"Come, children, come with me to the dining-room," cried Sir John with cheerful voice, as he entered the library. "Do you not know that the body has its needs as well as the mind, and some of us have scarce broken our fast this day; indeed, to judge by William's pale face, I doubt whether he has breakfasted."

And therewith he led the way into the fine old dining-room of Gray's Inn, where a large party of friends awaited them.

It was a noble room, wainscoted to the ceiling in dark oak, and adorned with many portraits of the legal luminaries of past days.

Around the great open fire-place was grouped a throng of friends all eager to congratulate the Treasurer and his family on the joyful event of the day. Among them were the Spanish Ambassador and his son Don Diego; the Lord Mayor and Sir Philip Broke were there, and many of Sir John's brother members in Parliament.

"Where is our friend the Sheriff?" asked Sir John of the Lord Mayor; "he promised to be here."

"He was here just now," replied the Lord Mayor, "but he has been summoned to perform some duty connected with his office; he asked me to explain his absence to you."

A cold chill fell upon the heart of Sir John as he heard these words—was it a premonition?

Then, regaining his usual composure, he cried with a loud and cheerful voice—

"Be seated, friends; the dinner waits, and some of us are as hungry as hunters."

The chaplain of the Inn, who was present as a guest, said grace, and a merry clatter of knives and forks ensued.

Next to Sir Philip Broke sat the Spanish Ambassador, and, as the meal progressed, Sir Philip fell into conversation with his neighbour, with whom his high office brought him into frequent communication; and in social life also they were excellent friends.

"Tell me, your excellency," he said in a low voice, "how will your royal master view the proceedings of this day?"

"Somewhat bitterly, I fear," replied Don Renard. "It was only yesterday that he expressed to me his amazement that a royal officer could be so treated as was our friend the Pursuivant. He was eager to see the perpetrator of the assault brought to condign punishment.

"'In our own land,' he said to me, 'we should have broken the miscreant upon the wheel without judge or jury; but these islanders are so phlegmatic, and stand so much on forms and ceremonies.'

"You must pardon King Philip, my friend, for his outspokenness; it is true that the customs of Spain and England differ considerably."

"Yes," replied Sir Philip dryly, "and I thank God for it."

Whereat the Spanish Ambassador smiled grimly.

Presently he spoke again to the Master of the Rolls. He had been attentively watching the twin brothers, who sat at the table side by side.

"By St. Iago," he said in a low voice, "I have been looking at the twin brothers for the last five minutes, and at this moment I cannot tell you which is William and which is Ralph; I do not think that the world contains another so perfect example of the 'Dioscuroi'; no man could tell them apart."

Sir Philip shivered inwardly at these words, and he thought within himself—

"Does our friendly Ambassador begin to suspect the legal trick by which our case was won? If so, the sooner we get Ralph across the water the better."

At that moment his eye fell upon Don Diego, who sat next to Susan, with whom he was holding eager discourse.

"No, no," thought he, "no harm can come to our twins from that quarter; he can never forget the noble daring that saved his son's life."

As a rule no sound from the outside world ever penetrated the stillness of the dining-hall of Gray's Inn, yet to the watchful ears of some who sat at that festive table it seemed as if armed men were in movement in the great courtyard.

No word of command, no treading of iron-girt men, no clash of arms, but only a dull sense of approaching danger!

Suddenly Sir John's major-domo entered the hall and passed rapidly to his master's side as he sat at the head of the table.

Sir John noted not that the man's face was ghastly pale, nor that his terror-stricken tongue could scarce find utterance for his words.

He stooped towards Sir John, and in low tones said—

"Sir John, the Deputy Sheriff is outside the hall—on the staircase."

Sir John started.

"Is it not the Sheriff?" he said; "we expected him as a guest to-day."

A dead silence had fallen in the hall, the guests were listening eagerly.

"No, Sir John, it is Mr. Deputy Sheriff," replied the major-domo.

"Bid him enter," said his master.

"He is not alone, Sir John; he has halberdiers with him."

Sir John rose, as he said again—

"Bid him enter!"

The trembling servant obeyed, and, proceeding to the end of the Hall, threw open the great folding doors.

All the guests had now risen to their feet; all knew that some catastrophe was at hand.

The men looked stern, and, for the most part, undaunted; but from the many ladies present came the sound of choking sobs and subdued cries.

The Deputy Sheriff had entered, and with him came a posse of halberdiers in full armour.

As the armed men drew up in line within the hall their leader stepped forward and bowed low to Sir John—waiting, apparently, to be questioned.

"Mr. Deputy Sheriff," said Sir John in firm tones, "you would be welcome here this day, but for this array at your back; what means it?"

"I crave your pardon, Sir John Jefferay, yet the servants of the Queen must do their duty and obey the royal command, even if it be bitter and irksome."

"It is true, sir", replied Sir John with dignity, "and you need no pardon from me; declare to us your business here."

The Deputy Sheriff produced a formal-looking document, and unfolding, read forth a warrant from the Sheriff, commanding the arrest forthwith, in the Queen's name, of Mr. Ralph Jefferay."

"On what charge, sir?" demanded Sir John.

"On the charge of riot and assault," replied the Deputy Sheriff, and forthwith he handed the warrant to Sir John.

It was a formal document from the Court of the Star Chamber, bidding the High Sheriff to attach the body of Mr. Ralph Jefferay, to convey the prisoner to the Fleet prison, and to produce him before the Chamber on the following morning at ten o'clock.

Sir John had grown pale as marble, and it was evident to all that he was deeply stricken, yet he said in firm tones—

"Do your duty, sir."

The Deputy Sheriff looked round the hall, and his eyes rested on the twin brothers, as they stood pale yet undismayed side by side.

The officer moved towards them, then scanned them both with close but dubious gaze.

"Which of you is Mr. Ralph Jefferay?" he said at length.

"I am Ralph Jefferay," said Ralph in unfaltering tones.

The Sheriff laid his hand on his shoulder and said with loud voice—

"I arrest you, Mr. Ralph Jefferay, in the name of the Queen!"

Then, turning to his halberdiers, he pointed to Ralph, and immediately two men placed themselves at his side.

"Disarm the prisoner," said the officer in sharp words of command.

"There is no need," said Ralph, instantly unbuckling his sword, and placing it upon the table.

"Are you ready, sir? then follow me," said the Deputy Sheriff, as he turned to leave the hall with his prisoner.

"One moment, Mr. Deputy Sheriff," cried Sir John. "Can you grant your prisoner a brief space wherein to make his adieux?"

"Certainly, Sir John," replied the officer courteously, "if it be done briefly and in my presence."

Then Ralph moved towards his uncle; he would have knelt on one knee before him and have kissed his hand; but Sir John caught him to his breast, and kissing him on both cheeks, said—

"Farewell for the present, dear Ralph; keep a brave heart and good courage. Trust in God! Esperez toujours, toujours esperez!"

William's turn came next. Ah, what a parting was this! Undying love sat in their eyes as they kissed each other, and William said—

"Would God I had died for thee, my brother!"

And last of all came Susan, her sweet face suffused with tears and her grief so great that she was voiceless as she embraced her brother and kissed his lips again and again.

Many of the guests then crowded round, each with a loving word to comfort and console.

Then the Deputy Sheriff gave the signal, his men closed round the prisoner, and in a moment the march began which was to end in the Fleet prison.

When the Sheriff's posse had left the hall, and the doors were closed, a great silence fell upon the assembled guests; all looked upon Sir John, who, in reply to their questioning gaze, spoke briefly with agitated voice.

"My friends," said he, "a great trouble has fallen upon my house; I am smitten and afflicted, yet do I not despair! I will not disguise to you the terrible fact that my nephew Ralph has committed a crime against the laws of his country, and I know that to-morrow, when he will stand his trial in the Court of the Star Chamber, he will plead 'guilty.'

"Yet the deed he committed was but a boyish freak, and no blood was shed by him or his fellows. But in the eyes of the law it was 'conspiracy,' and the penalty may be imprisonment, with a heavy fine, or even the pillory and mutilation."

At these words a shudder ran through the throng, and some of the ladies wept uncontrollably.

The men's faces were sternly set, they maintained a rigid silence.

Then Sir John spoke again.

"Yet I do not despair, and 'I lift mine eyes unto the hills, to God, from whom cometh my hope.' And we have many friends, powerful both in the Court and in the city. No, I cannot, and will not, despair, so help me God!"

There was something inexpressibly solemn and noble in Sir John's utterance and manner; his fine face was full of anguish, but his heart quailed not.

Then came a sudden interruption: the Spanish Ambassador asked permission to speak, and all strained forward to hear what Don Renard had to say.

"Sir John and friends all," he began in low tones but with distinct utterance, "it is known to you that the twin brothers have a special claim on my sympathy and can command whatsoever aid I can give them in their hour of need; but for their noble courage I should have been a childless man this day!

"The proceedings in the Star Chamber to-morrow will probably be brief, for the accused will admit his guilt; the result is certain—a heavy sentence.

"But, like Sir John, I do not despair; then will be the hour for action on the part of Mr. Ralph's friends. I do not hesitate to lay before you my own plan of action; for I am persuaded that all who now hear me will feel the necessity for absolute secrecy on this great matter. It is known to many of you that Cardinal Pole is already well disposed towards Mr. Ralph—it was manifestly shown in the trial to-day.

"When sentence has been given I will ask his Eminence to accompany me to Whitehall, and there we will ask of Queen Mary the exercise of her royal clemency for our young friend. I do not think we shall plead in vain!"

At these words a murmur of satisfaction and reassurance passed amid his almost breathless audience.

But Sir Philip Broke rose to speak, and all were silent again.

"Has your Excellency thought of the possibly adverse influence of King Philip in this matter?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Don Renard, "it was my first thought, and I own that it troubled me. But, as a matter of fact, King Philip has no jurisdiction in this case; it is a matter for the Queen's own decision, and if the Cardinal and I can incline her royal heart to a merciful view of this young man's escapade (for it is nothing more), the King would find it difficult to sway her decision. But I will see the King also, and I am by no means persuaded that he will turn a deaf ear to my appeal."

Nothing more was said, and the guests began to depart. The Lord Mayor remained to the last; he was about to accompany Sir John to the Fleet prison that they might assure themselves that every arrangement which could ameliorate the lot of the unhappy prisoner should be made.

The day was drawing towards its close, a day which had opened so brightly for Susan and William. They sat together in the library with hands interclasped, their hearts charged with an overwhelming sense of coming woe, their grief too great for words.

Yet when Sir John returned from the Fleet prison and told them that Ralph was occupying William's old room, and that the great Cardinal had already sent him a message of condolence and comfort through their young friend Don Diego, their hearts were comforted, and hope sprang up in their stricken souls.