And so they rode on, talking in a friendly way until they seemed no longer strangers, and were but little interrupted by Sir William, who was wrapped in his own thoughts, which were apparently not altogether pleasant ones. Thus the three made the journey together, and still Betty knew nothing of her destination, though she marvelled more and more as the way lengthened, and they stopped at first one tavern and then another. But in those days young girls were little considered and were expected to submit, with implicit obedience, to the guidance of their elders. More than once Betty thought that she was likely to come to her journey’s end without knowing her errand, but it was not to be so. The last day of her travels brought her enlightenment. Toward evening, when they were riding along at an even gait and had just passed through a small village, Master Raby fell back, leaving uncle and niece alone, as though he gave them opportunity for a last talk together, and Sir William, almost at once, availed himself of it. “Fair niece,” he said, “you are truly a jewel among women, for you have not yet asked me a question. Did your aunt tell you whither you were bound?” “Nay, uncle,” Mistress Betty answered quietly, “but I remember my cause for gratitude and am willing to do your bidding, though I should like to know where we are going.” Carew smiled. “There spoke the woman,” he said, “yet I fear you will be little pleased; it is no lively errand for a girl. We are riding to Kimbolton, where they have but lately taken the princess dowager.” “What, sir, do I go to the queen?” cried Betty, in amazement. “Mind thy tongue, young mistress,” Carew said sharply; “not queen, but princess dowager.” “You mean Queen Catherine, uncle,” Betty retorted, some excitement in her voice; “I cannot think of her as less than the queen.” “Then must you learn to speedily,” Sir William said, “for you are sent down to Kimbolton by my lord privy seal, and you must not transgress the king’s commandment in this matter, whereby we are bidden to hold this lady as only the widow of Prince Arthur.” “I cannot see how that may be,” the young girl cried; “she was surely the king’s wife, and there be many who declare that there is no divorcement.” “But ye are not of them, wench,” her uncle said sternly; “his grace of Canterbury hath declared the king’s first marriage null, and we have naught to do with the opinions of the Bishop of Rome, albeit this lady clings to his judgment and will none of the king’s.” “Uncle, do you believe that she is fairly used?” asked Mistress Betty, with the fearful honesty of youth; “think you they had a right to treat the daughter of a king with such contumely?”