"Nay! an you will have it so, fair one," he replied, trying to steady his voice, which still was trembling, "'tis I am mad! I'll believe anything, doubt everything, mine eyes, mine ears . . . the memory of you . . . as I saw you that night. . . . I'll try to remember only that I owe you my life . . . such as it is . . . and let my senses be gladdened at the thought that you are beautiful." Ursula watched him with wild, burning eyes. Was the truth dawning at last? She, as the woman, was bent on knowing what lay hidden beneath the expression of this debasing passion. He, as the man, had fought a battle and lost; he loved her too madly, too completely to tear her out of his life. His passion _had_ become base; he despised himself now more than he had ever despised her, but he could no longer battle against that overpowering desire to fold her once more to his heart, to forgive and forget all save her beauty and the magic of her presence. But she, though loving as ardently as he, wanted the truth above all. Never would she have accepted this degrading passion, which would have left her for ever bruised and ashamed. She mustered up all her energy, all her presence of mind; it was her turn now to fight for happiness and for honour. Who knows what destiny fate would have meted out to these two young people if only she had been left a free hand? Would she have brought them together or parted them finally and for ever? The fickle jade smiled upon them for a moment or two, then allowed a stronger hand to lead her away into bondage. So accurately had the Cardinal de Moreno calculated his chance of final success that he himself was able to lead the Queen of England to the Great Hall for the approaching ceremony, at the very moment when Wessex and Ursula were on the point of understanding one another. Ursula had just uttered an energetic and momentous-- "My lord! . . ." She had stepped away from him and was looking him fearlessly in the face, resolved to question and cross-question until she understood everything, when the door was suddenly opened and Mary Tudor appeared, escorted by some of her ladies, and accompanied by His Eminence the Spanish envoy. It was the stroke of a relentless sword across the Gordian knot which she had sought to unravel. She had only just made up her mind to stake her all upon a final throw of the dice--an explanation with Wessex. He was still completely deceived. She could see that what she already more than guessed he had not even begun to suspect. The idea of a gigantic misunderstanding had not yet entered his brain; she would have brought it before him, made him understand. . . . And fate suddenly said, No!