t
among them should tower the form of Ludar. But when I lifted my eyes
and saw only six hang-dog men, who held their hands to their ears to
keep out the yelling of the mob, and shrunk closer to their guards to
save them from a worse fate than the hangman's, the beating of my heart
eased. For he was not amongst them. So joyful was I that I could even
lend my voice for a while to the general cry, and, when night fell,
bring my torch to the flaming barrels that blazed on Finsbury Fields.

Yet I came home that night ill at ease. Fresh news had arrived already
that other men had been taken in the country--amongst them, certain who
had been in attendance on the Scotch Queen. Yet, ask all I would, never
once could I hear of Ludar by name, or of any man resembling him.

A month later we 'prentices had another holiday, this time to witness
the end of that terrible business on Tyburn Hill. 'Twas a horrible
sight--I would I could forget it--to see those traitors die, foul as
their crime had been. Yet what sickened me the most was to think that
Ludar perchance might presently follow to the same fate, if indeed he
had not already shared it.

But no news came. The weeks slipped by. Men ceased to talk of
Babington, and spoke rather of the coming trial of the Scotch Queen for
her life. And presently a time came when they even ceased to speak of
that. And all the while, never a whisper came to me of Ludar.

Now you are not to think that all this time I had forgot the message
contained in the poet's letter concerning Captain Merriman and the
maiden. Far from it. I haunted Whitehall after work hours in the hope
of seeing or hearing something of them. But all in vain. It would have
been easier to hear of Ludar, I think, than to get any news of an Irish
maiden and her step-dame at Court, or of a swaggering captain.

"What is that to thee?" said most whom I asked; and others pricked me
out of their company with their swords.

But late in the year, chance put in my way what all my pains had failed
to procure.

I remember, it was that same day that the news came to town that Mary
Queen of Scots was condemned to die. London went mad with joy at the
news. For our pity of the woman was swallowed up in joy that the evil
destiny of our country was mastered, and that our gracious Queen was to
be freed at one stroke from all her enemies. Be that as it may, we
burned bonfires that night in Moorfields, and I had my mistress' le