whom Mary
herself could without scruple leave to her fate, so soon as she was
ready to head an army of invaders.

Davison further added that the Secretary Nau could corroborate that
Bride Hepburn was known to the suite as a kinswoman of the Queen, and
that Mr. Cavendish, clerk to Sir Francis Walsingham, knew that
Babington had been suitor to the young lady, and had crossed swords
with young Talbot on her account.

Elizabeth listened, and made no comment at the time, save that she
sharply questioned Langston; but his tale was perfectly coherent, and
as it threw the onus of the deception entirely on Mary, it did not
conflict either with the sincerity evident in both Cicely and her
foster-father, or with the credentials supplied by the Queen of Scots.
Of the ciphered letter, and of the monograms, Elizabeth had never
heard, though, if she had asked for further proof, they would have been
brought forward.

She heard all, dismissed Langston, and with some petulance bade Davison
likewise begone, being aware that her ministers meant her to draw the
moral that she had involved herself in difficulties by holding a
private audience of the French Ambassadors without their knowledge or
presence. It may be that the very sense of having been touched
exasperated her the more. She paced up and down the room restlessly,
and her ladies heard her muttering--"That she should cheat me thus! I
have pitied her often; I will pity her no more! To breed up that poor
child to be palmed on me! I will make an end of it; I can endure this
no longer! These tossings to and fro are more than I can bear, and all
for one who is false, false, false, false! My brain will bear no more.
Hap what hap, an end must be made of it. She or I, she or I must die;
and which is best for England and the faith? That girl had well-nigh
made me pity her, and it was all a vile cheat!"

Thus it was that Elizabeth sent for Davison, and bade him bring the
warrant with him.

And thus it was that in the midst of dinner in the hall, on the Sunday,
the 5th of February, the meine of the Castle were startled by the
arrival of Mr. Beale, the Clerk of the Council, always a bird of
sinister omen, and accompanied by a still more alarming figure a strong
burly man clad in black velvet from head to foot. Every one knew who
he was, and a thrill of dismay, that what had been so long expected had
come at last, went through all who saw him pass through the hall. Sir
Amias was