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.