Betty looked up bravely. “Sir,” she murmured, “I shall never forgive myself if you take hurt in my cause. I pray you let him go; ’twas you who were the aggressor, and there can be no dishonor in counting the matter too unworthy for your notice. For my sake, since I made the offence, I do beseech you leave the quarrel to oblivion.” Raby took her hand and kissed it passionately. “For thy sake, mistress, I would do all save lose my honor,” he whispered tenderly. Betty drew away her hand with a crimson face just as Mary Wyatt and Lady Rochford came from the queen’s room, and so interrupted the tender little scene. “Master Raby, I pray you do me the courtesy to bear this missive to Sir Francis,” Mrs. Wyatt said in a weary voice; “and then I trust that we may all sleep sound till morning dawns, and so try to forget this agony.” “Has the king come?” asked Lady Rochford; “they told me that his grace came late last night.” “And so he did, madam,” Raby replied, as he took Mary Wyatt’s missive and, with a salutation which included all, although his eyes sought Betty’s, he left the gallery to do his errand. “To bed, to bed!” said Lady Rochford, when the three women were alone; “I am well nigh faint for lack of sleep.” As they walked together to their chambers, Betty turned thoughtfully to Mrs. Wyatt. “Where was the king’s grace to-day?” she asked in a low voice. “I know not,” retorted Mary Wyatt, in a bitter tone, “but doubtless with that trollop Seymour!” Betty asked no more questions, but went to her own room and said a prayer for the protection of Simon Raby from the man she hated; and after tossing for a while upon her pillow, fell asleep at last, as the first light of the winter morning dawned in a gray sky. A little later, when the sun was rising, its rays shining but faintly through the heavy mist that was hanging over the scene, making the tall trees of Greenwich Park loom like spectral giants through the folds of vapor, Simon Raby set out alone to keep his engagement with Sir Barton Henge. Armed only with his rapier and muffled in a heavy cloak, he walked leisurely away from the palace, and proceeded through the more lonely portions of the park toward the river. His depression of the night before had passed with the darkness; Queen Anne’s vision concerned him too little to disturb his thoughts longer. As he passed beyond the immediate vicinity of the palace, he quickened his steps. Even at that early hour there was the stir of a great establishment awakening; he met a company of cooks and scullions running toward the royal kitchens, and several messengers rode out post-haste, for the day’s errands began early.