The place into which I was taken was of no great size, nevertheless a large number of people had squeezed themselves in. I judged from this that the affair had been much noised abroad, and that justices from the whole country side had come together, so great was the interest taken. I learnt, however, that the mode of procedure was to be of no ordinary nature, seeing we were no ordinary prisoners. I was told that the justices were to examine us concerning the nature of our guilt, and then if they thought fit, either to pass us on to the assizes or to set us at liberty, just as they felt inclined. But not being versed in the ways of the law, I did not trouble much about such matters. For of this I was sure: the justices would not dare to set Mistress Constance at liberty, seeing a warrant had been out against her for a great length of time, and it was not to be expected that they would have mercy upon me, seeing I had helped the woman to liberty.

Nevertheless I knew that for the sake of their own curiosity they would be sure to ask us many questions, and in this way such matters might come to light as I much longed to know.

I saw, moreover, that we were not treated as prisoners of the period were wont to be treated. Nay more, I saw that many of the rustics gazed on us with a kind of respectful curiosity.

"Who are their worships on the bench?" I asked of a man who had conducted me into the justice room, and he pointed them out to me in a friendly way.

"That is Sir John Napier," he said, pointing to a stout choleric old man, "and that," nodding to a man with a very solemn face, "is Sir William Beecher of Howbury. The one to his left is Mr. Gery of Bushmeade, who fought with King Charles against the Roundheads, while the one on his left hand is Sir St. John Chernocke of Hulcote."

And so on, speaking to me as if I were a visitor instead of a prisoner.

"They are the greatest gentry in Bedfordshire, young master," he said confidentially, "and King Charles himself might be proud to call some of them his friends. Not that they are easy to get over. No, no. They are terrible hard upon them as breaks the law."

I saw that Mistress Constance was not in the room when I entered and I wondered why, seeing I had been brought there just after ten, she had not also been conducted hither at the same time. But I had not to wait long, for scarcely had I taken a careful view of what was taking place when she was led in.

There was a general "hush" as she entered, and even the justices looked curiously towards her, as though she were to be treated with all due courtesy.

For this I have found throughout my whole life. It all depends on the woman herself as to how she is treated; and if she be not regarded with respect it is in nine cases out of ten because of the kind of woman she is. It may be different with men. In truth I know it is; for I have seen men of high standing and blameless character treated with discourtesy, amounting to rudeness if not to cruelty. But few men can speak lightly or rudely to a woman who is of gentle birth, and is in her own heart a gentlewoman. If there is any proof needed of this, it was made manifest that morning. For although Mistress Constance Leslie was the daughter of a man whom the king hated, and although she was accused of attempting to murder the great general by whose offices the king was brought back to the throne, there was not one of the justices who spoke to her in an unbecoming way. Therefore I say this: If a woman receives only scant courtesy, let her look to herself, for she will generally find the reason there. It is wellnigh impossible to respect a shrew, a slattern, or a gossip, although a man should in every case be courteous to womanhood, even if he find it hard to respect the woman.

Mistress Constance was still pale, except for the pink flush on her cheeks, but it detracted not one whit from her beauty. Rather in my eyes it added to it. Moreover, no man, I do not care who he is, could have doubted her modesty or gentleness. Indeed I hated the man who called her wife, and I wondered why God had allowed her to be mated to Sir Charles Denman. But this might be because, even as she stood before the justices, my heart went out to her, if possible more than ever.

She wore the same attire as on the previous night, and I heard a buzz of admiration pass around the room as she stood there bareheaded before the gaping crowd. But she seemed to be unconscious of it, for she took no notice of those who watched her, but instead turned her face to the justices, as if she would read their thoughts.

Her lips were compressed, but not a sign of fear did she shew. Not an eyelid quivered, neither did her hands tremble. Whether she saw me I know not. But she made no sign as if she did, although I thought I once saw her looking at me furtively.

I do not remember any of the formalities which preceded the trial; but when presently the chief justice called her name, she bowed in a stately way, and seemed prepared to answer any questions they might put.

"Constance Denman."

My heart grew bitter as I heard the name, and I thought I saw a look of anger cross her face.

"You are accused of attempting to stab to the heart with a knife his Grace the Duke of Albermarle, but who was at that time General Monk, and in truth did stab his secretary. Because of this a warrant hath been issued against you. Although for a long time you escaped the law, you have at length been brought to justice."

These words I have written down from memory, and although they may not be the exact words spoken, they give the sense of what was said.

She did not speak in answer to this, whereupon some one whispered to the justice who had spoken, who shook his head impatiently.

Then a man who had been writing, lifted his head and said—

"Your name is Constance."

At this she bowed.

"Daughter of Master John Leslie, of Goodlands?"

"Yes."

"Your age?"

"I was born on the 29th of June, 1640."

"You will then be twenty on your next birthday?"

"Yes."

At this there was a suppressed whisper around the justice house. "Just as I thought." "Beautiful, isn't she?" "Fancy a maid, and a lady born doing such a thing at that age;" and so on.

"On the 15th of January you were wedded to Sir Charles Denman?"

At this she did not speak.

"You must answer the question," said the chief justice.

I saw a look of terror pass across her face. Her hands clenched and unclenched themselves, while a crimson flush suffused her whole face.

"What have these questions to do with the crime of which I am accused?" she asked. "It is well known who I am. Moreover, there are certain questions which are painful, and they have nought to do with the deed of which I am believed to be guilty. Therefore be pleased to pass on!"

One might have thought she commanded the court, although she spoke in a low voice, and in a perfectly womanly way. I believe moreover that the principal justice would have saved her these questions, but the clerk insisted upon them.

"These be according to law, Sir William," he said, "and must be answered."

"You hear what the clerk saith?" replied the justice.

"I repeat the question," said the clerk. "You were married, were you not, on the 15th day of January, to Sir Charles Denman?"

She drew herself up as if to speak, but no words escaped her lips.

"How hateful the thought of the marriage is to her," I thought to myself, and my heart was full of joy at the thought of it.

At this moment there was a great confusion in the court, and I saw that all eyes were turned towards the door.

"Master John Leslie!" was whispered all over the place.

A man past his prime made his way towards the bench, and I saw at a glance that he must be related to Mistress Constance. He had the same cast of features, and although there were signs of weakness on his face which did not appear on that of his daughter, he was a man of noble appearance.

"I pray you to forgive my tardiness, Sir William," he said, nodding to the chief justice, "but it was far past midnight when the news was brought to me in London that my daughter was to be brought before you to-day. Since then I have ridden without ceasing so as to be here in time for—for the trial."

I thought then that this man would do his daughter harm rather than good by appearing in this way, for I saw looks of anger and dislike pass across the faces of some of the justices.

"Your presence is of no great importance, Master Leslie," said the justice drily, "and it seems a pity that you have journeyed all the way from London for nought. Besides, you hinder the procedure. The question is just asked whether your daughter married Sir Charles Denman, and I think she can answer it as well as you."

I saw the eyes of father and daughter meet, and as far as I could judge she seemed to wish him to be silent, but of this I was not sure. I thought, however, that he paid no heed to her wishes, for he turned to the bench with a look of resolution in his eyes.

"You have asked whether my daughter is the wife of Sir Charles Denman," he said excitedly. "I will even answer you. She is not."

"Father!"

The cry which came from Mistress Constance was as I thought full of pain.

"Be silent," cried Master Leslie. "Our God is a God of truth, and I will no longer suffer a falsehood to be believed."

"Whose wife is she then?"

"She is no man's wife."

There was a silence like unto the silence of death in the room as he spoke, every one there seeming to be afraid to breathe.

"I speak the truth, Sir William," went on Master Leslie. "As you know I am not a man to utter light words. You have had occasion to say so more than once as we have sat side by side in this Chapel of Herne, the justice hall of Bedford. So you may e'en take that down, Master Cobb"—this to the clerk of the peace—"for what I have told you is the truth."

I looked at Mistress Constance's face again as he spoke, and for the first time I saw fear in her eyes. She evidently dreaded something which was of a fearful nature, and I sorely pitied her. Yet was my heart filled with such a joy as I had never known before. In truth it seemed to me that a great burden had rolled from my life, for it was no longer a sin to love her. I no longer hated Sir Charles Denman as I hated him before, even although my mind was filled with a great wonder at the meaning of it all.

I could see that the presiding justice was so astonished that he could not speak, while Master Cobb, the clerk of the peace, seemed busily writing, only to scratch out what he had written.

"I pray you, Master Leslie," went on Sir William Franklin, the presiding magistrate, "to speak plainly on this matter. You say that this woman is not the wife of Sir Charles Denman, and that she is no man's wife. Do you also say that it is not she who hath attempted the life of General Monk?"

"I do say it, Sir William; she hath attempted no man's life, and is as innocent of the whole matter as a babe but last night born."

"Then what meaneth all this turmoil? Why hath the warrant been issued? Why hath she been captured and brought hither?"

I saw that he was much excited, and that because of it he forgot much of the usual formalities of asking questions. I judged too that Master Cobb, seemed to be hesitating between his desire to conduct the affair after the usual order, and his great curiosity concerning what Master Leslie was saying.

"If you, Sir William, will come with me apart for a moment, I will explain all these matters to you," said Master Leslie, whereupon the other justices protested, declaring that such was not the law of our land. So Sir William had to concede that which was evidently against his desire to his brother justices.

"What's said must be said in the open court," he said. Then realizing that he had been conducting the affair in an unusual way he went on—

"Moreover, it is not you who are at present under examination. If you elect to give evidence after the prisoner hath been examined I will allow you to do so."

"Then let me say this," said Master Leslie, "whatever my daughter may deny, or whatever she may refuse to tell, I shall e'en take a straight course and tell everything which appertaineth to this business."

Upon that Master Leslie took a seat as near to his daughter as he was able, while Master Cobb, evidently relieved that events were to take a lawful course again, prepared to ask questions.

Again I looked around this little whitewashed hall, and looked at the eager faces of the crowd. I have been told that many trials of note had taken place in this Chapel of Herne, which was a building associated with the Grammar School, and used as a justice court, but I doubt if ever one caused more eagerness than that in which we were now engaged.

"I have asked you whether you were married to Sir Charles Denman. Will you answer?"

"My father hath told you. There is, therefore, no need for me to reply."

"But it is necessary you should. Please tell the bench."

"No, I have never married him."

"Are you guilty or not guilty of attempting the life of General Monk?"

She looked at her father before replying, and reading in his face the resolution to tell everything, she replied—

"I am not guilty."

"But you were seen in his house, you wounded his secretary."

"That is not true."

"What evidence have you whereby you can prove your innocence?"

"I can prove that I was not in London at all at that time."

"Where were you then?"

"I can answer that when I am brought before a proper tribunal."

"Do you assert that this is not a proper tribunal?"

"Yes. If it were, my accuser should be here to accuse me. You have no right to try me here at all."

At this there was some discussion, and I believe that Master Cobb maintained that in the strict meaning of the law, it was the duty of the justices to detain her until she was formally charged by her accusers, but they were too curious to allow this so they went on with the trial.

"You say you can prove that you were not in London at the time of the attempted murder?"

"I can."

"Where were you at the time?"

"Answer, answer," said Master Leslie eagerly.

"I was in my father's house at Barnet."

"You say you can prove this?"

"I can prove it, Sir William, for I was myself there at the time. Also there be servants who can take oath to it."

This was spoken by Master Leslie eagerly.

"Then how came you to be accused of this crime?"

A great fear came into her eyes again, and she looked towards her father pleadingly.

At this Master Leslie spoke again.

"I have more than one daughter, Sir William, and if this guilt is to be fastened on one of them, it must be fastened upon my daughter Dorcas, who married Sir Charles Denman, and who lived in London. Thus, my daughter here, knew nought of the outrage until after it was committed."

"But General Monk's secretary heard her say she was called Constance Denman."

"I will explain that, although, as my daughter saith, this is not the proper tribunal for her to be judged, but I will tell the truth so that you may see that you do wrong by detaining her as a prisoner. My daughter Dorcas is the wife of Sir Charles Denman, as I have said. God hath not been pleased to give her the faculties of mind which He hath been pleased to give to my daughter here, and she became the slave of the man she married. It was her husband who commanded her to assume the garb of this my daughter here, it was her husband who commanded her to make it known that she was called Constance. Then," and here Master Leslie's voice became tremulous, "after she had escaped, my daughter Constance, who hath been unjustly imprisoned, in order to save her sister, so great is her love for her, assisted her to keep in safe hiding, and even appeared with Sir Charles Denman as his wife, in order to attract all suspicion upon herself, and save her sister."

There was a silence which could almost be felt as he said this, and I saw that the face of Mistress Constance was pale, as I thought with fear and shame.

"Thus my daughter here is guilty of nought save of a great and overmastering love for her sister," went on Master Leslie. "To save her she hath allowed herself to be hunted like a fox, to save her she hath travelled alone with her sister's husband."

The place had ceased to be a court of justice, and there was scarcely a man there but who forgot that nought was being conducted as the law provided.

"By this means she hath succeeded up to now in diverting attention from her sister, neither would she even now have told what I have told."

"This is a strange story, Master Leslie," said the presiding justice.

"It is strange," said the other, "but I could not stand by and see my innocent child suffer for her sister, and that is why I rode hither through the night, so that she might be set at liberty forthwith."

"And where is your guilty daughter?"

"I do not say she is guilty. Nay, I am sure she was but the tool of the man she married. But where she is now I know not, for never have I seen her since the night when the thing was attempted. All I have known is that my daughter here hath even made it known that she hath been in various places, so that she might keep any from suspecting the hiding-place of her sister. Of one thing I am sure, she is far away from here, else had not my daughter Constance given herself up here in Bedford. Therefore I pray you, Sir William, to let her return to my house at Goodlands, until I can prove to his Majesty's judges that she was not in London on the night when General Monk was in danger of his life."

At this there was again a consultation among the justices, and I verily believe that had not Master Leslie taken part in the king's father's death, they would have done even as he had asked, but several of them were strong Royalists, and hated Master Leslie and all his ways, while the others who had sympathy with him were afraid that when the matter came to the king's ears, he would be displeased at such a course of action.

So it was presently decided that, although the case had taken an unusual course, nought had yet been proved, and that seeing the king had taken especial interest in the matter, he must be informed as to what had taken place, and that meanwhile Mistress Constance must be confined in Bedford Gaol until the will of those in high places had been made known.

When the matter of my own imprisonment was brought forward it was decided that as I was evidently in league with Mistress Constance, and that as I had been guilty of a grave breach of the law, I must also be kept in prison until their worships had heard from London as to what should be done with me.

A little after noon, therefore, I was back in my prison again, and if the truth must be known, glad to be alone that I might think over what I had heard. For surely I had enough wherewith to puzzle my head. It is true the revelations which had been made had made clear many things which I had been unable to understand, yet many more remained in darkness, and in spite of many hours of thought I could see but little light.

Nevertheless, there was no happier man in Bedford than I, for although I knew that Mistress Constance cared nought for me, the way she had looked at me in the court proved that, I could think of her and love her without sin. And this I did until my heart ached with very loving.

For four days I neither saw nor heard aught of her, for the gaolers would speak no word, neither did Master Sturgeon come near me, but at the end of the fourth day I was told it was the king's will that we should proceed to London town without delay.