Queen herself, so closely was he fenced
in.

"He is no friend," growled I, "but a vile enemy and traitor, whom I
would to God I had run through the body when I had the chance at
Carlisle, months since."

Then to avoid more questions and get away from the rabble, I hastened
back and told all to Jeannette. She was very grave. "What think you
now?" she asked.

"I can think nothing," said I, "save that, whatever has befallen Ludar,
he could not knowingly be guilty of plotting against the life of a
woman, even if she be the Queen herself. Jeannette," said I, "I could
no more believe that than I would believe you to be unkind or untrue."

She smiled at that and said she, too, could not think so ill of this
Ludar of mine.

As the days passed, news came in thick and fast. The plot, we heard,
was a devilish one to murder the Queen and her ministers, and give
England up to the heretic Spaniard. Men stood aghast as they heard of
it. Presently came word that the worst of the traitors were in hiding
in London, being mostly young gentlemen of the Court, who had fed at the
table of the very Lady they plotted to slay. Try all I would, I could
hear nothing of Ludar. Nor durst I name him to my comrades, for fear I
should bring him mischief thereby.

One day in the middle of August it was, a man came into our shop in hot
haste to tell Master Walgrave that the company had been taken, hidden in
a barn in Harrow. Never shall I forget the joy of the City as the news
spread like wildfire through the wards. No work did we 'prentices do
that day. We marched shouting through the streets, calling for
vengeance on the Queen's enemies, and waiting till they should be
brought in, on their way to the Tower.

As for me, my joy was mingled with strange trouble; for, if Ludar should
be among them--

"The leader of them is one Babington," said Will Peake, "and besides him
are half-a-dozen dogs as foul--English, all of them."

"Save one," said another, "who I hear is Irish."

"Irish!" cried I, as white as paper. "What is his name?"

"Not Dexter," said the fellow, looking at me in amaze. "Why, man, what
ails you?"

"Tell me his name, as you love me," said I.

"How should I know the name of every cowardly hound that walks the
streets? Go and ask them that can tell you."

I walked away miserable, and waited at the Aldersgate to see the
prisoners come by.

When at last the cry was raised, I scarcely durst look up, for fear tha