"What pa.s.sed at those meetings?" Walsingham drew closer, expecting from the girl"s demeanor to find ready answers to his inquiries.
"I cannot tell you, sir, of the nature of the first," answered Francis.
"I will gladly do so of the second."
"Relate it then."
"He was trying to make his escape when his design upon the queen became known. He sprang upon me when I was unaware, seized the bridle of my horse, and demanded that I give the animal to him."
"Which you refused?"
"Which I refused to do, sir."
"Did he recognize you?"
"Yes."
"And you him?"
"Yes, Sir Francis."
"Did you know that he was trying to escape from arrest?"
"Yes;" answered Francis again.
"Then why did you not let him have the horse?" queried Walsingham.
"Because I wished to reach my father," replied the girl simply.
"But why did you want to reach your father?" and the secretary bent forward. "How knew you that he was in danger?"
"Why, I heard you tell the queen that you were going to arrest him, and I wished to warn him."
"Thou heardst me tell the queen?" cried the minister in surprise. "Boy, how couldst thou? We were in the queen"s own chamber. How couldst thou hear it?"
"I went there to seek a favor from Her Majesty, and awaited her coming upon the balcony outside the window. When the queen entered, the vice-chamberlain, Lord Burleigh, my Lord of Leicester, and yourself were with her. I feared then to come into the room. Thus I could but hear all that pa.s.sed. When I found that my father was in danger I left the balcony and the palace as quickly, determined to warn him of his peril."
"Then you knew that he was concerned in the plot to kill the queen?" and Walsingham eyed her keenly.
"He was not," cried the girl eagerly.
"Then why should he flee?" asked the merciless inquisitor. "No peer of the realm hath aught to fear if he be innocent of foul design."
Francis was so disconcerted by this question that she did not attempt to reply, but looked at him hopelessly.
The wily minister saw her confusion and pressed his advantage.
"Thou needest not to answer, boy, on the condition that thou tell to me all that pa.s.sed the first time that you saw Babington."
"I cannot do that, sir."
""Twill be the better for thee," warned the secretary. "We have knowledge that thou and thy father did meet with Babington at an inn in Salisbury.
For thine own sake, thou wouldst best reveal what took place. Reflect!
Thine own safety depends upon it."
"I will not tell, Sir Francis," returned Francis bravely.
"Have a care, boy. There are ways of extorting confessions from unwilling lips."
"I do not misunderstand your meaning," returned the girl with white lips, "but I cannot tell."
[Ill.u.s.tration: "_I WILL NOT TELL, SIR FRANCIS_"]
"What did your father when the proposition was made to kill the queen?"
asked Walsingham so suddenly that Francis was caught unawares.
"He would have naught to do with it," answered she promptly, glad to speak in his favor. "He rejected it with horror."
"Ah, ha! he did know of it!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the secretary. "Thou hast betrayed thyself. Come! Let us have the full particulars."
"Sir," said Francis, perceiving the snare into which she had fallen, "I am unable to meet your craft with like guile. Therefore question me no further. I will say no more."
And despite all attempts to trip her into answering, she maintained an obstinate silence with regard to all their questions.
"Let us leave him," said Walsingham at length. "Obdurate lad, thou wilt regret thy stubbornness ere long. There are other means of dealing with such spirits than gentleness. We will return ere long, and if thou art still of the same mind, thou shalt taste them." And he withdrew, leaving Francis to face this new trial.
CHAPTER XXIV
A FRIEND IN NEED
It was with much apprehension that Francis awaited the return of the secretary. Stories that she had heard regarding the tortures inflicted upon prisoners in the Tower came to her mind with such vividness and force as to cause her soul to sicken with fear.
"I must not think on them," she said, trying to drive this terror from her mind. For diversion she arose and examined the inscriptions in the room. "How many there have been before me!" she mused gazing at the coats of arms and other devices with which the walls were covered. "What melancholy memorials of ill.u.s.trious and unfortunate people! Here is the name of the Earl of Arundel."
She looked long and earnestly at the autograph of that unhappy n.o.bleman, Phillip Howard, Earl of Arundel, who was beheaded for aspiring to the hand of Mary Stuart. This name was written boldly over the fireplace, and the girl turned from it with a sigh as the thought occurred to her that all who were connected in any manner with that ill-starred princess must meet with some untoward fate.
She pa.s.sed with a shudder from the next inscription bearing the recent date of 1582, which read:
"Thomas Miagh which liethe here alone That fain wold from hence begone By torture straunge my trouth was tryed Yet of my liberty denied;"
for that "torture straunge" suggested thoughts of too painful a nature to dwell upon. The next bore the date, "Anno D. 1571, 10 Sept., and read:
"The most unhappy man in the world is he that is not patient in adversities; for men are not killed with the adversities they have, but with the impatience they suffer."
And so she went from one to another, marveling at the resignation, patience and endurance breathed by many of the inscriptions, and shuddering at the thought of those "straunge tortures" which were hinted at by others.