"No, John, these are the passion-stations of a saint; and you know one must make the round of them in the sweat of his face, and on his knees." "Oh, queen, how noble and how courageous you are!" exclaimed John Heywood.

"You do good without display, and you shun no danger, if it avails toward the accomplishment of noble work." "Yet, John," said she, with a bewitching smile, "I dread danger; and just on that account I begged you to accompany me.

I shudder at the long, desolate way, at the darkness and grave-like stillness of this passage.

Ah, John, I thought to myself, if I came here alone, the shades of Anne Boleyn and Catharine would be roused from their sleep by me who wear their crown; they would hover about me, and seize me by the hand and lead me to their graves, to show me that there is yet room there for me likewise.

You see, then, that I am not at all courageous, but a cowardly and trembling woman." "And nevertheless, you came, queen." "I reckoned on you, John Heywood.