Mary listened with unmoved countenance, only she stood up and made solemn protest against the authority and power of the Commission either to try or condemn her.  Beale was about to reply, but Lord Buckhurst checked him, telling him it was simply his business to record the protest; and then adding that he was charged to warn her to put away all hopes of mercy, and to prepare for death.  This, he said, was on behalf of his Queen, who implored her to disburthen her conscience by a full confession.  “It is not her work,” added Buckhurst; “the sentence is not hers, but this thing is required by her people, inasmuch as her life can never be safe while your Grace lives, nor can her religion remain in any security.”

Mary’s demeanour had hitherto been resolute.  Here a brightness and look of thankful joy came over her, as she raised her eyes to Heaven and joined her hands, saying, “I thank you, my lord; you have made it all gladness to me, by declaring me to be an instrument in the cause of my religion, for which, unworthy as I am, I shall rejoice to shed my blood.”

“Saint and martyr, indeed!” broke out Paulett.  “That is fine! when you are dying for plotting treason and murder!”

“Nay, sir,” gently returned Mary, “I am not so presumptuous as to call myself saint or martyr; but though you have power over my body, you have none over my soul, nor can you prevent me from hoping that by the mercy of Him who died for me, my blood and life may be accepted by Him, as offerings freely made for His Church.”

She then begged for the restoration of her Almoner De Preaux.  She was told that the request would be referred to the Queen, but that she should have the attendance of an English Bishop and Dean.  Paulett was so angered at the manner in which she had met the doom, that he began to threaten her that she would be denied all that could serve to her idolatries.

“Yea, verily,” said she calmly, “I am aware that the English have never been noted for mercy.”

Lord Buckhurst succeeded in getting the knight away without any more bitter replies.  Humfrey and Cavendish had, of course, to leave the room in their train, and as it was the hour of guard for the former, he had to take up his station and wait with what patience he could until it should please Master William to carry him the packet.  He opened it eagerly, standing close beneath the little lamp that illuminated his post, to read it:  but after all, it was somewhat disappointing, for Mr. Talbot did not feel that absolute confidence in the consciences of gentlemen-in-place which would make him certain of that of Master Cavendish, supposing any notion should arise that Cicely’s presence in London could have any purpose connected with the prisoner.

“To my dear son Humfrey, greeting—­