With a bright smile she walked up to the queen, and kneeling down at
her side, she pressed a fervent kiss on the hand that was hanging
down.
"What is my queen musing over?" asked she, as she laid her head on
Catharine's knee and tenderly looked up at her.
The queen gave a slight start, and raised her head. She saw Lady
Jane's tender smile, and her yet searching looks.
Because she felt conscious of guilt, at least of guilty thoughts,
she was on her guard, and remembered John Heywood's warning.
"She is observing me," she said to herself; "she seems affectionate;
so she is brooding over some wicked plot.
Ah, it is well you have come, Jane," said she aloud. "You can help
me; for, to tell you the truth, I am in great perplexity. I am in
want of a rhyme, and I am thinking in vain how I shall find it."
"Ah, are you composing poetry, queen?"
"Why, Jane, does that surprise you? Shall I, the queen, be able,
then, to bear off no prize? I would give my precious jewels, if I
could succeed in composing a poem to which the king was obliged to
award the prize. But I am wanting in a musical ear; I cannot find
the rhyme, and so shall he obliged at last to give up the idea of
winning laurels also. How the king would enjoy it, though! For, to
confess the truth to you, I believe he is a little afraid that Henry
Howard will bear off the prize, and he would be very thankful to me
if I could contest it with him. You well know the king has no love
for the Howards.
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