“Thy father, boy, and thee,” was the reply. “We know that thou hast warned him so that he hath given us the slip. But marry! the game is but afoot, and we the greyhounds who will bring him to bay. Of him anon. Here is a warrant for one Francis Stafford. Art thou he?”
“I am,” answered the girl haughtily.
“Then, Francis Stafford, son of William, Lord Stafford, in the name of the queen, I arrest thee on a charge of high treason.”
“Arrest thee, Francis?” cried her mother flinging her arms about the girl. “Oh, child, why thee?”
“I was with my father at Chartley, mother,” said Francis calmly. “If he be guilty of treason, why, then so am I.”
“But I knew not that thou wert in danger,” sobbed the mother. “Oh, Francis, why didst thou not go with thy father? Why didst thou not tell him of it? Why, why?”
“I did not think of it,” answered Francis simply. “I thought only of him.”
“How thou hast been misjudged,” exclaimed the lady weeping bitterly. “Oh, cruel, cruel fate that hath befallen thee!” 235
“Cease thy lamentation, woman,” commanded the officer sternly. “Make ready to accompany thy son to London.”
“I?”