Thomas knew that the children were to be separated and that the following day Edward would be sent to Hertford Castle and Elizabeth to Enfield. These were the King’s orders. It might be that His Majesty believed the young Elizabeth to have too strong an influence on the boy.

Thomas felt pleased as he rode through the countryside. He saw the house in the distance and thought longingly of Elizabeth. He guessed that she might be watching his approach, from a window; but if she were, she would feign surprise at his arrival.

She was sharp for her thirteen years and was no doubt watching events as eagerly as any.

A groom took his horse, and he went into the house. He was received by the tutors of the royal children, Sir John Cheke, Dr. Cox and Sir Anthony Cooke.

“Greetings, gentlemen!” he cried in his jaunty way. “I hear there is to be a parting between our Prince and Princess; and I have ridden hither to see them both while under the same roof.”

“They will welcome your coming, Sir Thomas. The Prince speaks of you often and has been wondering when you will come to see him.”

“And the Princess?”

“She has not spoken of you, but I dare swear she will have pleasure at the sight of you.”

He went to the apartment where the young Prince and his sister were together. There were traces of tears on the faces of both.

Thomas knelt before the heir to the throne and kissed his hand.

“Uncle Thomas!” cried Edward. “Oh, how glad I am to see you!”

“Your Highness is gracious,” said Thomas. He turned to Elizabeth. “And the Lady Elizabeth, is she pleased to see me?”

She gave him her hand and let it linger in his while he fervently kissed it.

“You come, my lord, at a sad time,” she said.

“We have been so happy here,” said Edward passionately, “but we are to be parted. I am to be sent to Hertford, and my sister to Enfield. Oh why, why?”

“Those are your royal father’s commands,” said the Admiral. “I doubt not that he hath good reason.”

He thought how fair she was, this little girl who, in spite of her slender child’s body—she was too restless of mind to put on flesh— had all the ways of a woman.

“I have wept,” said Elizabeth, “until I have no tears left.”

Thomas smiled. She had not wept so much that the tears had spoiled her prettiness. She would have wept discreetly. It was the poor little Prince who was heartbroken at the prospect of their separation. Elizabeth’s tears had been a charming display, an outward sign of the affection she bore to one who soon—surely very soon—must be King of England.

“We have been so happy,” persisted the Prince. “We love Hatfield, do we not, sister?”

“I shall always love Hatfield. I shall remember all the happy days I have spent here, brother.”

Hatfield! mused Seymour. A lovely place. A fitting nursery for the royal children. The King had taken a fancy to it and had intimated to the Bishop of Ely, to whom it had belonged, that he should present it to his royal master. It was true that His Majesty had given the Bishop lands in exchange, but one’s possessions were not safe when such covetous eyes were laid upon them.

And as she stood there, with the faint winter light on her reddish hair, in spite of the fact that she was a girl and a child, she reminded the Admiral of her father.

But I’ll have her, he swore. If I wait for years I’ll have her.

And so did he believe in his destiny, that he was sure this thing would come to pass.

The Prince dismissed his attendants, and the Admiral sat on the window seat, the Prince on one side of him, the Princess on the other; and never did he take such pains to exert his charms as he did on that day.

“My dear Prince, my dearest Princess,” he said, “you are so young to be parted. If I had my way I should let you do exactly as you wished.”

“Oh, Uncle Thomas, dearest Uncle Thomas,” said the Prince, “if only you had your way! Have you seen Jane? I see her so rarely now.”

“She is happy at court with the Queen.”

“I know. She would be happy with our dearest mother. But how I wish she could be with me. And now they would take Elizabeth from me.”

“It may not be for long,” said the Admiral recklessly, yet deliberately indiscreet.

The two children looked at him in astonishment.

“My dears, forget those words,” he said. “By God’s precious soul, I should never have uttered them. It is tantamount to treason. Would you betray me, Edward?”

“Never! Never! I would rather die than betray you, dearest Uncle.”

He put his arm about the boy and, holding him, turned to Elizabeth.

“And you, my lady, would you betray poor Thomas?”

She did not answer for a moment. She lowered her silky lashes so that he could not see her eyes. He put his unengaged arm out to seize her.

He said: “Edward, I’ll not let her go until she swears she will not betray me.”

To the boy it was horseplay, in which Uncle Thomas Seymour loved to indulge.

Her face close to his, Elizabeth said: “No. No. I do not think I would betray you.”

“And why is that?” he asked, putting his lips near hers.

He now held the children tightly. Edward was laughing, loving the man who made him forget the difference in their ages.

“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth, “it might be that I like you well enough not to.”

“Too well?” said the Admiral.

She lifted her eyes to his and hers were solemn with the faintest hint of adoration.

The Admiral’s hopes were soaring as she said: “That might be so.”

Then Seymour kissed the boy’s cheek and turned to the girl. She was waiting. She received his kiss on her lips, and as he held her she felt his heart beating fast.

He kept his arms about her.

“We three are friends,” he said. “We will stand together.”

How exciting he is! thought Edward. He makes everything seem gay and amusing, dangerous though it all is. He makes it seem a wonderful thing to be an heir to a throne. He never says: “You must do this; you must learn that by heart.” He never tires you. You feel that merely to be with him is an adventure, the pleasantest, most exciting adventure in the world.

Elizabeth was thinking: To be near him, to listen to him, is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me.

“If our beloved King should die,” said the Admiral gravely, “and he is sick…very sick…Edward, my dearest nephew, you will be the King. You will not forget your old uncle then, will you?”

Edward took the Admiral’s hand and solemnly kissed it.

“I will never forget thee, dearest Uncle.”

“There will be many to tell you they are your dearest, when you are the King.”

“There is only one that could be that in very truth.”

“You will be a King. Your word will be law.”

“They will not let that be so,” said Edward. “My Uncle Hertford, Cranmer… Lisle…Wriothesley, Brown, Paget, Russell…. My father has appointed them to govern me. I must be guided by them, he says, for I am young yet to take the reins of kingship. I shall have to do as I am told…more then than now.”

“You will always be my dearest nephew,” said Thomas. “You will always receive me, will you not, and tell me your troubles?”

“As ever, dear Uncle.”

“And if they should keep you short of money, it shall be into Uncle Thomas’s purse that you will dip your fingers?”

“It shall, dearest Uncle.”

This was reckless talk. To speak of the King’s death was treason. But he was safe. He knew he was safe. He could trust Edward, for Edward was a loyal little boy. And could he trust Elizabeth? He believed he could. He had seen that in her eyes which told him that if there was a weakness in her nature, there was one person who could play on it; and that person was Sir Thomas Seymour.

“And you, my lady?” he said. “What of you? Doubtless they will find a husband for you. What shall you say to that?”

His arm had tightened about her. This was, she well knew, flirtation of a dangerous nature, though disguised, because the words spoken between them had a hidden significance.

“Rest assured,” she said, “that I shall have a say in the choice of my own husband.”

He smiled at her and his fingers burned through the stuff of her dress.

“May I…rest assured?” he said lightly.

“You may, my lord.”

Then she remembered suddenly the dignity that she owed to her rank; she removed herself haughtily from his grasp.

When Sir Thomas left Hatfield House he was sure that the visit had been an important one. He believed that he had made progress in his courtship and that he had taken one step nearer to the throne.

CHRISTMAS CAME AND WENT. Everyone, except the King, knew that he was about to die. Henry refused to accept this dismal fact. Ill as he was, he insisted on meeting his council each day and discussing matters of state. He saw little of Katharine. He did not wish to see her. Since the cauterization of his legs he had not wished any female to come near him; and in any case, he was still contemplating ridding himself of her.

January came, cold and bleak. On the nineteenth of that month, the poet Surrey went out to meet the executioner on Tower Hill.

The young man died as he had lived, reckless and haughty, seeming not to care.

People of the court shivered as they watched the handsome head roll in the straw. What had this young man done except carry royal blood in his veins and boast of it? Well, many had lost their heads for that crime.

That was the end of Surrey; and his father, it was said, was to follow him soon.

The King, in his bedchamber, received news of the execution.

“So die all traitors!” he mumbled.

He was, in these days of his sickness, recalling to mind too vividly those men and women he had sent to the block. But he had an answer to his conscience, whatever name his memory called up.