Sir John took them from him; then, turning to his brother, he said—
"Let us go indoors; these letters are from my secretary, and we will read them at once; they must be of importance, or they would not have followed me so soon."
Entering the house the gentlemen made their way to the library—a comfortable room, well lighted with wax candles, and furnished with numerous settees and easy-chairs.
Sir John sat down and eagerly opened his despatches.
"It is Tremayne who writes," he said. "I will read his letter to you; it is as follows—
"'Honoured Sir,
"'The Council met to-day, and the deed of which you wot was signed and sealed—all the members consenting thereto. The Archbishop hesitated to the last, but His Grace of Northumberland would not be withstood—and so all signed. I hear that the King is sinking fast. From your chambers in Gray's Inn, June 21, 1553. J. W. Tremayne'"
The brothers looked at each other with pallid faces.
"So the 'letters patent' are issued," said Sir John, "and the irrevocable step is taken! 'Domine, dirige nos'! It is the beginning of strife of which no man can see the issue. Northumberland relies on aid from France; the Lady Mary places her hope on the Emperor. I bethink me of our blessed Lord's words: 'These things are the beginning of sorrows! Then shall be great tribulation such as was not since the beginning of the world to this time, no nor ever shall be.' And alas! for the poor young King, he hath none to comfort him; he is tasting of that unutterable loneliness that surrounds a throne! I think the end of his troubles is nigh at hand—and then the great strife will begin!
"But the hour is growing late, William," said Sir John, "and I hear Susan's pretty voice below; she is singing one of those songs I love so well: let us join the young people, I have seen little of them to-night."