e feared a little that that was what he had done. For he had been
urgent with her, many months, to be crowned. It was his way to love
these things. And her heart was a little gladder when he shook his head
once again and uttered--

'It is more than that!'

She dreaded his having made ready in secret a great pageant in her
honour, for she was afraid of all aggrandisements, and thought still it
had been better that she had remained his sweet friend ever and not the
Queen. For in that way she would have had as much empire over him, and
there would have been much less clamour against her--much less clamour
against the Church of her Saviour.

She forced her mind to run upon all the things that she could wish for.
When she said it must be that he had ordered for her enough French
taffetas to make twelve gowns, he laughed and said that he had said that
it was more than a crown. When she guessed that he had made ready such a
huge cavalcade that she might with great comfort and safety ride with
him into Scotland, he laughed, contented that she should think of going
with him upon that long journey. He stood looking at her, his little
eyes blinking, his face full of pride and joy, and suddenly he uttered--

'The Church of God is come back again.' He touched his cap at the sacred
name. 'I ha' made submission to the Pope.'

He looked her full in the face to get all the delight he might from her
looks and her movements.

Her blue eyes grew large; she leaned forward in her chair; her mouth
opened a little; her sleeves fell down to the ground. 'Now am I indeed
crowned!' she said, and closed her eyes. '_Benedicta sit mater dei!_'
she uttered, and her hand went over her heart place; '_deo clamavi nocte
atque die._'

She was silent again, and she leaned more forward.

'_Sit benedicta dies haec; sit benedicta hora haec benedictaque,
saeculum saeculum, castra haec._'

She looked out upon the great view: she aspired the air.

'_Ad colles_,' she breathed, '_levavi oculos meos; unde venit salvatio
nostra!_'

'Body of God,' Henry said, 'all things grow plain. All things grow
plain. This is the best day that ever I knew.'

IV

The Lady Mary of England sat alone in a fair room with little arched
windows that gave high up on to the terrace. It was the best room that
ever she had had since her mother, the Queen Katharine of Aragon, had
been divorced.

Dressed in black she sat writing at a large table before one window. Her
pape