Aroused by Mary Wyatt’s passionate entreaties, Anne opened her eyes, and seeing the wizard held by Raby and the furious faces of her attendants, she rallied her sinking powers. “Loose him,” she said faintly. “I was mad at a fearful vision; I would not have this matter bruited abroad; men shall not jeer at Anne Boleyn.” Making a great effort, she rose to her feet, and stood, supported by her maids. “Sir Wizard,” she said coldly, “has it availed to conjure hell to fright a feeble woman? I forgive you, but ’tis my mercy shelters you from the wrath of my lord the king.” “He shall to jail, madam!” exclaimed Raby. “Nay, I charge you, loose him and depart with me,” she said, with sudden majesty of demeanor; “it was my folly to come here. Lend me your aid, Cousin Francis; my limbs tremble beneath me, but my heart is stout.” She took but two steps, however, before she tottered, so that Bryan almost carried her from the room, followed by her maids like a flock of startled pigeons. As they departed, Henge stepped in front of Raby. “At what hour and place, sir?” he asked fiercely. Raby laughed scornfully. “To-morrow at sunrise, at the tryst beyond the palace park,” he answered lightly, and ran down the steps to overtake the royal party. When he reached the water-gate, the almost unconscious queen had been already laid in the stern of the barge, her head resting in the lap of Mary Wyatt. And the slow journey back began in silence, the attendants all being too alarmed for conversation. The moonlight still shone upon the waters and fell full on the deathlike face of Anne Boleyn, but there was no sound save the soft dip of the oars in the river. A few hours later, her three maids of honor, Lady Rochford, Mistress Gaynsford, and Betty, sat around the fire in the anteroom of the queen’s chamber, anxiously awaiting tidings of her condition. Within, an old and skilled nurse and Mrs. Wyatt labored to still Anne’s hysterics. For she had wept and laughed at intervals ever since she regained consciousness. They feared to call the court physician, lest the escapade should reach the ears of the king, and it was long before the royal patient sank into repose. Her cries and weird laughter had been hushed for half an hour, when the door opened silently, and Mary Wyatt came out with a look of horror on her face. So strange was her expression that it hushed the anxious inquiries upon the lips of the others. She came to the fire, and falling on her knees, gazed into it while she told her story in a strange voice, and the superstition of the age held her listeners in a spell of terror.