“Nay;” cried Francis, her spirit asserting itself. “’Tis because ’twas at thy bidding that I donned it, and I vowed never to remove it until thou didst bid me so to do. Oh, would that I had perished in battle ere thy hardness 328 toward me should pierce me with such agony!” And she again gave way to her grief.
“Why, what hath she done, my lord?” asked the queen curiously.
“She betrayed my trust, Your Grace,” answered Lord Stafford.
“Nay, Stafford,” exclaimed both Walsingham and Lord Shrope together. “You wrong the girl.”
“Wrong her?” asked Lord Stafford eagerly. “Speak, my lords! If ye can convince me of that ye shall remove all that my heart holdeth of bitterness. I long to take her to my breast again, but I would not so long as I believe that she betrayed trust.”
“She would not betray thee, Stafford, even when threatened with torture,” spoke the secretary. “My Lord Shrope can bear witness to the truth of what I speak.”
With a bound Lord Stafford reached the weeping girl and caught her to him.
“My daughter! My daughter!” he cried. “Can you ever forgive me? Say that you forgive me.”
“And you do believe in me?” questioned 329 Francis clinging to him convulsively. “Say that you do, my father.”
“I do, I do, my child.”