to her room and enjoin silence upon her."

But at this moment the king was wholly inaccessible to any other
feelings than those of anger and delight in blood.

He indignantly repelled Catharine, and without moving his sharp,
penetrating look from the young maiden, he said in a quick, hollow
tone: "Let her alone; let her speak; let no one dare to interrupt
her!"

Catharine, trembling with anxiety and inwardly hurt at the harsh
manner of the king, retired with a sigh to the embrasure of one of
the windows.

Anne Askew had not noticed what was going on about her. She remained
in that state of exaltation which cares for no consequences and
which trembles before no danger. She would at this moment have gone
to the stake with cheerful alacrity, and she almost longed for this
blessed martyrdom.

"Speak, Anne Askew, speak!" commanded the king. "Tell me, do you
know what the countess, for whose pardon you are beseeching me, has
done? Know you why those four men were sent to the stake?"

"I do know, King Henry, by the wrath of God," said the maiden, with
burning passionateness. "I know why you have sent the noble countess
to the slaughter-house, and why you will exercise no mercy toward
her. She is of noble, of royal blood, and Cardinal Pole is her son.
You would punish the son through the mother, and because you cannot
throttle the cardinal, you murder his mother."