“I do seem to remember,” the queen said musingly, “but it is strange I do. Like a great sea, raging and terrible, the waters of Marah have overwhelmed me, sweeping on every side in a mighty torrent, carrying away all my strong friends and steadfast helpers. As the ocean, overflowing its borders, sweeps high upon the land, and when its tide recedes, carries away all the habitations that man has built upon the sand, and there is no remnant left thereof to tell the tale of the disaster, so the tide of my sorrow hath carried all things from my memory, stripping the beach of my mind and leaving only wreckage where once were lovely mansions of thought and fancy. Yet, as the saints bear witness, I did build my hope upon rock and looked steadfastly for its fulfilment. Alas, alas!” she added, tears shining in her eyes, “the tides have beaten on it, and only the sure anchor of my hope in heaven doth endure.” “Nay, nay, madam,” her woman cried, “speak not so disconsolately; the emperor bears up your just quarrel, and the new pope has declared for your cause. Look rather at the good hope you have in the love your people bear you and your fair daughter, the Princess Mary.” Catherine roused herself, her weakness had been but momentary, and she regained her composure almost as quickly as she had lost it. “It is for the Princess Mary that I live,” she said quietly; “in my good daughter I have an assured comfort.” “’Twas the horoscope of the princess that this wizard cast, who is now below,” her attendant said. “I should like to have your majesty see him; he would furnish much entertainment for an hour on such an evening as this.” The good woman was eager to change the drift of Catherine’s thoughts. The queen smiled as she turned to Betty. “What say you, maiden?” she asked; “would this marvellous little man divert my poor girls for an hour?” “I cannot tell,” Betty answered soberly, for she was touched at the queen’s emotion--Catherine’s habitual coldness was repulsive, but in such moments of sorrow she was more attractive; “’tis certain that he furnished me with ten minutes of sharp entertainment this noon,” and she told them briefly of the wild gallop of the wizard and her own misadventure. “We must see this fiery horseman, if Bedingfield will let us,” said the queen when she had heard the story; “see, my maids, how obedient I grow from force of habit! If her jailer wills it, the Queen of England would see a travelling wizard for an hour of wild diversion. Forsooth, ’twill cast in shadow the jousts at Greenwich in honor of the Marchioness of Pembroke! Go you, Mistress Carew, for you are in favor, and pray Sir Edmund to send this fortune-teller to us.”