In spite of this, however, I determined to save her. It is true she had treated me with scant courtesy, and although she had told me to wait outside Pycroft Hall until her return, she had never again appeared. Evidently she had left Pycroft Hall only to be taken prisoner, and then conveyed to Bedford. I knew by the look on Monk's face that no mercy would be shown, while it was easy to be seen that the new king would be anything but clement towards the daughter of John Leslie, who had been one of the principal actors in bringing about the death of his father.
Still, I was not changed in my resolution, neither for that matter could I bring myself to believe that she was guilty of the crime of which she was accused. I knew that she was a brave, resolute woman. No one could be with her as I had been and not be sure of that, but her face was not the face of one who could coldly meditate upon and arrange for murder. Passionate she might be, and therefore in the heat of the moment might be led to do a terrible deed. But she could not plan to do it. Such a scheme as had been described to me must have been brooded over in cold blood, and I could not believe that she could have done this.
I called to mind my first sight of her features, and I felt confirmed in my impression. She was only twenty, and her face was free from the possibility of such a crime. A noble face I thought it was, and even at the time I felt that its possessor was a noble woman.
All this passed through my mind as I stood beneath the canopy prepared for the king, while the multitudes were shouting all around. So much was I occupied with them, moreover, that unlike the others I did not follow his Majesty to the great coach in which he was to ride to Canterbury; but remained there alone, brooding over what I had heard.
"Roland."
"Yes, father."
"Come! we must needs haste."
"Why?"
"Because we will follow in the procession to Canterbury. The horses are saddled. I have seen to that."
"Yes, father."