It was the first time that she had seen him, and yet
she felt for him a warm sympathy, an almost tender anxiety.
"He will plunge himself into ruin," murmured she; "he will not save
Anne, but will make himself unhappy. My God, my God, have a little
compassion and pity on my anguish!"
She now fixed her anxious gaze on the king, firmly resolved to rush
to the help of the earl, who had so nobly and magnanimously
interested himself in an innocent woman, should the wrath of her
husband threaten him also. But, to her surprise, Henry's face was
perfectly serene and contented.
Like the wild beast, that, following its instinct, seeks its bloody
prey only so long as it is hungry, so King Henry felt satiated for
the day. Yonder glared the fires about the stake, at which four
heretics were burned; there stood the scaffold on which the Countess
of Somerset had just been executed; and now, within this hour, he
had already found another new victim for death. Moreover, Thomas
Seymour had always been his favorite. His audacity, his liveliness,
his energy, had always inspired the king with respect; and then,
again, he so much resembled his sister, the beautiful Jane Seymour,
Henry's third wife.
"I cannot grant you this favor, Thomas," said the king. "Justice
must not be hindered in her course, and where she has passed
sentence, mercy must not give her the lie; and it was the justice of
your king which pronounced sentence at that moment.
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