"Nay," whispered Henry, softly, "it is I who should kneel, to pray pardon for my bold intrusion." "Your majesty cannot doubt your welcome," replied Anna, blushing with the rich flush of gratified vanity. Ah! even a blush does not always wear its true meaning: the king, of course, gave it the meaning the most pleasant to himself. "A lover always doubts—it is not the king, but Henry Tudor, who
'Hopes the grace which yet he fears to win.'"
"Ah!" replied she, "fear is no word for your grace to use." "I never knew it before," replied he. "How grateful, my liege," cried Anna, smiling, "you ought to be to me—think of the value of a new sensation!" "I can think of nothing but yourself," was the answer; "but know you not, sweetheart, that it is St. Valentine's day? Will you be mine, and wear the token that I bring?" Anna made no reply; but her small fingers remained clasped in the king's, who stood watching the downcast face that had never seemed more lovely. "How did your grace come here?" asked Anna, putting the question for want of something to say. "There is a subterranean passage into the room below;—like a true knight, I passed through darkness, to sun myself in my lady's eyes. But, tell me, sweet, will you wear my token, and be my true and faithful Valentine?" Again Anna remained silent; but the silence was sufficient assent, and Henry sealed the promise on her lip. He then produced a red velvet casket; from whence he took a carkanet of precious stones, fastened by rubies, in the shape of a true-lover's-knot, which formed their united ciphers. The maiden's eyes flashed with pleasure, as she gazed on the splendid offering; but the genius of flattery, which is the element of a court, did not desert her. "They are magnificent," whispered she; "but I cannot prize them more than I should do a simple flower
