Supper was served that evening at Whitehall with more than customary state and splendour—for King Philip was present.

The Queen was royally attired in robes of purple velvet, and men noted that, to-night, she wore her famous diamonds.

Beside her sat King Philip in magnificent apparel, and wearing the Collar of the Order of the Golden Fleece.

Few guests were present, conspicuous among them being the Queen's half-sister, the Lady Elizabeth, lately restored to Court favour; next to her sat De Noailles, the French Ambassador, with whom the Princess kept up a lively conversation.

Don Renard and the Lords Paget, Pembroke, Arundel, and Clinton were there, all in splendid attire.

The hall was hung with the beautiful arras collected by King Henry the Eighth, and a soft pleasant light diffused from silver lamps fed with perfumed oil. Foreign minstrels provided sweet music, to which the guests seemed to pay little heed, for to-night the Queen was in unusually good spirits, and the Court, taking its cue from her, jested and laughed freely.

Later on, supper being ended, the Court (now largely augmented in numbers) met in the gorgeous salon which was adorned by some famous pictures of Titian, brought hither, perhaps, by Philip, whose father, Charles V, was the great patron of the painter.

On the walls also hung portraits by Holbein and many works of the Flemish and Italian schools.

The furniture of the room was of costly nature, being chiefly of ebony, richly inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

Here the light was given by hundreds of wax candles, set in silver sconces, and it shone upon the fairest dames which England had to show to the proud Castilian nobles who grouped around the King.

Here, also, great Churchmen were present—among whom the Cardinal stood pre-eminent in his scarlet robes.

Presently the Cardinal found his way to the side of Queen Mary, who welcomed him with a smile, though it was a faint and weary one. For Mary was growing feeble in health and broken in spirits, though, to-night, she had shown herself more like the Mary Tudor of former days.

Alas, poor Queen!

Disappointed of her fondest hopes, childless and neglected by her husband, who would not pity her?

In the Court to-night she could but see how the young gallants gathered round the rising star—the Lady Elizabeth.

It was mainly by Philip's influence that she had recalled the hope of the Reformation Party to Court, and she saw, with bitter pain, that the Spanish King was strangely attentive to her young rival. Had Stephen Gardiner's advice been followed, Elizabeth would long ere now been swept from her path.

"Ah! had she erred?" thought the Queen in her inmost heart.

For this young and gay Princess was next in succession to the Throne, according to the will of their father, King Henry.

And so all her work might be undone, and the fondest, dearest hopes of her heart frustrated!

As these thoughts darkened her soul she saw Pole approaching her, and his very presence brought new life to her heart.

He knelt and kissed the Queen's hand, and when he rose Mary beckoned him to a seat beside her, and they fell into a close and confidential conversation.

The night was wearing on, the Queen was growing weary, yet she said in reply to a request from him—

"Yes, to-night, after Chapel, in my boudoir;" and so they separated.

The King had left the salon.

A Court courier had arrived from Brussels, and together with Don Renard he had withdrawn to his own rooms.

There they hastily examined the messenger's portfolio, and that business being transacted the Ambassador entered upon other matters.

King Philip was a hard master! Great statesmen and famous warriors knew that it behoved them to walk warily in their dealings with him. Eminent service and a long discharge of duty would not save them from the prison cell, and even the block, if they thwarted their imperious master.

Don Renard knew this full well.

At this moment he was the King's most trusted servant—none knew England and the English as he did, and Philip placed great reliance on his astute counsels. To-night he felt the extreme difficulty of the course he was pursuing.

He knew that the King was violently offended by Ralph's attack upon a Royal officer; that, moreover, he had a suspicion that this was a Protestant plot and that the offender himself was a kind of "Hot Gospeller!"

He must walk very warily to-night.

He had a communication from the Council of the City of London to lay before the King.

"The citizens have debated the conditions of the loan your Majesty did them the honour to ask of them," said Don Renard.

"Yes," said Philip, somewhat eagerly, "and I trust they raise no difficulty."

"These purse-proud burgesses are not like the money-lenders of Madrid or Amsterdam, they are not satisfied with the securities we offer," said the Ambassador.

The King frowned, as he replied—

"The money must be procured; our expedition hangs fire, and the English troops are badly equipped. You must see to it, and that quickly."

"The expedition is not popular in the City," said Renard, "we must do something to placate these stubborn islanders."

"Yes, I know," replied the King petulantly; "but what can we do?"

"Will your Majesty pardon me if I suggest something?" replied the Ambassador, and in obedience to Philip's nod of assent, he continued, "That young man, Ralph Jefferay, who was condemned to-day in the Court of the Star Chamber, is accounted a hero in London."

"And why?" asked Philip impatiently, the frown on his face deepening; "is it not because he is a heretic?"

"Nay, your Majesty, I know not whether he is of the 'New Learning' or not," replied Don Renard. "But the real reason goes far deeper than that: he is known to be a young man of splendid daring and of intrepid courage," he continued.

The King was not appeased.

"Go on," he said, "I see you have something further to tell me; I listen."

"Oh, sire," cried the Ambassador, "pardon me if I err through zeal in your service. There is a deed on record, just lately performed, which raised the admiration of the Londoners."

Then as briefly as possible Don Renard told the stirring tale of the rescue on the Thames, hiding for the moment his own connection with it. He told it well, bringing out vividly all the strong points.

The King was a cold-blooded man, yet he was something of a soldier, and a deed of arms like this moved him.

"And the man they rescued, who was he, you have not told me his name?" said he.

"It was my stepson, Don Diego, sire," was the reply.

"Ah! I see, I see," said the King.

Then after a moments thought he continued—

"I will see the Queen on his behalf, and I will ask that the pillory and the mutilation be not undergone by the condemned man. Yet, Renard, he is a seditious man, and, I doubt not, a heretic. The sentence as to the fine and the imprisonment must stand."

"That will not render the Queen nor your Majesty popular in the City; it will not expedite our loan nor induce young Englishmen to come forward to fight our battles," replied Renard. "Pardon me once more, sire, if I make a suggestion to you. We are calling for an English contingent of eight thousand men: Lord Clinton tells me that men are coming forward very slowly.

"These twin brothers, William and Ralph Jefferay, are of gentle birth and they are born soldiers. They have an intended brother-in-law, a young nobleman named Geoffrey de Fynes. All the three are willing to take arms in your Majesty's cause and to fight under your banner.

"This is my proposition, sire, that you ask the Queen to extend her gracious pardon to Ralph Jefferay, on the condition that the three young men I have named take service in Lord Clinton's contingent."

The frown cleared from the King's brow, he even smiled as he said—

"You plead well, Don Renard, you would have made a great lawyer; well, be it as you wish, I will ask her to do us this service."

"To-night, sire?" said the Ambassador.

"Nay, to-morrow," replied the King; "I must not urge State matters on the Queen at this late hour."

"But, sire, to-morrow will be too late, the Star Chamber acts promptly, and to-morrow at ten o'clock Ralph Jefferay will stand in pillory at Tyburn!" replied Renard.

The King flushed and looked somewhat angered; he was not accustomed to be thus urged.

It was at this moment that an usher craved admission into the chamber, he brought a message from the Queen.

"Would the King grant her a few minutes interview forthwith in her boudoir?"

"Tell her Majesty that I will wait upon her immediately," he said to the usher.

Then to the Ambassador he said—

"There is your answer, Don Renard—Heaven fights for you!"

"Yes, sire, thank God!" replied Renard fervently.

Meanwhile the cause the Ambassador had at heart had progressed elsewhere.

Mary was always strictly attentive to her religious duties, and, at the accustomed hour, she had gone to Vespers in the Chapel Royal, many of the courtiers accompanying her thither.

At the conclusion of the short service she retired to her boudoir, dismissing her Court for the night.

The Cardinal still knelt in the Chapel, until an usher came to summon him to the Queen's presence. He rose and followed him.

The Queen had laid aside some of her heavy State robes, and her diamonds no longer glistened on her head and neck. She was clad in a rich suit of black velvet, her favourite attire.

As the Cardinal entered she knelt before him.

"Your blessing, father," she said.

Then she rose, and in his turn the Prelate knelt and kissed her hand.

She motioned him to a seat.

Behind her stood two ladies-in-waiting. Pointing to them the Queen said—

"Shall my ladies leave us? It shall be as you wish."

Pole hesitated for a moment.

He had a difficult and delicate cause to plead, he felt that he might be pitting the Queen against her husband if the Ambassador, on his part, failed to influence Philip.

"It may be advisable, your Majesty," he said, and thereupon the Queen motioned to the ladies to withdraw.

They were alone, and Reginald lifted up his heart to God for Divine guidance.

"Madam," he said, "the hour grows late and you are weary, I will be very brief in what I have to say."

"Nay," said the Queen, "nay, my Lord Cardinal and good cousin, the hour matters not and your voice brings comfort to my soul! Speak all that your heart bids you say, I listen."

Then the Cardinal addressed himself to his task.

"I come, madam, on a matter of life and death, on behalf of one who was tried and condemned in the Court of the Star Chamber to-day—by name Ralph Jefferay. The youth was found guilty of 'conspiracy,' yet am I sure that, though he may be guilty on this charge in a strictly legal sense, yet is he absolutely innocent morally; so loyal to your royal person is he at heart, that when the cruel sentence was pronounced, he cried out in loud tones—'God save the Queen!' The poor youth's offence is one of assault and nothing more, let me tell you briefly the circumstances of the case."

Then the Cardinal rapidly recounted the episode of the Chiddingly woods.

"Mark, Madam, I beseech you, that no blood was shed, though the Pursuivant threatened him with dire punishment, being at the moment absolutely at his mercy."

The Queen listened attentively, but she made no observation.

Pole's heart sank within him, he felt that he had not yet convinced his noble auditor's judgment, nor had he deeply moved her feelings.

Was it possible that the King had forestalled him, representing the matter as a heretical plot and Ralph as a wild incendiary—a "Hot Gospeller," in fact?

Once more the Cardinal's soul appealed to Heaven for help, nor did he appeal in vain!

In warm and earnest language he set forth the brothers' exploit on the Thames and their narrow escape from a violent death.

"Oh, Madam," he cried, "as I looked upon his pale, scarred, but noble face this day in the Star Chamber, a deep sense of pity took possession of me. He had atoned for his offence! It could not be that one so young, so brave, so nobly daring should suffer a felon's doom, and I besought Heaven to have mercy on him."

The sound of a gentle sob reached his ear, and he looked on the Queen's sad face.

Yes, she was deeply moved at last!

"Stay, my Lord Cardinal," she said in a low voice, "I have heard enough. God spared that young man's life—shall we be less merciful?"

Then it was that she sent for Philip, and in a few minutes he was at the door, the Ambassador, at his request, accompanying him.

With Castilian courtesy Philip knelt and kissed the Queen's hand, then, rising, he repeated the salute on her forehead.

The Queen's face flushed with pleasure, for she dearly loved her husband—alas, he was all that she had to love in this world!

Then she marked the presence of the Ambassador, and extended her hand towards him as he knelt humbly to kiss it.

The Cardinal stood aside, he had made lowly obeisance to the King as he entered.

"Your Majesty sent for me, I await your gracious pleasure," said Philip in low tones.

"I crave your pardon if I have disturbed State business," said Mary apologetically, glancing at the Spanish Ambassador, "but I need your advice this night, although the hour grows late."

Philip bowed gracefully as he said—

"I am always at your Majesty's service."

"I will state the matter in as few words as possible," replied the Queen. "His eminence, our good cousin, has pleaded for a Royal pardon in the case of one Ralph Jefferay—condemned to-day in the Star Chamber as a conspirator. He has given me good reason to believe that the youth is innocent of the alleged offence, he attributes his assault upon our Pursuivant in the woods of Chiddingly to the hot blood of youth, and to no lack of loyalty to us. This is the youth of whom your Majesty spoke to me yesterday, and I now ask your advice and consent, ere I grant his Eminence's petition."

A smile sat on Philips face as he replied—

"I, too, your Majesty, have heard somewhat more of this youth since he was the subject of our conversation, and when your usher arrived just now, our Ambassador, Don Renard here, was urging me to seek your Royal pardon for him. I do so, on the condition (may it please your Majesty) that the two brothers take service in the English contingent now being raised under Lord Clinton to fight under my banner against France. His Excellency undertakes that the young men accept this condition, therefore I sue for your Majesty's pardon."

"We grant it joyfully," replied the Queen, "and we leave the matter confidently in the hands of the Cardinal and the Ambassador, who will, doubtless, see that all due formalities are observed."

Then Don Renard stepped forward and bowed profoundly.

"Have I your Majesties' permission to speak?" he said.

Then at his Sovereigns' nod of assent, he continued—

"The matter is so urgent that I have here a blank form of Royal Pardon; it needs but the Queen's signature."

Thereupon he knelt at Mary's feet and presented the paper.

Mary took it to a side-table, signed it and gave the precious document into Don Renard's hands.

The long interview was ended.

The two petitioners (the Cardinal and the Ambassador) knelt before the Royal pair, kissed hands and departed.

In the courtyard of Whitehall the Ambassadors people were awaiting him with a carriage, into which the Statesman and the Churchman entered.

"To the Fleet prison," Don Renard said to his coachman. "It is midnight," he said to the Cardinal as they drove through the silent and deserted streets, "yet I think we are in good time; I sent word to the Governor of the prison, ere I came to Court, asking him to await our arrival to-night and to notify to his prisoner, Ralph Jefferay, of our intentions."

"And I," replied the Cardinal, "have told Sir John Jefferay that to-night I hoped to bring him good news. We shall do better, we shall bring him his nephew!"

A few minutes later the carriage drew up at the frowning gates of the Fleet prison.

A few words with the warders sufficed, the gates opened and the Cardinal and the Ambassador entered the prison and followed the warder to the Governor's lodging. The Fleet was the most gloomy prison in London, but the Governor's lodging offered a violent contrast to its dismal surroundings.

In days long past it had formed a part of the Town house of a great noble, and the fine hall into which the two visitors were ushered was a relic of its past magnificence.

The walls were wainscoted with dark oak, richly carved, and a bright fire lit up an open hearth ornamented by a chimney-piece sculptured with many a quaint device. On a table in the centre of the hall wax candles in heavy silver candlesticks shed forth a warm and pleasing light; the table was laden with refreshments.

As the distinguished guests entered the hall the Governor (Sir Thomas Middylton) hastened forward to greet them, bowing repeatedly.

But to his courteous entreaty that his visitors would honour him by resting awhile and taking refreshment, the Ambassador replied—

"Ah, Sir Thomas, how gladly would we avail ourselves of your courtesy, but we have yet much to do this night, and, I grieve to say, it must be done quickly. We come to you from Whitehall: the Queen has been graciously pleased to extend her royal pardon to your prisoner Ralph Jefferay, and we bring to you an order for his deliverance to us, signed by her Majesty."

Therewith Don Renard handed the precious document to the Governor, who read it with grave deference. He then touched a gong, and, as a warder appeared, he bade him fetch the prisoner Ralph Jefferay.

In a few minutes Ralph was brought into the hall in the charge of two warders, and the Governor instantly addressed him.

"Mr. Ralph Jefferay," he said, "her Majesty, the Queen, has been pleased to grant you a full and free pardon; you are no longer in my custody, and I am happy to deliver you into the hands of your friends who have come hither to convey you hence."

Ralph stood as one amazed and overwhelmed.

He had been forewarned that on the next day he would stand in the pillory, that the common hangman would do his cruel office of mutilation, and lo! here was pardon, freedom, joy and rejoicing!

The bright light of the hall had somewhat dazzled him: he had not perceived that behind the Governor stood his deliverers. As they stepped forward to greet him he recognized the Cardinal, whom he had last seen in the Star Chamber, and he fell at his feet and sought to kiss his hand.

"Rise, my son," said the Cardinal in kindly tones; "we thank God for His mercy to you, and the Queen for her goodness. And here is one," he continued, "to whom you owe much more than to me; for while I wrought with the Queen on your behalf, his Excellency the Ambassador besought the consent of King Philip."

Then Don Renard affectionately embraced him, kissing him upon both cheeks.

And while Ralph stood speechless with joy the Ambassador exclaimed—

"Mr. Governor, you will pardon our hasty departure, I am sure, for we must hie to Gray's Inn, where eager hearts await us."

Sir Thomas bowed in reply, and himself led the way to the great gate of the prison, where their carriage awaited them.

Gray's Inn at last!

And there the Treasurer, the sweet sister, the much-loved brother received from the hands of the liberators the released and pardoned prisoner, as "one risen from the dead."

Ah, what joy and rejoicing, what radiant happiness were theirs that night, as they knelt together to thank Heaven for its mercies!

The night was departing, the day was at hand, yet the men of the party gathered together round the hearth for a brief consultation after Susan had left them.

"Don Renard comes hither at mid-day," said Sir John, "and he brings with him Lord Clinton, who happens to be in London. I fear that this portends that the conditions upon which Ralph obtained his freedom are to be fulfilled at once.

"I heard to-day that King Philip has commenced his campaign against the French King, and the English contingent are assembling at Dover.

"I would Geoffrey de Fynes were here; his man-servant has arrived with the news that his master's departure from Lewes was delayed, but that he would follow him in a few hours. Perhaps we assumed his consent to join you two boys too readily; but we shall soon know—he may be here to breakfast."

"Have no fear on that score, dear uncle," replied Ralph; "he will tell you himself, as he has often told me, that he longs to see military service."

Then a final "good-night" was said, and the men betook themselves to rest.

When William and Ralph entered the breakfast room at a somewhat later hour than usual, they were overjoyed to see Geoffrey de Fynes already at table; he had ridden up to London that day. Very hearty were the greetings which passed between the young men. How much they had to tell each other!

De Fynes was the eldest of the trio, being twenty years of age. He was of moderate height, his strong limbs were finely proportioned, his clear-cut features exhibited all the manly grace which seemed to be hereditary in the noble family of the Dacres, of which he was the sole male representative. He had not heard the great news that he was to accompany the brothers to France. He was of a race of warriors, and now the passionate longings of his heart were to be fulfilled!

"God save the Queen!" he cried, as he leapt from his seat and flung his cap in the air.

Then he grasped the brothers' hands and shook them heartily; they would be his "brothers-in-arms" now, and ere long, please God, they would be united by a yet closer tie!

That last thought was very opportune, for at that moment Susan entered the room and the lovers fondly embraced.

"I heard your voice as I was waiting on Sir John in the library, and I hastened thither," she said. "Now tell me, I pray you, the cause of all this uproarious joy?"

Geoffrey hung his head; he had come to London to ask for Susan's hand in marriage, and now he was rejoicing at the news that he was "off to the wars"!

Susan's womanly heart divined his trouble, and she hastened to dissipate it with caressing words.

"God wills it, dear Geoffrey," she said; "I would not have it otherwise; for think! at this very hour our beloved Ralph might have been standing in the pillory at Tyburn. Oh, let us thank God for His mercy!"

Quickly an hour flew by, and at mid-day the expected visitors arrived and the young people were summoned to the library, where Don Renard and Lord Clinton awaited them, holding converse, meanwhile, with Sir John Jefferay.

The Ambassador introduced them severally to Lord Clinton, and the veteran soldier narrowly scanned his young recruits. He was still in the prime of life, though he had seen much service, as the scars on his rough and rugged face plainly showed.

Evidently the General was pleased with the appearance of the young men, of whom Don Renard had told him much. He took especial note of Geoffrey.

"Your father and I," he said, "were at Court together, and we had the honour of forming part of the escort which accompanied Queen Ann of Cleves from Canterbury to London. I am glad to meet the son of Lord Dacres."

Then he talked to each of them individually, as one who was anxious to make their personal acquaintance, and perhaps to form some opinion of their capacities and inclinations.

The English contingent, he informed them, consisted of eight thousand men, of whom an advance body would leave Dover for Calais under his command to-morrow.

For the present he offered them, with the King's permission, commissions in the Arquebusiers, with posts on his own staff. If this met their views it would be necessary for them to join their regiment this very night: the notice was short, but the case was urgent; were they ready?

The young men eagerly gave willing consent, and so the matter was decided, and the visitors rose to depart.

"I have much to do to-day, Sir John," said Lord Clinton, "and so, I doubt not, will be the case with these young gentlemen. I pray you pardon so short a visit and so hurried a departure."

Don Renard took an affectionate leave of his two protÉgÉs, and the momentous interview was over.

Intense activity prevailed at Gray's Inn that day.

There were many preparations to be made, many farewells to be said and counsels to be given.

It was late in the evening that the young soldiers, each accompanied by a trusty serving-man, mounted their horses for Dover, where they were to embark with the troops for Calais.