“I deemed him well-nigh demented with brooding over her troubles and those of his church.”

“Demented in verity.  His folly was surpassing.  He put his faith in a recusant priest—­one John Ballard—­who goes ruffling about as Captain Fortescue in velvet hose and a silver-laced cloak.”

“Ha!”

“Hast seen him?”

“Ay, in company with Babington, on the day I came to London, passing through Westminster.”

“Very like.  Their chief place of meeting was at a house at Westminster belonging to a fellow named Gage.  We took some of them there.  Well, this Ballard teaches poor Antony, by way of gospel truth, that ’tis the mere duty of a good Catholic to slay the enemies of the church, and that he who kills our gracious Queen, whom God defend, will do the holiest deed; just as they gulled the fellow, who murdered the Prince of Orange, and then died in torments, deeming himself a holy martyr.”

“But it was not Babington whom I saw at Richmond.”

“Hold, I am coming to that.  Let me tell you the Queen bore it in mind, and asked after you.  Well, Babington has a number of friends, as hot-brained and fanatical as himself, and when once he had swallowed the notion of privily murdering the Queen, he got so enamoured of it, that he swore in five more to aid him in the enterprise, and then what must they do but have all their portraits taken in one picture with a Latin motto around them.  What!  Thou hast seen it?”

“He showed it to me in Paul’s Walk, and said I should hear of them, and I thought one of them marvellously like the fellow I had seen in Richmond Park.”

“So thought her Majesty.  But more of that anon.  On the self-same day as the Queen was to be slain by these sacrilegious wretches, another band was to fall on this place, free the lady and proclaim her, while the Prince of Parma landed from the Netherlands and brought fire and sword with him.”

“And Antony would have brought this upon us?” said Humfrey, still slow to believe it of his old comrade.

“All for the true religion’s sake,” said Cavendish.  “They were ringing bells and giving thanks, for the discovery and baffling thereof, when we came down from London.”

“As well they might,” said Humfrey.  “But how was it detected and overthrown?  Was it through Langston?”

“Ah, ha! we had had the strings in our hands all along.  Why, Langston, as thou namest him, though we call him Maude, and a master spy called Gifford, have kept us warned thoroughly of every stage in the business.  Maude even contrived to borrow the picture under colour of getting it blessed by the Pope’s agent, and lent it to Mr. Secretary Walsingham, by whom it was privily shown to the Queen.  Thereby she recognised the rogue Barnwell, an Irishman it seems, when she was walking in the Park at Richmond with only her women and Sir Christopher Hatton, who is better at dancing than at fighting.  Not a sign did she give, but she kept him in check with her royal eye, so that he durst not so much as draw his pistol from his cloak; but she owned afterwards to my Lady Norris that she could have kissed you when you came between, and all the more, when you caught her meaning and followed her bidding silently.  You will hear of it again, Humps.”