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Cardinal Wolsey
(Vitagraph)
By MONTANYE PERRY
It was when Henry the Eighth, known thruout his kingdom by the title of Bluff King Hal, sat upon the throne of England, and Queen Catherine still sat by his side.
The entire English Court had but recently returned from France, where a treaty of friendship between the two nations had been celebrated by the wonderful pageant of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Thruout this pageant, which was one of unprecedented magnificence, one figure had been dominant— that of Cardinal Wolsey, Archbishop of York, Chancellor and prime favorite of Henry the Eighth. His had been the moving spirit in the treaty ; to him were accorded the honors of its celebration. Amid the golden, glittering spectacle he had moved with proud grace, as richly appareled and as deeply honored as the King himself.
He sat now in the royal apartments, engaged with the King in a game of chess, while the Queen looked with interest at the game's progress. Occasionally friendly comments or light badinage showed the familiar intimacy which Wolsey enjoyed with the royal couple.
The dark-eyed Catherine, who had been a princess in the sunny land of Spain, had the grace and beauty of her homeland. If her high-bred manner was marred, sometimes, by an air of petulance, if her delicate brow was darkened by lines of care or dissatisfaction, who shall blame her? The wife of a reigning sovereign in those days lived a life of unrest and fear, which did not tend to keep the roses upon her cheeks nor the glow of youth in her eyes. Perhaps the four wee graves, long lying side by side in the royal burying ground, cast their shadow upon the mother heart of Catherine. Or did the consciousness of her fleeting youth and beauty bring
a whisper of dread to her heart, which knew full well the fickleness of the monarch's fancies?
The game was unfinished when a courtier entered, and, with a murmured apology to the Queen and Cardinal, bent for a whispered word with the King.
"I must leave you, Wolsey," cried the King, rising hastily. "Methinks a monarch has never a moment for his pleasures, but some interruption comes. Stay, you, and converse with the Queen. Perchance you may enliven her heart. I like not her dull looks of late. A Queen should be always gay ! ' '
"Always gay!" repeated Catherine, bitterly, as the doors closed behind the King. "How can one be always gay, when " She stopped,
her dark eyes meeting Wolsey 's in sudden, passionate appeal.
"Your Majesty is not well — you have some trouble?" ventured the Cardinal, with respectful interest.
' ' Yes — no, ' ' replied the Queen, irresolutely, as if impelled by conflicting emotions. ' ' I fear — and yet I scarce know what I fear. Perchance it is only that I grow fanciful as youth passes. But the King is capricious; my beauty is fading; who knows ' '
The Cardinal interrupted her hastily, as if afraid to let her impulsive spirit reveal itself further.
"True and faithful hast thou ever been to His Majesty," he demurred, gently. "I doubt not that he will ever keep his kingly faith with thee. Do not vex thy spirit with these restless imaginings. ' '
Yet, in spite of his reassuring words to the Queen, the Cardinal's face was troubled as he crossed the court and proceeded toward his own palace.
"A woman's mind is ever swift to
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