“How ended it, Mary?” she asked indulgently; “you make a long tale before you come to the pith of the matter, yet we know your horoscope was cast--and happily, as I think it should be, albeit you are a naughty rogue.” “Madam, I found a wizard truly,” Mrs. Wyatt answered, soberly enough; “indeed, a king of wizards, though a little man.” At these words Betty started uneasily; she hated the mention of a wizard since the prophecy of the scar. “Little in measure, sweetheart, but great in power, doubtless,” said the queen. “Your grace would find him a marvellous strange character,” Mrs. Wyatt answered; “when I sat and looked at him and heard him tell me the most secret thoughts of mine own heart, verily, my blood ran cold.” “Were thy secret thoughts so evil, Mary?” asked Anne, archly. “It mattered not what they were, my queen,” Mary Wyatt said; “it was his manner of telling them, and his fearful eyes which burnt into my brain.” “The girl is frightened,” said the queen, laughing; “for shame. I thought you a brave heart.” “Madam, I am no coward, as ye know,” her attendant answered with spirit; “but the man is gruesome, and he has tales and prophecies that are marvellous to hear.” “What is he like?” asked Anne, curiously. “He is short and bandy-legged, and has a countenance like a wolf’s, with great black eyes that burn like fire.” “’Tis Sanders,” said Betty Carew; “Zachary Sanders, the great wizard.” The queen turned quickly toward her. “Where didst thou see him?” she asked. Mistress Betty hesitated, casting a doubtful glance at the others. “Speak,” said Anne, impatiently; “here all are friends.” “I saw him at Kimbolton, madam,” Betty answered softly, blushing at Mrs. Wyatt’s reproachful glance. “Ah, a partisan of the princess dowager,” exclaimed Lady Rochford, with contempt; “you chose poor company, Mistress Wyatt, and a poor adviser.” “A man does not carry his politics upon his face,” said Mary Wyatt, indignantly, “anymore than his heart upon his sleeve.” “Hush!” said the queen, “it does not matter. Mistress Carew, how came he to Kimbolton, and wherefore?” Betty briefly related the accidental encounter at the Blue Boar and the exploit of the piebald horse. “Saw he the queen--I mean, the princess?” Anne asked quickly. “Ay, your grace,” Betty replied; “I was sent to Sir Edmund to crave his attendance in our private rooms.” “A ruse!” exclaimed the queen at once; “the rogue lashed your horse to gain some notice from Bedingfield. How thick are some brains not to see such manœuvers! But it only interests me more in the man. Where does he live, Mary? what manner of house has he?” Mrs. Wyatt, abashed at her unfortunate blunder in bringing up Queen Catherine’s affairs, was more reluctant to answer. “’Tis a gloomy place in London,” she said, “and would little interest your highness.” “But it does interest me, madam,” Anne exclaimed, with a touch of imperious temper; “I will know all that you do.”