All this he had told, little by little; and of the Queen’s noble bearing upon the scaffold, her utter fearlessness, her protestations that she died for her religion and for that only, and of the pesterings of Dr. Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, who had at last given over in despair, and prayed instead.  The rest they knew for themselves—­of the miserable falseness of Elizabeth, who feigned, after having signed the warrant and sent it, that it was Mr. Davison’s fault for doing as she told him; and of her accusations (accusations that deceived no man) against those who had served her; of the fires made in the streets of all great towns as a mark of official rejoicing over Mary’s death; and of the pitiful restitution made by the great funeral in Peterborough, six months after, and the royal escutcheons and the tapers and the hearse, and all the rest of the lying pretences by which the murderess sought to absolve her victim from the crime of being murdered.  Well; it was all over....

* * * * *

And now he told them of what he had heard to-day from young Merton in Derby; of how Nau, Mary’s French secretary—­the one who had served her for eleven years and had been loaded by her kindness—­had been rewarded also by Elizabeth, and that the nature of his services was unmistakable; while all the rest of them, who had refused utterly to take any part in the insolent mourning at Peterborough, either in the Cathedral or at the banquet, had fallen under her Grace’s displeasure, so that some of them, even now, were scarcely out of ward, Mr. Bourgoign alone excepted, since he was allowed to take the news of the death to their Graces of France, and had, most wisely, remained there ever since.

* * * * *

So the party sat round the fire in the same little parlour where they had sat so often before, with the lutes and wreaths embroidered on the hangings and Icarus in the chariot of the sun; and Robin, after telling his tale, answered question after question, till silence fell, and all sat motionless, thinking of the woman who, while dead, yet spoke.

Then Mr. John stood up, clapped the priest on the back, and said that they two must be off to Padley for the night.

III

They had all risen to their feet when a knocking came on the door, and Janet looked in.  She seemed a little perturbed.

“If you please, sir,” she said to Mr. John, “one of your men is come up from Padley; and wishes to speak to you alone.”

Mr. John gave a quick glance at the others.

“If you will allow me,” he said, “I will go down and speak with him in the hall.”

The rest sat down again.  It was the kind of interruption that might be wholly innocent; yet, coming when it did, it affected them a little.  There seemed to be nothing but bad news everywhere.

The minutes passed, yet no one returned.  Once Marjorie went to the door and listened, but there was only the faint wail of the winter wind up the stairs to be heard.  Then, five minutes later, there were steps and Mr. John came in.  His face looked a little stern, but he smiled with his mouth.