“Hush, madam!” retorted her lord, sternly; “a woman’s heart is more full of pity than of wisdom. It is not for us to dispute the matter; there is talk enough, and no little harm from it. The marriage hath been set aside, and let us hear no more of it while there is another queen and an infant princess.” “Ay, it is an easy matter for a man to forget his wife for a pretty face,” replied the good dame, hotly; “this is a policy that men like, since it favoreth their own slips upon the road; but no good will come of it, I warrant.” Raleigh laughed, looking from the husband to the wife; and even Sir William smiled, though a little grimly. “The women are all alike,” he said; “there is a great cackling amongst them over this, and if the petticoats could set the kingdom in order, I doubt not one fair lady would hang as high as Haman.” “I blame them not for their pity for one we know,” Raleigh answered quietly; “it seems, forsooth, a great wrong, yet would I not see the Lady Mary come to the throne to bring back the Bishop of Rome and the Spaniards. These last I loved not ever; albeit there is cause for mourning that we lose with them the Flanders trade. Yet my heart has not been in all these acts; the fall of Sir Thomas More was, in itself, grief enough to me, for I had much friendship for that virtuous gentleman.” “Could it not have been averted?” asked Lady Carew, sadly; “he and Fisher both consented to swear to the Act of the Succession, with an exception, as I heard; could not this suffice?” “Nay, madam,” Raleigh answered quietly, “since the very clauses they excepted to were those which did declare the king’s first marriage illegal, and his present one legal. Of what profit would it be to swear allegiance to the Princess Elizabeth and, in the same breath, to refuse her legitimacy? It may not be. We must have a settled succession; if the king have not male issue, I fear me there will be war in any case. Besides the Lady Mary and the troubles that my Lady Salisbury is like to hatch in the cause of the White Rose, there is the King of Scots, and verily no English stomach can digest him and not vomit.” “Nay, forsooth!” exclaimed Sir William; “there shall be no Scotch dressing to an English pudding while there is a sword in Devonshire. If the king could but get a boy there might be an end in peace, but as it is, one girl child set up against another, and one-half the kingdom crying ‘Mary,’ the other ‘Elizabeth,’ and so blood and fire from Land’s End to the Tweed, and, eftsoons, the King of Scots!” “Friend Carew, let not thy posset burn, for all that,” said Master Raleigh, smiling, for in his vexation Sir William had well nigh forgotten his brewing. “’Tis ready,” Carew answered, taking it from the fire; “Cicely, wench, hast ground the amber and sugar for it?”