Then Francis sat her down in the midst of the warders upon that very stone where Elizabeth had rested when she herself passed into the Tower, a prisoner to the jealousy of her sister, Mary. Soon the lieutenant returned and said courteously:
“And now, master, be pleased to follow me to your chamber.”
Francis arose and followed him without a word. Through the outer ward they passed through the lofty portal which formed the principal entrance to the inner ward over 243 which rose a dismal-looking structure, then called the Garden Tower, but later known as the Bloody Tower. Passing beneath these grim portals the lieutenant led his prisoner into the inner ward, over the Tower Green, and at last paused before an embattled structure of the time of King John, just opposite the great keep, or the White Tower. Ascending the circular stairway, he unlocked the double doors that led into the tower, and they passed into a large, low-roofed dark apartment that held a very scanty array of furniture. Then he withdrew, the bolt clasped, the chain clanged, and Francis was left alone.
A sense of desolation swept over the girl as the full realization of the situation burst upon her, and the blackness of despair filled her soul with anguish. She was alone. She had no one to lean upon. No ear to which she could impart her sorrows. Her mother a prisoner like herself. Her father—a fugitive wandering she knew not whither. As the bitterness of her lot assailed her in all its force she could no longer control herself but gave way to a passionate burst of grief. She looked at the stone walls by which she was 244 enclosed, the massive iron-girded door and the hopelessness of her situation bore with crushing weight upon her.
There was no eye to see, no longer need for control, and she gave vent to her despair unrestrainedly. At length the fountain of her tears was dry, and becoming more composed she sought to regain her fortitude.
“I have done no wrong,” she said aloud. “No wrong? Was it wrong to give those letters to Mary? But my father bade me. My father! Ah, no word of that must pass my lips. Cruel and unjust he hath been, but never shall word or act of mine bear witness against him. I must fortify my soul for I fear that I will be questioned.”
Her foreboding proved true. Early the next morning the door leading into the chamber was opened, and Sir Francis Walsingham with two others entered. Francis’ heart sank at sight of them, but she nerved herself for the ordeal.
“Good-morrow, Master Stafford,” said the secretary courteously. “We give you good-morrow.” 245
“Good-morrow, Sir Francis. And to you, gentlemen, good-morrow,” returned she.
“My lad,” said Walsingham not unkindly, seating himself before her, “thou art charged with a heinous crime, and methinks that thou art too young to be concerned in such weighty matters. Therefore, am I with these lords, come to examine thee somewhat anent it.”