In the face of the player was that beacon of true sympathy which is as a talisman in the sight of all men. He had the power to put himself in the place of others. And here was a kindness, a candor, an openness for all men to read, and reading for all men to trust implicitly.
“My story is one you will find very hard to believe,” said the young man. “But there is no reason why it should not be told. It is in the power of no man to make things in a worse coil than they are. And while I do not think aught is to be gained by making others a party to them, after all it can do no harm, and I may even gain a certain ease of mind.”
The player showed very clearly that he was following every word with the closest and most sympathetic attention.
“To begin at the beginning of my story,” said the young man, “my name is John Markham. My calling is that of a falconer. I have been eight years in the service of Sir John Feversham, who is Constable of Nottingham Castle, and chief justice of the Forest of Sherwood. He has the reputation of being a hard man. But I have always found him a very just one. Moreover I say to you, whoever you be, that no man could desire a better master.
“Well, to come at once to this dreadful story, which it hurts me to tell, some months ago, six perhaps or more—at least it was in the fall of the year—the Queen caused to be imprisoned privily in the Castle a Mr. Gervase Heriot. He was a highly placed young man. But he had mixed with the Papists, and after a trial which had been held in secret before the Court of Star Chamber, he had been found guilty of complicity in the Round House Plot, which you may know had for its object the taking the Queen’s life. By a good providence the plot was discovered in time, but the conspirators were able to fly the country, except Mr. Heriot, who alone was taken.
“Mr. Heriot, as I say, was tried in secret, because the Queen’s advisers were anxious not to inflame the public mind, and they wished as little as possible to be made of so ugly a matter. Mr. Heriot was proved guilty of conspiring against the life of the Queen, and he was committed to the Castle of Nottingham to be held there by Sir John Feversham, my master, until such time as her pleasure concerning him should be further known.
“Some two months ago the Queen signed the warrant for Mr. Heriot’s death. The day for the execution was fixed. And now I come to the strange, the grievous, the incredible part of the story.” In the sudden flood of his emotion the falconer’s voice almost failed. “On the very morning that Mr. Heriot was to die by the ax on the block, within three hours of the time appointed, he escaped from his durance.”
The young man could not go on. But the unspoken sympathy of his auditor nerved him to continue. Yet as he did so a kind of tragic horror entered his voice.
“At first nothing was known of the circumstances of Mr. Heriot’s escape. Yet without loss of time all of us of the Constable’s household who were able of body mounted our horses and rode off in all directions in order that the prisoner might be retaken. And it fell to me as I rode that same morning in the meadows beside the Trent to come upon Mr. Heriot hiding in the grass.”
For a moment the unhappy young man covered his face with his hands. It was as if he was wholly unable to proceed with his story or to contemplate that which was coming.