CHAPTER XXXIX
A FORLORN HOPE
The Great Hall had quickly filled with ladies and gentlemen. Mary Tudorhad rapidly approached the dais, holding out one gracious hand to Wessexand vouchsafing but a cold, callous look to Ursula Glynde, who, likesome young, wounded fawn, seemed to be standing at bay, facing thiscrowd of indifferent spectators who had literally come between her andher happiness.
It seemed as if Mary felt a cruel delight in bringing before the younggirl's notice the hopelessness of her position, the irreparability ofthe breach which existed now between her and His Grace of Wessex.
The Queen's jealous eyes had already noted the cold salutation withwhich Wessex so readily left Ursula's side, in order to turn to thenew-comers. His Grace was evidently glad to see the end of a painfulinterview, and Mary was too weak a woman not to rejoice at sight of theheartache which was expressed in Ursula's pallid face, and not to try toenhance the pain of the wound.
Therefore when Wessex respectfully kissed her hand she kept him closebeside her, whispering tender words which she hoped her rival mighthear.
"It seems like a beautiful dream, my lord," she said gently, "to see youonce more at our Court. The ugly nightmare is over, and I am almosthappy."
"I humbly thank Your Majesty," replied the Duke. "My whole life canhenceforth be spent in expressing my gratitude for a graciousness,which I so little deserve."
"Nay! I pray you to put us to the test, my dear lord. My heart acheswith the desire to grant your every whim."
"Then I beg of Your Majesty a command in France."
"You wish to leave me?" said Mary with tender reproach.
"I hope to save Calais for Your Majesty's crown."
"Ah, my lord! I have more need of friends just now than cities! Whilstyou go to France your Queen will wed King Philip of Spain."
"I hope not, Your Majesty," he rejoined earnestly.
"The letter of acceptance for my royal master already bears HerMajesty's signature," here interposed the Cardinal blandly.
"Aye! I have pledged my royal word," added the Queen with a short sigh."His Eminence hath served us well and . . ."
She made an effort to steady her voice, and avoided meeting the anxiouslook which Wessex had cast upon her.
"But we will not mar the happiness of this joyous day," she continuedafter a while, speaking with enforced cheerfulness. "My Lord HighSteward here would desire our confirmation of the free pardon granted inhonour of it, to all who were awaiting trial."
"If Your Majesty will deign to append the royal signature," said LordChandois, who was fingering a large document.
"With pleasure, my lord. Are there many awaiting trial?"
Lord Chandois spread the document out on the table, and Mary Tudorprepared to sign it.
"A dozen or so, Your Majesty," explained the Lord High Steward; "menand women accused of roguery, witchcraft, and vagabondage."
With a bold stroke of her pen Mary added her royal name to thedeclaration of a free pardon.
"Let them be set free," she said, while Lord Chandois once more tookpossession of the paper. "It is our royal desire that these poor loutsshould thank His Grace of Wessex for their liberty, which they owe tohim."
Once more she turned with her usual affectionate gentleness towards theDuke. Throughout this brief, seemingly indifferent scene, Ursula hadstood by, like an image carved in stone.
Etiquette forbade her retirement until the Queen granted her leave, andMary seemed desirous to keep her close at hand, as a contrast, perhaps,to the exuberant joy which prevailed among the other ladies andgentlemen there.
In the midst of all this merriment and gaiety, the hubbub of manyvoices, the pleasant laughter and lively banter, two silent figuresstood out in strange contrast. Ursula, rigid, ghostlike in her whitedraperies, her young face expressive of hopeless despair and of deadlysorrow kept in check, lest indifferent eyes read its miserable tale; andWessex, moving like an automaton among his friends, answering at random,trying with all his might to keep his thoughts from straying, his eyesfrom wandering, towards that beautiful statue, which now seemed like anexquisite carven monument of his own vanished happiness.
No one took much notice of Ursula Glynde, she was the disgracedmaid-of-honour, the fallen star, scarce worth beholding, and she wasglad of this isolation, which the selfishness of her former friendscreated around her. She looked for the last time upon the pomp andpageant of this glittering Court life; her very soul yearned for thepeace and seclusion of austere convent walls. For the last time too shelooked upon the man on whom she had lavished all the tenderness of herromantic temperament, whom she had set up on a pedestal of chivalry fromwhich she felt loath even now to dethrone him.
She could see that he suffered and that he did not understand. Themisunderstanding, which nothing could clear up now, still made a veil ofdarkness before his eyes. Her tender heart ached for him, her soul wentout to him amidst all these people who laughed and chatted around her.For one brief moment their eyes met across a sea of indifferentfaces--his lighted up with all the ardour of a never-fading passionatelove, and hers spoke to him an eternal farewell.