Breathlessly did Cicely listen as the Queen rose up.  Humfrey watched her almost more closely than the royal prisoner.  When there was a denial of all knowledge or intercourse with Ballard or Babington, Jean Kennedy’s hard-lined face never faltered; but Cicely’s brows came together in concern at the mention of the last name, and did not clear as the Queen explained that though many Catholics might indeed write to her with offers of service, she could have no knowledge of anything they might attempt.  To confute this, extracts from their confessions were read, and likewise that letter of Babington’s which he had written to her detailing his plans, and that lengthy answer, brought by the blue-coated serving-man, in which the mode of carrying her off from Chartley was suggested, and which had the postscript desiring to know the names of the six who were to remove the usurping competitor.

The Queen denied this letter flatly, declaring that it might have been written with her alphabet of ciphers, but was certainly none of hers.  “There may have been designs against the Queen and for procuring my liberty,” she said, “but I, shut up in close prison, was not aware of them, and how can I be made to answer for them?  Only lately did I receive a letter asking my pardon if schemes were made on my behalf without my privity, nor can anything be easier than to counterfeit a cipher, as was lately proved by a young man in France.  Verily, I greatly fear that if these same letters were traced to their deviser, it would prove to be the one who is sitting here.  Think you,” she added, turning to Walsingham, “think you, Mr. Secretary, that I am ignorant of your devices used so craftily against me?  Your spies surrounded me on every side, but you know not, perhaps, that some of your spies have been false and brought intelligence to me.  And if such have been his dealings, my Lords,” she said, appealing to the judges and peers, “how can I be assured that he hath not counterfeited my ciphers to bring me to my death?  Hath he not already practised against my life and that of my son?”

Walsingham rose in his place, and lifting up his hands and eyes declared, “I call God to record that as a private person I have done nothing unbeseeming an honest man, nor as a public person have I done anything to dishonour my place.”

Somewhat ironically Mary admitted this disavowal, and after some unimportant discussion, the Court adjourned until the next day, it being already late, according to the early habits of the time.

Cicely had been entirely carried along by her mother’s pleading.  Tears had started as Queen Mary wept her indignant tears, and a glow had risen in her cheeks at the accusation of Walsingham.  Ever and anon she looked to Humfrey’s face for sympathy, but he sat gravely listening, his two hands clasped over the hilt of his sword, and his chin resting on them, as if to prevent a muscle of his face from moving.  When they rose up to leave the galleries, and there was the power to say a word, she turned to him earnestly.