What passed between
Norris and the Tall Monk.
Tottering to the seat which Henry
and Jane had just quitted, Anne sank into it.
After a little time, having in some degree recovered
her composure, she was about to return to the great
hall, when Norris appeared.
“I did not deceive you, madam,”
he said, “when I told you the king was insensible
to your charms; he only lives for Jane Seymour.”
“Would I could dismiss her!” cried Anne
furiously.
“If you were to do so, she would
soon be replaced by another,” rejoined Norris.
“The king delights only in change. With
him, the last face is ever the most beautiful.”
“You speak fearful treason,
sir!” replied Anne; “but I believe it to
be the truth.”
“Oh, then, madam!” pursued
Norris, “since the king is so regardless of
you, why trouble yourself about him? There are
those who would sacrifice a thousand lives, if they
possessed them, for your love.”
“I fear it is the same with
all men,” rejoined Anne. “A woman’s
heart is a bauble which, when obtained, is speedily
tossed aside.”
“Your majesty judges our sex
too harshly,” said Norris. “If I had
the same fortune as the king, I should never change.”
“The king himself once thought
so once swore so,” replied Anne petulantly.
“It is the common parlance of lovers. But
I may not listen to such discourse longer.”
“Oh, madam!” cried Norris,
“you misjudge me greatly. My heart is not
made of the same stuff as that of the royal Henry.
I can love deeply devotedly lastingly.”
“Know you not that by these
rash speeches you place your head in jeopardy?”
said Anne.
“I would rather lose it than
not be permitted to love you,” he replied.
“But your rashness endangers
me,” said the queen. “Your passion
has already been noticed by Jane Seymour, and the slightest
further indiscretion will be fatal.”
“Nay, if that be so,”
cried Norris, “and your majesty should be placed
in peril on my account, I will banish myself from the
court, and from your presence, whatever the effort
cost me.”
“No,” replied Anne, “I
will not tax you so hardly. I do not think,”
she added tenderly, “deserted as I am by the
king, that I could spare you.”
“You confess, then, that I have
inspired you with some regard?” he cried rapturously.
“Do not indulge in these transports,
Norris,” said Anne mournfully. “Your
passion will only lead to your destruction perchance
to mine. Let the certainty that I do love, content
you, and seek not to tempt your fate further.”
“Oh, madam! you make me the
happiest of men by the avowal,” he cried.
“I envy not now the king, for I feel raised
above him by your love.”
“You must join the revel, Norris,”
said Anne; “your absence from it will be observed.”
And extending her hand to him, he
knelt down and pressed it passionately to his lips.
“Ah! we are observed,”
she cried suddenly, and almost with a shriek.
“Rise, sir!”
Norris instantly sprang to his feet,
and, to his inexpressible dismay, saw the figure of
a tall monk gliding away. Throwing a meaning look
at the almost sinking queen, he followed the mysterious
observer into the great hall, determined to rid himself
of him in some way before he should have time to make
any revelations.
Avoiding the brilliant throng, the
monk entered the adjoining corridor, and descending
the great staircase, passed into the upper quadrangle.
From thence he proceeded towards the cloisters near
St. George’s Chapel, where he was overtaken
by Norris, who had followed him closely.
“What would you with me, Sir
Henry Norris?” cried the monk, halting.
“You may guess,” said
Norris, sternly and drawing his sword. “There
are secrets which are dangerous to the possessor.
Unless you swear never to betray what you have seen
and heard, you die.”
The tall monk laughed derisively.
“You know that your life is
in my power,” he said, “and therefore you
threaten mine. Well, e’en take it, if you
can.”
As he spoke, he drew a sword from
beneath his robe, and stood upon his defence.
After a few passes, Norris’s weapon was beaten
from his grasp.
“You are now completely at my
mercy,” said the monk, “and I have nothing
to do but to call the guard, and declare all I have
heard to the king.”
“I would rather you plunged
your sword into my heart,” said Norris.
“There is one way and
only one by which my secrecy may be purchased,”
said the monk.
“Name it,” replied Norris.
“Were it to be purchased by my soul’s
perdition, I would embrace it.”
“You have hit the point exactly,”
rejoined the monk drily. “Can you not guess
with whom you have to deal?”
“Partly,” replied Norris
“I never found such force in mortal arm as you
have displayed.”
“Probably not,” laughed
the other: “most of those who have ventured
against me have found their match. But come with
me into the park, and you shall learn the condition
of my secrecy.”
“I cannot quit the castle,”
replied Norris; “but I will take you to my lodgings,
where we shall be wholly unobserved.”
And crossing the lower ward, they
proceeded to the tower on the south side of it, now
appropriated to the governor of the alms knights.
About an hour after this Norris returned
to the revel. His whole demeanour was altered,
and his looks ghastly. He sought the queen, who
had returned to the seat in the embrasure.
“What has happened?” said
Anne, in a low tone, as he approached her. “Have
you killed him?”
“No,” he replied; “but
I have purchased our safety at a terrible price.”
“You alarm me, Norris; what
mean you?” she cried. “I mean this,”
he answered, regarding her with passionate earnestness:
“that you must love me now, for I have perilled
my salvation for you. That tall monk was Herne
the Hunter.”