The house of the wizard

Raby would gladly have parted with old Madam at once and made his way on foot to the palace, for he did not wish to be seen in his disordered dress, and there was blood, too, on his face, from a slight cut upon his forehead. But she was not of the same mind; she would not let him go back alone after his encounter, but scolded and badgered him in her own fashion, until she forced him into her barge. And there she questioned him sharply, trying to draw from him the cause of the attack which Henge had made; but she failed. Simon kept his own counsel; he was as determined to keep Betty’s name out of the matter as the old woman was resolved to trace it back to her, for she had suspected at once the true state of affairs. It was an encounter of wits, for old Madam was as keen as a needle, and Raby was no fool. Back and forth the subject went, thrust and parry, until the boat stopped at the water-stairs, and there Simon lost no time in making his escape. Lady Crabtree was bound for London, intending to return at noon to Greenwich; so he evaded her, at least for a season. Waving his adieu, he turned from the river and made his way swiftly toward a side entrance of the palace. The morning was now well advanced, and avoiding a group of courtiers, he came at last to the quadrangle court; and here, to his surprise, he met Mistress Carew. She had just come out, roused from her slumbers by her anxieties, and a glance at Raby told her the story of his morning journey. Her quick eye detected the blood that he had failed to wipe away entirely, and she stopped him with an imperious gesture.

“You are wounded!” she cried, her tone as full of emotion as he could desire; “what have you done?”

“’Tis but a scratch,” he answered lightly; “a little water will soon remove the traces of it.”

But she was not to be put off so easily.

“You have been fighting with Henge!” she exclaimed. “I felt it, and I am thankful that it is no worse.”

“You do not inquire into his fate,” Raby rejoined, smiling, “yet you know not what it is.”

“Nor care,” she answered, her eyes sparkling with anger; “sir, he was unworthy of your steel.”

“That I know now, Mistress Carew,” Simon said heartily; “until a few hours ago I believed him, after his own fashion, a gentleman, save for his pursuit of you, and for that—except the manner of it—there is an excuse.”

“He is too base a man to be aught but a coward,” said Betty, scornfully. “But that cut upon your forehead,” she added in a changed tone, “I grieve to see it; you must call a leech.”

Raby looked at her with a smile, and his expression brought the color to her cheeks.

“Mistress Carew,” he said softly, “you told me the prophecy, and was it not natural I should strive for a scar?”

“But I told you also that I liked it not,” she answered archly.

“Ay, but, then, what if the prophecy held?” he said, still smiling. “I thought it safe to be on the winning side.”

“Alas, sir!” she exclaimed, “I fear that your heart has already too many scars; add not one only to your face.”

She had stepped back a little and was laughing and blushing, her face framed with the furs that muffled it. He thought her charming, and her wayward mood pleased his fancy.

“Ah, mistress!” he replied, “my heart has left my keeping, therefore I have only my face to scar, unless you give me back the other.”

Betty looked down demurely.

“Master Raby,” she said, “I have been with two queens, and both have warned me about the hearts of men. One called them ships that rode uneasy at their moorings, and the other, quicksands. After such goodly advice and wise discourse, verily, sir, I have my doubts about the matter also.”

“Then there is greater reason for you to listen to a truthful argument,” he answered, smiling; “these poor ladies manifestly have not found a faithful heart.”

“That is the very point of the matter,” Betty answered quickly; “are any faithful?”

“Ay, surely,” he answered more earnestly; “and mine—”

“Hush!” exclaimed Betty, softly, “look yonder, sir, and judge a man’s heart by the king’s.”

Raby turned quickly, following the direction of her glance. A door on the opposite side had opened, and Henry was coming out, followed by two of his attendants. The king was cloaked, but his figure could not be mistaken; and when Simon turned, he had paused upon the threshold and was looking up at a window above him. At the casement was the figure of a woman, and she waved her hand to the king as he looked up. Henry threw her a kiss and walked on, followed by his equerries.

“’Tis not the queen,” remarked Betty softly, as the party passed around and out of the quadrangle.

“Nay,” replied Raby, gravely, “it was Mistress Seymour.”

For a moment neither spoke; both were thinking of Queen Anne in the wizard’s house, both heard again her shriek of terror.

“Alas!” said Raby; “poor lady! I fear there is some truth in the whispers of the court.”

Betty looked at him with a sparkle of mischief in her dark eyes.

“Sir,” she said, “I fear that you have no very true witness for a man’s loyalty; you will need a better proof.”

And she made him a little curtsy as she turned to go back into the palace.

“Stay!” cried Raby, eagerly; “I said not that a king should be the standard. Why, mistress, a royal heart cannot be measured with that of a plain, honest man.”

Betty laughed archly, still retreating.

“Is a king, then, the only knave?” she asked.

“There is one heart that waits for you to test it, Mistress Carew,” Simon answered, following her, his face flushed and his eyes upon her laughing ones; it was no longer jest with him, but she evaded him.

They had reached the door which opened into the private way to the apartments of the maids of honor, and here he was forced to halt. She, too, paused an instant, with her hand upon the latch, and looked up with serious eyes, her whole manner changing in a moment.

“Master Raby,” she said gently, “I thank you from my heart for the part you have taken this morning in my quarrel. Believe me, sir, the orphan is not ungrateful to her gallant champion.”

Before he could reply, she was gone, and he stood looking at the door with a glowing face. She had bewitched him and he believed that she was not indifferent to him, but she could sustain her manner of gay pleasantry, and was as skilful as he in the trifling talk which made even a serious matter seem of little weight.

He turned, at last, to find his way to his own apartment, determined to bring Mistress Betty to consider the question at a more propitious moment; but he was destined to wait many days for the opportunity. When he reached his room, he found a messenger with a summons for him to come without delay to see his dying father. There was no time for leave-takings; he had to secure the king’s permission to depart, and when that was obtained, was forced to set out with no better satisfaction than a note of farewell to Mistress Betty. Not knowing how carefully she kept that missive, he went with but poor comfort upon his sad errand.