“Trouble!” the queen laughed hysterically, “who speaks of it? ’Tis gay, a festival at Greenwich. Hark!” she cried suddenly, “what is that?” The stir of an arrival in the antechamber, the great doors thrown open, the voice of the usher announcing his grace of Norfolk and the lords of the Privy Council. Anne rose from her seat with a low cry. “’Tis a message from the king’s grace,” she cried joyfully; “my lord hath sent to comfort me for the arrest of my sweet brother.” She stood with a white face, her splendid dress disordered, her beautiful hair unbound. Her ladies clustered about her, but leaving a space in which she stood alone; behind were her frightened servants. Toward this group came with slow steps, as if their errand was a heavy one, her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, Cromwell, the Chancellor Audley, and others of the Council. The queen looked at them with dilated eyes, her breast heaving, and her expression changing from expectation to terror as her glance fell on Sir William Kingston, the Lieutenant of the Tower. “My God!” she cried in a low voice, “there is death in their looks!” Then she added aloud, “My lords, why come ye here?” “Madam,” replied Cromwell, sadly, “we come at the king’s command to conduct you to the Tower, there to abide his highness’s pleasure.” Mary Wyatt with a scream clutched at the queen’s robe, but in this supreme moment Anne regained her self-command. She put her devoted maid aside and stood alone. “My lords, if it be the king’s pleasure,” she said, “I am willing to obey.” The Duke of Norfolk ordered her attendants from the room that she might be examined privately by the Council. “Uncle,” said the queen, sadly, “from thy hands I might look for more tender usage.” Before she left the room, Betty Carew approached the unhappy woman; the young girl’s generous heart beat high and her dark eyes sparkled with anger. She saw here only a repetition of the blow that had smitten Catherine of Arragon. “Madam,” she said in a low voice, “if it be your wish, I will go with you to the Tower; I would not leave you now!” The queen was deeply touched; she took a ring from her finger and placed it in Betty’s hand. “Nay, Mistress Carew,” she said gently, “I also can be generous; thou art young, go in peace. Mary Wyatt and my other maids may presently come to me; now I am the king’s prisoner. Farewell, fair girl, I pray thy beauty may not bring thee to so evil a case.” CHAPTER XX IN THE APPLE ORCHARD