As soon as he came into her presence Katharine was filled with a terrible fear.

“What is wrong?” she cried.

“News from Spain,” he said.

“My mother . . .”

He nodded and was silent.

“News? What news? Tell me quickly.”

“My dear lady, you must prepare yourself for a great shock.”

“Is it my mother . . . my father . . . ?”

Again that nod and silence. It was more than Katharine could endure.

“It is my mother,” she said blankly. “She is ill. . . .”

He looked at her beseechingly. It was odd to see the sly de Puebla so moved.

Then he said clearly and with the greatest compassion in his voice: “Queen Isabella is dead, my lady.”

“Dead!”

She was trying to grasp what this meant and at the same time trying not to, for she could not bear to contemplate a world without her mother.

De Puebla was saying: “She had been ill for some time. The tertian fever it was said . . . and dropsy. Her last thoughts were for you . . . and your sisters.”

“Dear mother,” murmured Katharine. “It cannot be . . . it must not be. . . .”

“One of the last things she did was to have the Bull of Dispensation brought to her. She wanted to see it for herself. She wanted to assure herself that your betrothal to the Prince of Wales would go forward and none could dispute it.”

Katharine covered her face with her hands.

“I will send for your ladies,” said de Puebla. “My lady, it grieves me to have to bring you such news.”

“I know,” said Katharine. “Leave me . . . please. I would be alone.”

Alone! she thought. That is what I am now. She is gone. Alone . . . yes, alone in a hostile world.

Katharine was not the only one to be deeply affected by the death of Isabella. The King immediately realized what a difference this could make to his own position.