The lonely Lady Mary soon became a great favorite with the guards and servitors at Hampton Court. They all felt for her a tender, respectful pity, and would do any thing in their power to serve her. Being very shy, she never liked to visit the show apartments of the palace, at hours when she might meet strangers. So, the kind porter would often let her go in by herself, and sometimes even give her the keys, that she might stay as long as she pleased in any of the halls or galleries. She was romantic and poetical, and loved much to visit the grand old hall, on summer evenings, and see the rich sunset light pour in, and then fade softly out through the gorgeous stained windows. Sometimes, she would linger here till the long twilight was over, and the starlight and moonlight struggled through the stained glass, and faintly lit up the hall, silvering over the faded tapestry and banners, glistening on the old arms and armor. Strolling up and down the hall, or seated under one of the great windows, she would think and dream, and try to forget the sorrows of her humble life in remembering the misfortunes of the great and royal ones, who had so often walked where she walked, and sat where she sat. Once old Roger, the porter, asked her if she were not afraid to stay there, all alone by herself, so late. "Why, no," she answered, "what should I be afraid of?" He shrugged his shoulders, but said no more; I suppose because he did not know what to say, to such a simple, childlike question. One lovely August evening, the Lady Mary stayed later than usual in "Wolsey's Hall." The sunset glory faded and faded away; the twilight deepened and deepened into night; the moon and the stars looked in upon her through the great window. She was weary and sad, and the lonely stillness of that place seemed to suit her; she seemed to _feel_ the calm moonlight in which she sat, bathing her like a soft, soothing flood. She leaned her head against the tapestried wall, closed her eyes, and thought, and thought of the great days and splendid festivals long gone by--of kings and queens, brave knights, and beautiful ladies, and--when all at once that vast hall was lighted up as though by magic! Music swelled through the arches, and a splendid court came slowly sweeping in! First walked a stout, red-faced man, all velvets and jewels, with a dark, sorrowful-looking lady on his right; and on his left, an elderly man, with a bold, haughty face, and a rich dress of scarlet velvet and ermine. The Lady Mary recognized these as Henry VIII., Queen Katharine, and Cardinal Wolsey. They were followed by maids of honor, gentlemen, priests, and pages. Soon there was a livelier peal of music, and the dance began. The king danced with the most beautiful of the maids of honor, whom he smiled lovingly upon, while the poor queen looked very unhappy. So the Lady Mary knew that this fair maid must be Anne Boleyn.