"His own son brings the charge. I have Lord Sydney's word."
"Lord Sydney's word! And that is more than proof. But how shall I know that you come from Sydney?"
"That glove!" said Brand. "How else should I have that glove?"
"And yet!" Margaret wrenched a letter from within her dress. "Since yesterday I have kept this with me to read, to study." There was hope in her voice, a flash in her eyes again. "You wrote this to the Chancellor. How can you speak of treason; you, who wrote this?" She flung the letter across the table. "Read!"
"My letter to the Chancellor? Why, this. My letter was short—that's not my signature!" He held the paper against the light. "The paper—how does it come to bear this water-mark, the Imperial cypher, 'M.R.I.'? The water-mark in mine is 'Lyonesse.' Is Lord Ulster insane? Does he suppose that I—a business man, would send such a letter as that, and keep no certified copy?" He opened his pocket-book, and produced a copy sworn before witnesses. "Let these be compared!"
Intently Margaret studied both the water-marks, and the texts of these two documents. Then, without a word, crossed to an armchair over against the curtains, and there lay back with closed eyes, thinking.
"Mr. Brand," she said at last, wearily, "you and my Chancellor charge one another with treason. You spoke of Sydney—what part has he in it?"
"He came to me," Brand answered, "a month ago, gave me these papers, begged me to save the Queen, and delivered his own father into my hands for punishment."
"Go on."
"Without any proofs against him, I had to attack the Chancellor at once. There was no time to lose. Without any proofs, I attempted yesterday to warn the Queen of her peril, and was driven out from her presence. Without any proofs, I was compelled to-night to face the House of Commons. A Bill is being passed attainting me of High Treason."