Raby turned quickly, following the direction of her glance. A door on the opposite side had opened, and Henry was coming out, followed by two of his attendants. The king was cloaked, but his figure could not be mistaken; and when Simon turned, he had paused upon the threshold and was looking up at a window above him. At the casement was the figure of a woman, and she waved her hand to the king as he looked up. Henry threw her a kiss and walked on, followed by his equerries. “’Tis not the queen,” remarked Betty softly, as the party passed around and out of the quadrangle. “Nay,” replied Raby, gravely, “it was Mistress Seymour.” For a moment neither spoke; both were thinking of Queen Anne in the wizard’s house, both heard again her shriek of terror. “Alas!” said Raby; “poor lady! I fear there is some truth in the whispers of the court.” Betty looked at him with a sparkle of mischief in her dark eyes. “Sir,” she said, “I fear that you have no very true witness for a man’s loyalty; you will need a better proof.” And she made him a little curtsy as she turned to go back into the palace. “Stay!” cried Raby, eagerly; “I said not that a king should be the standard. Why, mistress, a royal heart cannot be measured with that of a plain, honest man.” Betty laughed archly, still retreating. “Is a king, then, the only knave?” she asked. “There is one heart that waits for you to test it, Mistress Carew,” Simon answered, following her, his face flushed and his eyes upon her laughing ones; it was no longer jest with him, but she evaded him. They had reached the door which opened into the private way to the apartments of the maids of honor, and here he was forced to halt. She, too, paused an instant, with her hand upon the latch, and looked up with serious eyes, her whole manner changing in a moment. “Master Raby,” she said gently, “I thank you from my heart for the part you have taken this morning in my quarrel. Believe me, sir, the orphan is not ungrateful to her gallant champion.” Before he could reply, she was gone, and he stood looking at the door with a glowing face. She had bewitched him and he believed that she was not indifferent to him, but she could sustain her manner of gay pleasantry, and was as skilful as he in the trifling talk which made even a serious matter seem of little weight. He turned, at last, to find his way to his own apartment, determined to bring Mistress Betty to consider the question at a more propitious moment; but he was destined to wait many days for the opportunity. When he reached his room, he found a messenger with a summons for him to come without delay to see his dying father. There was no time for leave-takings; he had to secure the king’s permission to depart, and when that was obtained, was forced to set out with no better satisfaction than a note of farewell to Mistress Betty. Not knowing how carefully she kept that missive, he went with but poor comfort upon his sad errand. CHAPTER XVIII