me dignity, and part of the time
it was Mary--simply girl. Notwithstanding these haughty moods, anyone
with half an eye could see that the princess was gradually succumbing
to the budding woman; that Brandon's stronger nature had dominated her
with that half fear which every woman feels who loves a strong
man--stronger than herself.

One day the rumor spread through the court that the old French king,
Louis XII, whose wife, Anne of Brittany, had just died, had asked
Mary's hand in marriage. It was this, probably, which opened Brandon's
eyes to the fact that he had been playing with the very worst sort of
fire; and first made him see that in spite of himself, and almost
without his knowledge, the girl had grown wonderfully sweet and dear
to him. He now saw his danger, and struggled to keep himself beyond
the spell of her perilous glances and siren song. This modern Ulysses
made a masterful effort, but alas! had no ships to carry him away, and
no wax with which to fill his ears. Wax is a good thing, and no one
should enter the Siren country without it. Ships, too, are good, with
masts to tie one's self to, and sails and rudder, and a gust of wind
to waft one quickly past the island. In fact, one cannot take too many
precautions when in those enchanted waters.

Matters began to look dark to me. Love had dawned in Mary's breast,
that was sure, and for the first time, with all its fierce sweetness.
Not that it had reached its noon, or anything like it. In truth, it
might, I hoped, die in the dawning, for my lady was as capricious as a
May day; but it was love--love as plain as the sun at rising. She
sought Brandon upon all occasions, and made opportunities to meet him;
not openly--at any rate, not with Brandon's knowledge, nor with any
connivance on his part, but apparently caring little what he or any
one else might see. Love lying in her heart had made her a little more
shy than formerly in seeking him, but her straightforward way of
taking whatever she wanted made her transparent little attempts at
concealment very pathetic.

As for Brandon, the shaft had entered his heart, too, poor fellow, as
surely as love had dawned in Mary's, but there was this difference:
With our princess--at least I so thought at the time--the sun of love
might dawn and lift itself to mid-heaven and glow with the fervent
ardor of high noon--for her blood was warm with the spark of her
grandfather's fire--and then sink into the west and make roo