Release me. Now. Or I will kill you." The threat was made with a calm determination which was in itself threatening, and the girl fell back with her face aghast, thinking she would certainly be killed if she did not give in. It was hard to know what to do. She had promised to deliver the prisoner--it was all her own doing, at the first she had only to deny everything. But that was not what the king wanted, not what the boy expected. She looked up at his face and saw that his mouth was set like iron and his eyes were staring into hers with a fierceness that was terrible. Still she hesitated. "What is the use of all these threats, since we know they are not true, since we know that what the king says is false? Release me, I say, now." "He is my prisoner, madam," the king replied with dignity. "Let him be put in the Tower until morning." Then the girl in her turn began to argue. The king might have his prisoner and keep him in the Tower for the night, but he must not go to the girl's rooms. She argued for some time, but she knew she could not defeat his lordship. She was not strong enough. At last she saw that she must yield. "Well, sir, it is only one night," she cried. "At least I have not done you an injustice. I will go and promise that I will put your wishes into effect." "Very well," said the king. The king had no time to see any more of this interesting and, to him, unpleasantly interesting scene, but he heard that the girl who had been dreaded for the last few days was actually going to her mistress's bedside. It was all-important that he should have a talk with the girl, and the next time he was at Carlisle she was brought out before him and questioned. The king saw she was frightened and he was very angry. "I will lock you up and keep you in the Tower," he said; "it is only for a few days that you have gone against your trust." "But, sir," she said, "I shall come into your presence whenever you command." "You will come into my presence at such times as I order it," he said. "I will take steps to prove that you are true to your trust." She submitted to that indignity quietly, and was soon back with her mistress. There was a good deal of talk between the two ladies about the wonderful recovery which Mrs. Herbert was making and, in the evening, the king sent for her. He congratulated her on her rapid recovery, and said he was now convinced she would live. He told her that her friend the Countess of Essex was staying at his house and he hoped she might possibly be permitted to go there for a little while, as his daughter and Lady Essex were so well acquainted, and perhaps Mrs. Herbert might like to have her company. Mrs. Herbert was delighted to be asked, and promised that she would go on the very next day. As a matter of fact, she had never gone anywhere since the morning on which she was first taken ill. That evening, when the king came into his wife's bedroom, he found her sitting up in bed, and reading a very pretty new book which the queen had just finished and which she had sent to her. He had a letter which he wished to give her, which had come from his brother-in-law, the Duke of York. His daughter Mary had at once written to the duke, asking him to speak to her mother and tell her she could have no illusions about her sister, if she allowed her to treat one of the king's guests in that way. The king was sure that she was angry about it, as she had certainly been very ungracious and unpleasant in the past. "There has been a letter from the duke for you, madam," he said. "A letter!" cried the queen. "My dearest brother sending me a letter! What is his letter like?" "I am sure he will not be offended at being called by that name," the king said; "he must call himself your brother now that you are a widow, so it seems strange to me he does not call you mother." "He has not written such a strange letter as that, I'm sure," the queen replied. "There is nothing very bad in his letter. I should hardly care to show it to you before you have seen it. I can hear what it is about from the contents, even if you had not read it." "Perhaps I had better hear the contents too," the king said; "so that there shall be no disputes as to what the king thinks you ought to do. It would be as well for me to have a copy, if possible, and I do not know if there is any copy which is the counterpart of the other." "I am sure I have the original here," the queen said, and she took a manuscript book from under her pillow and handed it to her husband. The king read it through with one eye on his wife, who stared at him with a look of curiosity and surprise. She was as angry as ever when he had finished. She did not understand why her lord should wish her to go to the queen, and, even if it were true, why the king was so opposed to her going. The king thought, for a moment, that she would actually challenge him, but he remembered in time that he was not a common person and could not be called into the king's presence with no reason given. "I am sure I did not say," he said at last, "I am sure it was a mistake of mine, when I said the letter which you have is so bad that I had better see it, as the contents could not possibly be agreeable." "Perhaps," the queen said, "you will wish me to say that you did not want me to read what was in it, which I suppose would be the case if it were indeed anything so bad, and then you would not have to see it." "The contents are not so bad as you might fancy," the king said; "but they are as I have said, not quite nice, and I think the whole thing is wrong for you. But as you have sent your orders you must do as you wish and as you are too ill for anything else, I shall certainly do as you would wish me." The queen lay back in her bed, when he was gone, and laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. "I will write a letter to him," she cried. "I will ask him why he does not come to see me, for he surely knows that I am a widow. I have never seen him since he was so unfortunate as to kill my husband." "You have never seen him since he killed your husband!" the king cried. "My dear, you should not speak of it in that way. You should never even remember it. If the duke knew you were speaking in that way of his brother--and for his sake, poor man, you should be very kind--I do not think he could bear it. You should always be glad to remember him as a beautiful young man, to whom you owe everything. He is not much older than you are, he has toiled and suffered in order to defend his country, as well as to pay for your support. And so, my dear, since he is like a son to me, and indeed he is a good deal like a son to me, I cannot bear that you should speak of him in any way but well." "There is a deal more in it than you think," the queen said, and she wrote two letters to her lord. One of them was to say that he must visit her. The other was to explain how she had seen all his belongings. The first letter to the duke said that the queen was much better and would be fit to come to her lord again as soon as she felt a little stronger, but she was afraid to undertake any long journey. She was afraid to disappoint the duke, and she would be better able to do it when she saw him and he might have a better opinion of her. As for the letter of explanation, she was more inclined to burn it, and so keep every thing as it was. But, as she had no opportunity of burning it, she wrote to her lord's brother, the Lord Chamberlain, that she would give her lord his freedom when he came again. The duke sent his own reply and, if it had not been for the king's kindness, I think the queen would have sent for the Earl of Essex to help her to break off the match. It was a sad disappointment to have to do with so unambitious a husband as she had married. He did not know what to do. Her letters made him so