“Now for Plymouth and the Dons,” he cried gaily. “Oh, Francis, is it not glorious to be free?”
“Yes;” replied Francis, scarce able to speak so overcome was she by her emotion.
“And as soon as we touch Plymouth thou canst take passage in another vessel for France.”
Then indeed did the girl turn upon him with flashing eyes.
“France?” she cried. “Go to France while England is in danger? Never! Never! At 298 Plymouth do I stay, Edward Devereaux, with the fleet. I am resolved to meet the Dons as well as thou.”
“But, Francis, thy faith! ’Tis the same as the Spaniards! Thou canst not meet them.”
“’Tis true that I am Catholic, but still am I not born English? Never would I see alien foot tread English soil, be the intruder of whatever faith he may.”
“And there spake a true Englishman,” said he whom Edward had called Walter. “So spake Charles Howard, Lord High Admiral of the navy. And so also hath spoken every true Englishman of Roman Catholic faith. Who is thy friend, Edward? I was surprised to find that another accompanied thee in thy flight from the Tower.”
As Devereaux opened his lips to reply, Francis touched his hand warningly and answered for herself.
“I am Francis Stafford. I was imprisoned in the Tower charged with treason to the queen, though of that I am innocent.”