tter death than the slow lingering of years in these
grim walls. Many have entered here younger and fairer than she, and
endured worse than death in a lifetime imprisonment. Grieve not, but the
rather rejoice that she will be freed from sorrow."

"Peace!" cried Francis, her soul full of bitterness. "Peace! and lead me
to my mother."

The lieutenant, without further speech, led the way across the Tower
Green to the southwestern angle of the inner ballium where his own
lodgings adjoined the Bell Tower. Kept a close prisoner for more than two
months, at another time Francis would have been overpowered with joy at
finding herself once more in the open air. But now the breeze fanned her
cheeks unnoticed. She followed after the warder, who lighted the way with
a torch, seeing and heeding nothing.

The short distance was soon traversed. Entering the lieutenant's lodgings
they passed into a long gallery leading in a westerly direction and were
soon in the upper chamber of the Bell Tower. This was the room occupied
by Elizabeth at the time of her incarceration during her sister Mary's
reign. That it had been the abode of royalty was the last thought that
occurred to Francis Stafford. It held but one thing for her, which was
the emaciated form of her mother who lay upon the bed.

With an exclamation of joy Lady Stafford tried to hold out her hands to
her daughter, but dropped them weakly on her breast. Too moved to speak
Francis could only clasp her close as if she could never let her go.

"My daughter! My daughter!" murmured the mother feebly. "At last I have
thee, hold thee again!"

"My mother!" uttered the girl brokenly. "My mother!"

"Does she wander?" whispered the lieutenant to the physician. "Didst thou
hear her say 'daughter'?"

"Yea; but her mind is clear. She is weak but not distraught." And the
physician looked at the dying woman earnestly.

"Will she last long?" queried Sir Michael, the lieutenant, and the
physician answered slowly:

"Nay; her life may go out at any moment."

As in a dream Francis heard both questions and answers, but did not
comprehend their import. Presently her mother spoke:

"Francis, I am dying."

"Nay;" broke from the girl passionately. "Not now, mother. Not when we
have just found each other again. You must not, shall not die."

"Hush, child! We must not spend the time in woe. I want you to promise me
that never again will you be connected with plot against the queen.
Promise m