculated in his
great voice--

"A bull's eye! A noble bull! Myself cannot throw straighter."

"Silence, fool," hissed Emlyn.

"Who spoke?" asked the king, looking towards them sharply.

"Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle."

"Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may be?"

"Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant shot."

"Thomas Bolle, you are right. Seeing the hurry and the unhandiness of
the missile, it was excellent. Let the knave stand up again and I'll bet
you a gold noble to a brass nail that you'll not do as well within an
inch. Why, the fellow's gone! Will you try on my Lord Cromwell? Nay,
this is no time for fooling. What's your business, Thomas Bolle, and who
are those women with you?"

Now Cromwell stepped forward, and with cringing gestures began to
explain something to the King in a low voice. Meanwhile, the two ladies
became suddenly interested in Cicely, and one of them, a pale but pretty
woman, splendidly dressed, stepped forward to her, saying--

"Are you the Lady Harflete of whom we have heard, she who was to have
been burnt as a witch? Yes? And is that your child? Oh! what a beautiful
child. A boy, I'll swear. Come to me, sweet, and in after years you can
tell that a queen has nursed you," and she stretched out her arms.

As good fortune would have it the child was awake, and attracted by the
Queen's pleasant voice, or perhaps by the necklace of bright gems
that she wore, he held out his little hands towards her and went quite
contentedly to her breast. Jane Seymour, for it was she, began to fondle
him with delight, then, followed by her lady, ran to the King, saying--

"See, Harry, see what a beautiful boy, and how he loves me. God send us
such a son as this!"

The King glanced at the child, then answered--

"Aye, he would do well enow. Well, it rests with you, Jane. Nurse him,
nurse him, perhaps the sex is catching. I and all England would see you
brought to bed of that sickness, Sweet. What said you, Cromwell?"

The great minister went