her stay there, they being forfeit, whether Scotch or English.

'Ah,' she said, 'whilst his Grace rides north to meet the King's Scots I
will ride east and west and south each day.'

* * * * *

At that moment, whilst the King had left Cranmer and his spy and, to
regain his composure, was walking up and down in her chamber, she was
standing beside the Duke of Norfolk about midway between the end of the
terrace and the little green pavilion.

She was all in a dark purple dress, to please the King whose mood that
colour suited; and the Duke's yellow face looked out above a suit all of
black. He wore that to please the King too, for the King was of opinion
that no gathering looked gay in its colours that had not many men in
black amongst the number.

He said--

'You do not ride north with his Grace?'

He leaned upon his two staves, one long and of silver, the other shorter
and gilt; his gown fell down to his ankles, his dark and half-closed
eyes looked out at a tree that, struck lately by lightning, stretched up
half its boughs all naked from a little hillock beside a pond a mile
away.

'So it is settled between his Grace and me,' she said. She did not much
like her uncle, for she had little cause. But, the King being away, she
walked with him rather than with another man.

'I ask, perforce,' he said, 'for I have much work in the ordering of
your progresses.'

'We meant that you should have that news this day,' she said.

He shot one glance at her face, then turned his eyes again upon the
stricken tree. Her face was absolutely calm and without expression, as
it had been always when she had directed him what she would have done.
He could trace no dejection in it: on the other hand, he gave her credit
for a great command over her features. That he had himself. And, in the
niece's eyes, as they moved from the backs of a flock of sheep to the
dismantled abbey on the ridge, there was something of the enigmatic
self-containment that was in the uncle's steady glance. He could observe
no dejection, and at that he humbled himself a little more.

'Ay,' he said, 'the ordering of your progresses is a heavy burden. I
would have you commend what I have done here.'

She looked at him, at that, as if with a swift jealousy. His eyes were
roving upon the gay carpets, the pavilions, and the flags against the
grim walls, depending in motionless streaks of colour.

'The King's Grace's self,' she