“My girl, thou hast used an appeal to which we may not turn a deaf ear,” said Henry; “say on.”
Mistress Betty drew a long breath; she was summoning all her strength to plead her cause.
“Sire,” she said, “there is a prisoner in the Tower wrongfully charged with treason; an innocent man whom some enemy hath entangled. I pray your grace to hear his cause, to end this great suspense. Long, long he hath languished a prisoner without the opportunity to establish his innocence. And he is innocent!” she clasped her hands together with a passionate gesture, “Simon Raby is innocent!” she cried; “and oh, my lord the king, I pray you to think of the terrible strain of this long suspense!”
“Simon Raby?” repeated the king; “once my equerry, I think.”
“Ay, your grace,” replied the Duke of Norfolk, “the son of old Lord Raby of Sussex; an honest gentleman, who died nearly two years ago.”
“An honest gentleman; ay, I remember him; he served my father well,” said the king, thoughtfully. “Cromwell hath been eager trapping his mice, but I would not keep a true man in jail. Hath he not been tried, Mistress Carew?” he added, looking again at Betty.
“Nay, your highness,” she replied sadly; “he has languished long, and with no hope, nor have they let his friends see him.”
“How long hath he been in the Tower?” asked Henry, gravely.
“Fourteen months and more, Sire,” she answered.
“’Tis too long,” said the king, frowning. “I have no will to keep a poor gentleman without a trial; this shall be looked into.”