at shortly after the nuptials the bride
found among her husband's papers several rough and incomplete drafts of
the fatal letter, and had accused him of precipitating the marriage--and
Sir Richard's death, too--by a wicked forgery. Tales of cruelty to the
Lady Edith and the servants were to be heard on all hands; and since the
father's death Sir Hugh had thrown off all soft disguises and become a
pitiless master toward all who in any way depended upon him and his
domains for bread.

There was a bit of Andrew's gossip which the King listened to with a
lively interest--

"There is rumour that the King is mad. But in charity forbear to say _I_
mentioned it, for 'tis death to speak of it, they say."

His Majesty glared at the old man and said--

"The King is NOT mad, good man--and thou'lt find it to thy advantage to
busy thyself with matters that nearer concern thee than this seditious
prattle."

"What doth the lad mean?" said Andrews, surprised at this brisk assault
from such an unexpected quarter. Hendon gave him a sign, and he did not
pursue his question, but went on with his budget--

"The late King is to be buried at Windsor in a day or two--the 16th of
the month--and the new King will be crowned at Westminster the 20th."

"Methinks they must needs find him first," muttered his Majesty; then
added, confidently, "but they will look to that--and so also shall I."

"In the name of--"

But the old man got no further--a warning sign from Hendon checked his
remark. He resumed the thread of his gossip--

"Sir Hugh goeth to the coronation--and with grand hopes. He confidently
looketh to come back a peer, for he is high in favour with the Lord
Protector."

"What Lord Protector?" asked his Majesty.

"His Grace the Duke of Somerset."

"What Duke of Somerset?"

"Marry, there is but one--Seymour, Earl of Hertford."

The King asked sharply--

"Since when is HE a duke, and Lord Protector?"

"Since the last day of January."

"And prithee who made him so?"

"Himself and the Great Council--with help of the King."

His Majesty started violently. "The KING!" he cried. "WHAT king, good
sir?"

"What king, indeed! (God-a-mercy, what aileth the boy?) Sith we have but
one, 'tis not difficult to answer--his most sacred Majesty King Edward
the Sixth--whom God preserve! Yea, and a dear and gracious little urchin
is he, too; and whether he be mad or no--and they say he mendeth daily
--his praises are on all men'