"
"The last time that I see him?" asked Jane, with an expression of
alarm.
"No, Jane, only the last time that Henry Howard loves in you the
queen, and not you yourself."
"Oh, he will never love me!" murmured she, sadly.
"He will love you, for you it will be that will save his life.
Hasten, then. Jane, haste! Write him quickly one of those tender
notes that you indite with so masterly a hand. Invite him to a
meeting to-night at the usual time and place."
"Oh, I shall at last have him again!" whispered Lady Jane; and she
stepped to the writing-table and with trembling hand began to write.
But suddenly she stopped, and looked at her father sharply and
suspiciously.
"You swear to me, my father, that no danger threatens him if he
comes?"
"I swear to you, Jane, that you shall be the one to save his life! I
swear to you, Jane, that you shall take vengeance on the queen--
vengeance for all the agony, the humiliation and despair that you
have suffered by her. To-day she is yet Queen of England! To-morrow
she will be nothing more than a criminal, who sighs in the
confinement of the Tower for the hour of her execution. And you will
be Henry's seventh queen. Write, then, my daughter, write! And may
love dictate to you the proper words!"
CHAPTER XXX.
THE FEAST OF DEATH.
For a long time the king had not appeared in such good spirits as on
this festive evening. For a long time he had not been so completely
the tender husband, the good-natured companion, the cheerful bon-
vivant.
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