“Sire,” he said, “hesitate now. Think well of what you are about to do. Heaven could let no good come of it, and the day will dawn when you will rue the committal of a crime.”
“Hurst!” exclaimed the King angrily; but the chamberlain dropped on one knee.
“Your Majesty, let me plead for this stranger who came to your Court—”
“As a thief.”
“No, Sire; as a patriot who had determined to obtain the jewel which in the old time belonged to his ancestors’ crown.”
“That is naught,” said Henry. “This man shall die.” And he raised the pen once more.
“You who are so great a king, Sire, should be magnanimous here. This night, Sire, is your own, to do good or ill; but it will be the darkest of your reign if that warrant is signed.”
“But why do you intercede?” asked Henry, and he threw himself back in his chair. “Francis is nothing to you.”
“The life of a noble prince, Sire, is much to all the world, and—”
“You know him?” interrupted the King sharply.