A few stone steps were mounted, then an enormous hall had to be traversed.  The little procession had formed in pairs, and Humfrey was able to give his hand to Cicely and walk with her along the vast space, on which many windows emblazoned with coats of arms shed their light—­the western ones full of the bright September sunshine.  One of these, emblazoned with the royal shield in crimson mantlings, cast a blood-red stain on the white stone pavement.  Mary, who was walking first, holding by the arm of Sir Andrew Melville, paused, shuddered, pointed, and said, “See, Andrew, there will my blood be shed.”

“Madam, madam! speak not thus.  By the help of the saints you will yet win through your troubles.”

“Ay, Andrew, but only by one fate;” and she looked upwards.

Her faithful followers could not but notice that there was no eager assurance that no ill was intended her, such as they had often heard from Shrewsbury and Sadler.

Cicely looked at Humfrey with widely-opened eyes, and the half-breathed question, “What does it mean?”

He shook his head gravely and said, “I cannot tell,” but he could not keep his manner from betraying that he expected the worst.

Meanwhile Mary was conducted on to her apartments, up a stair as usual, and forming another side of the inner court at right angles to the Hall.  There was no reason to complain of these, Mary’s furniture having as usual been sent forward with her inferior servants, and arranged by them.  She was weary, and sat down at once on her chair, and as soon as Paulett had gone through his usual formalities with even more than his wonted stiffness, and had left her, she said, “I see what we are come here for.  It is that yonder hall may be the place of my death.”

Cheering assurances and deprecations of evil augury were poured on her, but she put them aside, saying, “Nay, my friends, trow you not that I rejoice in the close of my weary captivity?”

She resumed her usual habits very calmly, as far as her increased rheumatism would permit, and showed anxiety that a large piece of embroidery should be completed, and thus about a fortnight passed.  Then came the first token of the future.  Sir Amias Paulett, Sir Walter Mildmay, and a notary, sought her presence and presented her with a letter from Queen Elizabeth, informing her that there were heavy accusations against her, and that as she was residing under the protection of the laws of England, she must be tried by those laws, and must make answer to the commissioners appointed for the purpose.  Mary put on all her queenly dignity, and declared that she would never condescend to answer as a subject of the Queen of England, but would only consent to refer their differences to a tribunal of foreign princes.  As to her being under the protection of English law, she had come to England of her own free will, and had been kept there a prisoner ever since, so that she did not consider herself protected by the law of England.