“Alas, poor queen of a day!” Raby said compassionately; “’tis a great misfortune for this realm, nor do we see the end of it. I came back but yesterday, and heard the tidings at an inn. They stunned me; I could not believe it until I made inquiries of the matter. ’Tis said that my lord privy seal sent for Sir Francis Bryan, but he is quit of it. And Archbishop Cranmer wept; he hath a gentle heart. I thought of the wizard’s house, Mistress Carew, and of the shrieks of the queen. ’Tis a marvellous thing, and makes an honest man shun the bandy-legged creature. I passed that house as I came on the river; the shutters were open and the windows--verily, they shone like evil eyes in the sunlight.” Betty shuddered. “’Twas a fearful place,” she said, and added: “I owe you a debt, Lord Raby. My Lady Crabtree told me more of that encounter with Henge than ever you did.” Raby’s face flushed as he laughed. “It was a petticoat rescue,” he said, “of which I have little cause to be vainglorious. Hath the villain troubled you again?” “Nay,” Betty answered, “though my lady tells me that he will avenge his grief. I pray you, beware of this dangerous foe.” “I would right cheerfully encounter more such in your cause, Mistress Carew,” he answered softly, and then added after a brief pause, “I was not only in Sussex; I have been down to Mohun’s Ottery.” “To my uncle?” asked Betty, in surprise. “How fared they all?” “Well, and sent loving greetings to you,” he replied. “Can you not divine my errand, Mistress Carew, down there in Devon?” Betty looked up archly, but meeting the ardent glance of his brown eyes, looked down again and colored like a rose. “Nay, sir,” she said, “I never yet could read a riddle.” A soft breeze shaking the bough overhead, some apple blossoms dropped upon her like a fragrant snowfall. “I saw your uncle, Mistress Carew,” Simon said softly, “and I pleaded my cause with him and won it; ’tis for you to condemn me now, or bless me.” They stood near the high wall of the orchard; it was very still, and Mistress Betty kept her eyes upon the ground. He put out his hand and took hers gently; his manner was tender as to a child; her stately beauty did not make her a great lady in his eyes, he saw beyond it the tender heart. “Mistress Carew, Betty,” he said softly, “I have no scar upon my brow.” At this, a smile stole over Betty’s rosy face and she gave him an arch glance. “You might have had one, sir, but for my Lady Crabtree,” she said roguishly. He kissed her hands. “I love you,” he whispered tenderly; “will you make me happy, or must I go hence with a heavy heart?” “My Lord Raby,” Betty said quietly, “I see my uncle and my Lady Crabtree coming through the orchard; did my uncle come with you?” “I must have my answer,” he exclaimed, between hope and doubt, still detaining her hand though he heard the others coming. “Bethink you,” she said proudly, “I should be but a portionless bride.”