"By whom?"

Catharine hesitated a moment; she felt that she had, perhaps, in her
zeal, gone too far, and that it was imprudent to tell the king the
truth. But the king's keen, penetrating look was resting on her, and
she recollected that he had, the first thing that evening, so
urgently and solemnly conjured her to always tell him the truth.
Besides, it was no secret at court who the protector of this young
maiden was, and who had been the means of her obtaining the place of
maid of honor to the queen, a place which so many wealthy and
distinguished families had solicited for their daughters.

"Who recommended this lady to you?" repeated the king, and already
his ill-humor began to redden his face, and make his voice tremble.

"Archbishop Cranmer did so, sire," said Catharine as she raised her
eyes to the king, and looked at him with a smile surpassingly
charming.

At that moment was heard without, more loudly, the roll of drums,
which nevertheless was partially drowned by piercing shrieks and
horrible cries of distress. The blaze of the fire shot up higher,
and now was seen the bright flame, which with murderous rage licked
the sky above.

Anne Askew, who had kept respectful silence during the conversation
of the royal pair, now felt herself completely overcome by this
horrible sight, and bereft of the last remnant of self-possession.