and his dogs, he took a breakfast, which pleased him very much,
although he had now become a little quieter and more silent, and
sometimes turned his face toward the direction of London with
visible restlessness and anxiety. But suddenly was heard from that
direction the dull sound of a cannon. We all knew that this was the
signal which was to make known to the king that Anne Boleyn's head
had fallen. We knew it, and a shudder ran through our whole frames.
The king alone smiled, and as he arose and took his weapon from my
hand, he said, with cheerful face, 'It is done, the business is
finished. Unleash the dogs, and let us follow the boar.' [Footnote:
The king's very words. Tytler, p. 383. The oak. under which this
took place is still pointed out in Epping Forest, and in fact is not
less remarkable as the oak of Charles II.]

"That," said Lord Douglas, sadly, "that was King Henry's funeral
discourse over his charming and innocent wife."

"Do you regret her, my father?" asked Lady Jane, with surprise. "But
Anne Boleyn was, it seems to me, an enemy of our Church, and an
adherent of the accursed new doctrine."

Her father shrugged his shoulders almost contemptuously. That did
not prevent Lady Anne from being one of the fairest and loveliest
women of Old England. And, besides, much as she inclined to the new
doctrine, she did us essential good service, for she it was who bore
the blame of Thomas More's death. Since he had not approved her
marriage with the king, she hated him, as the king hated him because
he would not take the oath of supremacy. Henry, however, would have
spared him, for, at that time, he still possessed some respect for
learning and virtue, and Thomas More was so renowned a scholar that