s of the conspirators. Bells were ringing, bonfires burning and the
most vehement satisfaction expressed by the people, who, with shouts and
singing of psalms, gave every demonstration of joy at the escape of the
queen from their treasonable designs.

When it became known that these two were also implicated, a hooting,
jeering mob followed them through the streets, hurling vile epithets upon
them, and taunting them with their disgrace. Lady Stafford drooped under
the attack, but the assault roused the spirit in Francis, and she sat
erect, her flashing eyes and contemptuous looks bespeaking the tempest
that raged in her heart.

"Bear up, my mother," she said to Lady Stafford who could scarcely sit
her horse. "Give not the rabble cause to laugh and jibe."

"But, my child, that we of the house of Stafford, be thus dishonored!"
exclaimed the lady in anguish. "Oh, I cannot bear it! I cannot bear it!
Carest thou not for this disgrace?"

"I could weep my heart out, if it would avail aught," uttered Francis in
low, intense tones. "Bethink you, mother, that this mob of the streets
shall see one tear from me? Nay; 'twould give them too much of
pleasure."

"And has it come to this? That thou shouldst be an example to thy
mother?" asked the lady sitting up. "Let them rage! Not another tear
shall they behold. There will be time enough for tears later."

And so saying she followed her daughter's example and rode with uplifted
head, apparently indifferent to the taunts of the people who followed
them down to the waterside, even to the wharf where they embarked for the
Tower.

Babington and his companions occupied another boat which preceded them
down the river, and Francis felt relief when she saw that her father was
not among them. The tide being in their favor, the boat passed swiftly
down the river, shot London Bridge, and all too soon drew near the sombre
mass of the Tower.

In spite of her undaunted front Francis could not forbear a shudder as
their wherry drew near Saint Thomas' tower. As a mere matter of form the
boats were challenged by the sentinels. A wicket, composed of immense
beams of wood, was opened and they shot beneath the gloomy arch, through
the Traitors' gate. A feeling of dread took possession of the girl as
her gaze fell upon the slimy walls of the dismal arch. The wherrymen
ceased rowing and the water rippled sullenly against the sides of the
boat which soon, impelled by the former efforts of the oarsme