One gentleman came forward from the rest.  He held a parchment in his hand, and as soon as he was alongside of the Queen thus read:—­

“Mary, late Queen of Scots and Queen Dowager of France, I, Thomas Gorges, attaint thee of high treason and of compassing the life of our most Gracious Majesty Queen Elizabeth, in company with Antony Babington, John Ballard, Chidiock Tichborne, Robert Barnwell, and others.”

Mary held up her hands, and raised her eyes to Heaven, and a protest was on her lips, but Gorges cut it short with, “It skills not denying it, madam.  The proofs are in our hands.  I have orders to conduct you to Tickhill, while seals are put on your effects.”

“That there may be proofs of your own making,” said the Queen, with dignity.  “I have experience of that mode of judgment.  So, Sir Amias Paulett, the chase you lured me to was truly of a poor hunted doe whom you think you have run down at last.  A worthy chase indeed, and of long continuance!”

“I do but obey my orders, madam,” said Paulett, gloomily.

“Oh ay, and so does the sleuth-hound,” said Mary.

“Your Grace must be pleased to ride on with me,” said Mr. Gorges, laying his hand on her bridle.

“What are you doing with those gentlemen?” cried Mary, sharply reining in her horse, as she saw Nau and Curll surrounded by the armed men.

“They will be dealt with after her Majesty’s pleasure,” returned Paulett.

Mary dropped her rein and threw up her hands with a gesture of despair, but as Gorges was leading her away, she turned on her saddle, and raised her voice to call out, “Farewell, my true and faithful servants!  Betide what may, your mistress will remember you in her prayers.  Curll, we will take care of your wife.”

And she waved her hand to them as they were made, with a strong guard, to ride off in the direction of Lichfield.  All the way to Tickhill, whither she was conducted with Gorges and Paulett on either side of her horse, Cis could hear her pleading for consideration for poor Barbara Curll, for whose sake she forgot her own dignity and became a suppliant.

Sir Walter Ashton, a dull heavy-looking country gentleman of burly form and ruddy countenance, stood at his door, and somewhat clownishly offered his services to hand her from her horse.

She submitted passively till she had reached the upper chamber which had been prepared for her, and there, turning on the three gentlemen, demanded the meaning of this treatment.

“You will soon know, madam,” said Paulett.  “I am sorry that thus it should be.”

“Thus!” repeated Mary, scornfully.  “What means this?”

“It means, madam,” said Gorges, a ruder man of less feeling even than Paulett, “that your practices with recusants and seminary priests have been detected.  The traitors are in the Counter, and will shortly be brought to judgment for the evil purposes which have been frustrated by the mercy of Heaven.”