"If you saw all, fair maiden," said the King, "why did you not at once denounce the murderer?"
"I saw all but the last act, my Liege," replied Ella Brune. "Having wandered from Southampton with the poor old man, whom that knight afterwards slew, we found kindly entertainment for our music in a cottage at Abbot's Ann. Wearied with the noise and merriment, I went out and sat beneath the trees; I witnessed what I have said; but then, not to be an eavesdropper, I stole away. When I heard of the murder, however, I well knew who had done it--for the lady answered him scornfully--and I should have told the tale at once, but the old man forbade me, showing that we were poor wandering minstrels, and that my story against the noble and the great would not be credited; yet I am certain that his hand did it."
"Out upon it!" cried Roydon; "will a King of England listen to such an idle tale? will he not drive from his presence, with contempt, a mountebank singer who, without one witness, brings such a charge in pure hate?"
"Not without one witness," answered Ella Brune. "I have one."
"Call him!" said Henry; "if this man can clear himself from the accusation, he shall have pardon for all the rest."
Ella Brune raised her hand and beckoned to some one standing behind the circle, which had drawn somewhat closer round the spot where this scene was going on. Immediately--while Sir John Grey made way--a lady dressed in the habit of a novice, with her face closely covered, advanced between the King and Simeon of Roydon.
"This is my witness," said Ella Brune; and as she spoke, the other withdrew her veil.
Simeon of Roydon started back with a face pale as death, exclaiming, "Catherine!--She is living! she is living!"
"Ay, but not by your will," answered Catherine Beauchamp; "for you have long thought me dead--dead by the act of your own hand. My Lord the King," she continued, "all that this excellent girl has said is true. On a night you well remember, eager to learn from this man who you really were, I sought him by the banks of the stream, where he had promised to wait and tell me that and other matters, as he said, nearly affecting me. It was wrong of me to do so; but I had done much that was wrong ere then, and I had no scruples. He told me who you were; and then, seeing that no great love existed between myself and poor Harry Dacre, he sought to win my wealth, by inducing me to violate the contract with my promised husband and wed him: what put such a vain notion in his mind, I know not; but I laughed and taunted him with bitter scorn; and he then told me that I should be his or die. At first I feared not: but when I found him lift his hand and grasp me by the throat, I screamed aloud for help, and struggled hard. He mastered me, however, in an instant, and plunged me in the stream. As I fell, I vowed that, if Heaven would send me help, I would make a pilgrimage to St. James of Galicia. The waters, however, soon closed above my head, and in the one dreadful moment which I had for thought--as if the past had been cleared up and illumined by a flash of lightning--all the faults and follies of my former life stood out before me distinct and bright, stripped of the vain imaginations with which I had covered them. I rose again for a moment to the air; and then I vowed that, if God spared me, I would pledge myself to the altar, and renouncing all that ensnared me, live out the rest of time in penitence and prayer. I soon lost all recollection, however, and when first I woke as from sleep, in great feebleness and agony, I found myself in a litter, borne on towards the abbey. Consciousness was speedily gone again: and when next I roused myself from that dull slumber, my good uncle Richard, the abbot, and an old monk of his convent, were the only persons near. As soon as I could speak, I told them of my vows, and engaged them to keep my recovery a profound secret, till I had taken the veil. The deeds that have been done, however, compel me to come forward now, and tell the truth. I have told it simply and without disguise; but yet I would fain plead for this man's life. To him, as well as to others, I have had great faults, and towards none more than poor Sir Harry Dacre. In a month, however, my vows will be taken, and he will be free; but I would fain not cloud the peace with which I renounce the world, by bringing death on my bad cousin's head; and you, Sire, after such a mighty victory, can well afford to pardon."
But Henry waved his hand: "Not a word for him!" he said; "loaded with so many crimes, I give him up to trial; and by the sentence of his judges will I abide. Remove the prisoners, and keep them under safe ward; one word more, fair lady," he continued, as the men-at-arms led Simeon of Roydon and Ned Dyram from the presence, "how has it so fortunately chanced that you are here to-day?"