for Queen Mary.”
“For which bold deed you were nailed to the pillory,” rejoined the other.
“I was,” replied Gilbert; “and was, moreover, carried to the Tower, whence I have just escaped.”
“Your courage shall not pass unrequited,” replied the speaker. “Where are you going?”
“To my master’s, at the Baptist’s Head, at the corner of Creed Lane—not a bow-shot hence.”
“It will not be safe to go thither,” observed the other. “Your master will deliver you to the watch.”
“I will risk it, nevertheless,” answered Gilbert. “I have an old grandame whom I desire to see.”
“Something strikes me!” exclaimed the other. “Is your grandame the old woman who warned the usurper Jane not to proceed to the Tower?”
“She is,” returned Gilbert.
“This is a strange encounter, in good sooth,” cried the other. “She is the person I am in search of. You must procure me instant speech with her.”
“I will conduct you to her, right willingly, sir,” replied Gilbert. “But she says little to any one, and may refuse to answer your questions.”
“We shall see,” rejoined the other. “Lead on, good Gilbert.”
Followed by his unknown companion, about whom he felt a strange curiosity, not unalloyed with fear, Gilbert proceeded at a rapid pace towards his destination. The whole of the buildings then surrounding Saint Paul’s, it is almost unnecessary to say, were destroyed by the same fire that consumed the Cathedral; and, though the streets still retain their original names, their situation is in some respects changed.
Passing beneath the shade of a large tree, which then grew at the western boundary of the majestic edifice, Gilbert darted through a narrow entry into Ave Maria Lane, and turning to the left, speedily reached Ludgate, which he crossed at some fifty paces from the Gate—then used, like several of the other city portals, as a prison—and, entering Creed Lane, halted before a low-built house on the right. The shutters were closed, but it was evident, from the uproarious sounds issuing from the dwelling, that revelry was going on within. Gilbert did not deem it prudent to open the street door, but calling to his companion, he went to the back of the tavern, and gained admittance through a window on the ground floor.
“They are having a merry rouse,” he observed to the other, “in honour of the usurper; and my master, Ninion, will be too far gone to notice aught except his guests and his sack brewage, so that I may safely conduct your worship to my grandame. But first let me strike a light.”
With this, he searched about for flint and steel, and having found them, presently set fire to a small lamp hanging against the wall, which he removed and turned, not without some apprehension, towards the stranger.
His glance fell upon a tall man, with an ample feuille-morte coloured cloak thrown over his left shoulder, so as completely to muffle the lower part of his features. Gilbert could see nothing of the stranger’s face, except an aquiline nose, and a pair of piercing black eyes; but the expression of the latter was so stern and searching, that his own regards involuntarily sank before them. A bonnet of black velvet, decorated with a single drooping feather, drawn over the brow, added to the stranger’s disguise. But what was revealed of the physiognomy was so striking, that Gilbert was satisfied he should never forget it.
Something, indeed, there was of majesty in the stranger’s demeanour, that, coupled with his sinister looks and the extraordinary brilliancy of his eyes, impressed the superstitious youth with the notion that he was in the presence of an unearthly being. Struck by this idea, he glanced at the stranger’s feet, in expectation of finding one of the distinctive marks of the Prince of Darkness. But he beheld nothing except a finely-formed limb, clothed in black silk hose and a velvet shoe, above which hung the point of a lengthy rapier.
“I am neither the enemy of mankind nor your enemy, good youth,” observed the stranger, who guessed the cause of Gilbert’s apprehensions. “Bring your grandame hither, and take heed how you approach her, or your looks will alarm her more than mine do you.”
It was not without reason that this caution was given. Gilbert’s appearance was ghastly in the extreme. His countenance was haggard with the loss of blood; his garments torn and saturated with moisture; and his black dripping locks, escaping from the blood-stained bandage around his head, contrasted fearfully with the deathly paleness of his visage. Acknowledging the justice of the suggestion, Gilbert decided upon proceeding in the dark, that his appearance might not be observed.
Accordingly, he crept cautiously up stairs, and returned in a few minutes with his aged relative. Gilbert found the stranger in the same attitude he had left him, and his appearance startled Gunnora, as much as it had done him.
Crossing herself, she glanced uneasily at the mysterious stranger. From him her eye wandered to Gilbert; and terrified by his haggard looks, she cried in a tone of anxiety, “You have suffered much, my child. The ill news reached me of the shameful punishment with which you have been visited for your loyalty to your true Queen. I heard also that you had been conveyed a prisoner to the Tower; and was about to make suit to the gracious lady, Jane Dudley, in your behalf. Was I wrongfully informed?”
“No, mother, you were not,” replied Gilbert. “But heed me not. There stands the worshipful gentleman who desires to speak with you.”
“I am ready to answer his questions,” said Gunnora. “Let him propose them.”
“First, let me tell you, dame,” said the stranger, “that your grandsons devotion to Queen Mary shall not pass unrequited. Ere many days—perchance many hours—shall have passed, he shall exchange his serge doublet for a suit of velvet.”
“You hear that, mother,” exclaimed Gilbert, joyfully.
“Who are you that make him the offer?” asked Gunnora, stedfastly regarding the stranger.
“You shall know, anon,” he replied. “Suffice it, I can make good my words. Your presence is required in the Tower.”
“By the Lady Jane,—I should say by the queen?” rejoined Gunnora.
“By the Privy Council,” returned the stranger.
“What do they seek from me?” demanded the old woman.
“To testify to the death of his late Majesty, King Edward the Sixth,” replied the other.
“Ha!” exclaimed Gunnora.
“Fear nothing,” rejoined the stranger. “The council will befriend you. Their object is to prove that Edward was poisoned by Northumberland’s order. Can you do this?”
“I can,” replied Gunnora. “My hand administered the fatal draught.”
“Yours, mother!” ejaculated Gilbert, horror-stricken.
“Prove this, and Northumberland will lose his head,” said the stranger.
“Were my own to fall with it, I would do so,” replied Gunnora. “My sole wish is to avenge my foster-son, the great Duke of Somerset, who fell by Northumberland’s
