So they did not take special advantage of this so-called freedom, nor of the permission to roam about at will in Her Majesty's own garden. They clung together in one compact group, feeling a certain strength in this union of their common misery, and stared open-mouthed at what was nearest to them and required least effort of the brain to understand.

When at a given moment they saw a number of rich lords and ladies emerge upon the distant terrace, they felt wholly terrified, and would have beaten a quick and general retreat had not one of the royal servitors suddenly called upon them severally to listen.

"His Grace the Duke of Wess.e.x is coming to speak with ye!" said this gorgeously apparelled personage, addressing the ma.s.sed group of miserable humanity. "Stay ye all here, until His Grace arrives. Your good behaviour may prove for your own good."

And silently, dully, they obeyed. They ceased their aimless wanderings and concentrated their attention after a while upon a tall figure, dressed in rich black, which had detached itself from the brilliant groups on the terrace and was walking rapidly towards them.

So that was His Grace the Duke of Wess.e.x. A serious-minded gentleman, surely, but lately accused of murder, and proved to be innocent. They could not yet see his face, only his tall, robust figure moving swiftly towards them. Strange that a n.o.ble duke, a rich and great lord, should wish to speak with them. The women, as if half ashamed of their ragged kirtles, had retreated behind the men. The latter had doffed their caps and were mechanically pa.s.sing their thin fingers through their tangled hair.

Quite in the rear the female figure in the bedraggled white gown cowered against the edge of the marble basin.

Then gradually His Grace came nearer, the women ventured to peep at him over the shoulders of the men. His face looked kind, though very sad.

The poor people gathered up their courage to face him bravely since he came all unattended amongst them. One or two of the younger lads ventured as he approached to utter an humble--

"G.o.d save His Grace of Wess.e.x!"

"I thank you all," he said graciously. "And now, my friends, I'd have you believe that 'twas not idle curiosity which hath brought me here beside you. But yesterday I stood like you, accused of offence against the law of the land. I have known the sorrows and humiliations of a public trial. By Her Majesty's grace you have escaped that trouble this time, and I have it at heart that all of you who, like myself, have pa.s.sed through prison doors should not again be tempted to break the dictates of your lawgivers. Hunger and sorrow are evil councillors.

Though I know naught of the one I'd have you think sometimes of me as one who has tasted of the bitter cup of sorrow, and thus thinking, I'd have you pray to G.o.d for mercy on my soul and on that of one who is more sinful, more misguided than yourselves."

It was a strange little homily, thus delivered without any affectation by this high-born gentleman to his fellows in sorrow. They did not perhaps altogether understand him, but in his own quaint way he had appealed to a comradeship of misery, and the hearts of his hearers went out to him in a vague feeling of pity and reverence.

They had no need to call for "largesse," for with his own hand he was already distributing gold to those from whom he had asked prayers.

"G.o.d save Your Grace!" muttered men and women, as one by one their rough palms closed over the munificent donations.

The ladies and gentlemen on the terrace had all watched this little scene from afar. After a while the curiosity of all these gay idlers was still further aroused. Some of them wished to watch it a little more closely, and began slowly strolling down the terrace steps, towards the quaint group made up of all these miserable vagrants surrounding the imposing, sable-clad figure of the Duke.

The Queen herself, attracted by the novelty of the spectacle, and her heart ever yearning for the near presence of the man she still loved so dearly, turned her steps towards the marble basin, with His Eminence the Cardinal--ever a faithful attendant--by her side.

When Mary Tudor, closely followed by some of her ladies and courtiers, thus reached the scene where the little drama was being enacted, they saw His Grace standing somewhat irresolutely beside the huddled figure of a woman, whose tawdry drapings and matted, brilliant hair presented a strange contrast to the dull greys and browns of the other people around her.

"Wilt thou not hold thy hand out to me, wench," His Grace was saying somewhat impatiently. "I would fain help thee, as it hath pleased Heaven I should help thy companions in misfortune."

The servitor who had stood close by all this while, lest the people prove too importunate or troublesome, now came up to the woman, and, less benevolently inclined than His Grace, he caught hold of her, somewhat rudely, by the shoulder.

"Come, wench, wake up!" he said roughly, "think thou His Grace hath more time to waste on thee? She seems somewhat daft, so please Your Grace,"

added the man with a shrug of the shoulders, "and hath not spoken since her arrest."

"Who is she?"

"Some vagrant or worse, so please Your Grace. She was arrested a fortnight ago, and hath never been heard to utter one word."

"Wilt look up, wench?" said Wess.e.x gently.

"I dare not," murmured the woman under her breath.

"Dare not? Why? I'll not harm thee."

"'Tis I have wronged thee so."

Wess.e.x laughed lightly. Clearly the poor wretch was demented, but he would have liked to have put some money into her own hand, lest some unscrupulous person should rob her of his gift. Therefore he said as kindly as he could--

"I forgive thee gladly any wrong thou mayst have done me, and now wilt look at me in token that thou'rt no more afraid?"

There was silence for a few moments. The poor people, happy with the rich gifts in their hands, scared too by the presence of so many lords and ladies, among whom they, however, had not yet recognized the Queen, all retreated into the background, leaving Wess.e.x and the strange woman alone and isolated from their own groups, his rich black doublet and fine mantle and plumes contrasting strangely against the dank, mud-bespattered white dress of the unfortunate vagrant.

What a quaint picture did they present--these two, whose destinies had been so closely knit. No one spoke, for every one felt that curious, unexplainable awe which falls upon the spirit of every man and woman when in the presence of an unfathomable mystery. And that mystery, every one felt it. The woman's voice had such a solemn ring in it when she said, "'Tis I have wronged thee so."

In the very midst of this awed silence the woman suddenly threw back her head, brushed the hair back from her face, and looked straight into the eyes of the Duke.

She was wan and pale with hunger, smears of mud spoilt the beauty of her features, but there was a look even now in that face which made Wess.e.x recoil with horror. He did not utter a word, but gazed on as if a ghostly vision had suddenly appeared before him and was mocking him with its terrifying aspects.

Grinning monsters seemed to surround that girlish figure before him, pointing with claw-like fingers at the golden hair, the delicate straight nose, the childish mouth. As in a h.e.l.lish panorama he suddenly saw the whole hideousness of the mistake which had wrecked his life's happiness, and half dazed, helpless, he gazed on as upon the risen spectre of his past.

A murmur close behind him broke the spell of this magic moment.

"So like the Lady Ursula," whispered one lady to her gallant.

But the name seemed to have reached the woman's dulled ears, and to have struck upon a sensitive fibre of her intellect.

"Ursula again!" she said vehemently, turning now to face the group of the elegant ladies who stood staring at her. "Why do you all plague me with that name? . . . I am Mirrab, the soothsayer . . . I've been taught to read the secrets of the stars, of the waters, the air, and the winds; I foretell the future and brew the elixir of life. Wess.e.x saved my life!

'tis his!--I read in the stars that he was in great danger and came to warn him!"

Her apathy had totally deserted her now. She was gradually working herself up to a fever of excitement, talking more and more wildly, and letting her eyes roam restlessly on the brilliant groups before her--the ladies, the courtiers . . . the Queen. . . .

Then they alighted upon the Cardinal de Moreno, who, pale to the lips, strove in vain to smother the growing agitation which had mastered him from the moment when he too first recognized Mirrab. Her pa.s.sion at sight of him now turned to fury, and, pointing a vengeful finger at him, she shouted wildly--

"'Twas he who tricked and fooled me . . . with smooth and lying tongue he cajoled me! . . . he and his friend . . . then they threatened to have me whipped . . . if I did not depart in peace!"

Awed, horrified, every one listened. Mary Tudor herself hung upon the girl's lips. The Cardinal made a final effort to preserve his outward composure.

"A madwoman!" he murmured with a shrug of the shoulders. "Your Majesty would do well to retire; there's danger in the creature's eyes."

But Wess.e.x was slowly coming to himself. His horror had vanished, leaving him calm before this terrible revelation. With the privilege ever accorded to him by the fond Queen, he now placed a firm hand upon her arm.

"In the name of Your Majesty's ever-present graciousness to me, I entreat you to listen to this woman," he said quietly. "Meseems that some dastardly trick hath been played upon us all."

The Cardinal tried to protest, but already Mary had acquiesced in Wess.e.x' wish, with a nod of the head.

"I have naught to refuse you, my dear lord," she said sadly.

Vaguely she too had begun to guess the appalling riddle which had puzzled her for so long, and though her heart dimly felt that she was even now losing for ever the man whom she so ardently loved, she was too fearless a Queen, too much of a proud Tudor, not to see justice done in the face of so much treachery.

Then Wess.e.x once more turned to Mirrab.

"Tell me, girl," he said with utmost calm and gentleness, lest he should scare again her poor, wandering wits, "tell me without any fear. . . . I am the Duke of Wess.e.x and I saved thy life . . . then thou hadst the wish to warn me of some danger . . . and came to the Palace here . . .

and my lord Cardinal tricked thee. . . . How?"

"I do not know," she said piteously, turning appealing, dog-like eyes upon him. "They dressed me up in fine clothes . . . and then . . . then . . . when I saw thee . . . and wished to speak with thee . . . he . . .