“Man of treacheries and violence,” said Mr. Heatherthwayte, standing forward, an imposing figure in his full black gown and white ruff, “go back!  The lady is not for thy double-dealing, nor is there now any such person as either Bride Hepburn or Cicely Talbot.”

“I cry you mercy,” sneered Langston.  “I see how it is!  I shall have to bear your reverence likewise away for a treasonable act in performing the office of matrimony for a person of royal blood without consent of the Queen.  And your reverence knows the penalty.”

At that instant there rang from the forecastle a never-to-be-forgotten howl of triumphant hatred and fury, and with a spring like that of a tiger, Gillingham bounded upon him with a shout, “Remember Babington!” and grappled with him, dragging him backwards to the bulwark.  Richard and the constable both tried to seize the fiercely struggling forms, but in vain.  They were over the side in a moment, and there was a heavy splash into the muddy waters of the Humber, thick with the downcome of swollen rivers, thrown back by the flowing tide.

Humfrey came dashing up from below, demanding who was overboard, and ready to leap to the rescue wherever any should point in the darkness, but his father withheld him, nor, indeed, was there sound or eddy to be perceived.

“It is the manifest judgment of God,” said Mr. Heatherthwayte, in a low, awe-stricken voice.

But the constable cried aloud that a murder had been done in resisting the Queen’s warrant.

With a ready gesture the minister made Humfrey understand that he must keep his wife in the cabin, and Richard at the same time called Mr. Heatherthwayte and all present to witness that, murder as it undoubtedly was, it had not been in resisting the Queen’s warrant, but in private revenge of the servant, Harry Gillingham, for his master Babington, whom he believed to have been betrayed by this gentleman.

It appeared that the constable knew neither the name of the gentleman nor whom the warrant mentioned.  He had only been summoned in the Queen’s name to come on board the Mastiff to assist in securing the person of a young gentlewoman, but who she was, or why she was to be arrested, the man did not know.  He saw no lady on deck, and he was by no means disposed to make any search, and the presence of Master Heatherthwayte likewise impressed him much with the belief that all was right with the gentlemen.

Of course it would have been his duty to detain the Mastiff for an inquiry into the matter, but the poor man was extremely ill at ease in the vessel and among the retainers of my Lord of Shrewsbury; and in point of fact, they might all have been concerned in a crime of much deeper dye without his venturing to interfere.  He saw no one to arrest, the warrant was lost, the murderer was dead, and he was thankful enough to be returned to his boat with Master Richard Talbot’s assurance that it was probable that no inquiry would be made, but that if it were, the pilot would be there to bear witness of his innocence, and that he himself should return in a month at latest with the Mastiff.