be served “with more than two courses,” said the law, “and each mess of two sorts of victuals at the utmost, be it flesh or fish, with the common sorts of pottage, without sauce or any other sorts of victuals.” My Lady Crabtree had received a letter from Mrs. Wyatt the previous day, and she read from it to Betty as she ate her breakfast, making her own comments upon it in her usual fashion. “The queen recovers slowly from her illness and is in sore distress of mind at the loss of her boy, so says Mistress Wyatt,” remarked the old woman; “like enough, there be other causes for her sorrow and rumors be true.” “You mean the king’s fancy is caught by another?” asked Betty, quietly. “Ay, that is the talk,” Lady Crabtree rejoined. “Wyatt is too close to the queen to speak of it, but I have my information from a sure hand. They do say that my Lady Anne surprised him making love to the little Seymour. The queen came suddenly upon them; Jane sat on the king’s knee, looking as demure as ever. ’Tis said this brought Anne to her present case; and that the king’s grace is furious at the loss of a boy.” “I wonder if she--the queen--thinks now of Queen Catherine,” remarked Betty, thoughtfully; “poor lady! she bore enough from this same Anne Boleyn.” “Yet the statesmen would have us believe that the king does all this because he would have a boy to leave to rule in this realm,” said Lady Crabtree, cutting the beef with a free stroke of her knife. “’Tis an excellent excuse to marry a young wife to cheat the King of Scots. There be others that would rejoice to find a King of Scots in a like case, I doubt not.” “Yet the succession is a serious matter,” said Betty, smiling; “I have heard my uncle speak of it with deep concern.” “Serious enough,” retorted the old woman, grimly. “My Lady Salisbury is busy hatching an egg of conspiracy, if I mistake not; and there is Lord Hussey, who but lately had charge of the Lady Mary, a man who knows not the color of his own shirt from morn till evening. As for Reginald Pole, he fancies himself a pope already, and has thrown filth enough upon the king and will endeavor to pull down his grace, albeit he owes him much. ’Tis a lovely muddle, and my lord privy seal is as much hated as the devil. As for this queen, she has put away from her, by some misfortune, the Duke of Norfolk, her uncle, while his grace of Suffolk hates her. As for Percy, whom she loved, he is like to be of more harm than help to her. ’Tis the devil’s pot and he is here to brew it. Ah, what have we here, Bronson?” This to a servant who stood near her. At the moment there was a hubbub at the other end of the great apartment. The members of the household who were eating at the lower tables rose and peered over each other’s shoulders, while at the door was heard the sound of a dispute. Lady Crabtree stood up and struck the table with the handle of her knife, her whole manner changing at once to that of a ruler of the domain.