“What could I have betrayed thee in?” said Sir Patrick. “I came in on thee and thy friends by an accident, and I neither did know, nor did I seek to know, the subject of your deliberation.”
“Nay, trust me, it was matter of no weight, Sir Knight,” cried Ratcliffe eagerly; “simple traffic, I promise thee. Yet [[528]]men’s most innocent dealings be cruelly perverted in these slippery times; and some one, I trow, hath sorely misrepresented mine, else had I not been here. But right glad am I to find that thou art free from such suspicion; for verily the disappointment I felt in discovering that thou wert, as I did then think, a traitor, was even more bitter to me than the effect of the traiterie of the which I did suppose thee guilty. But tell me, Sir Knight,” said he, rapidly changing the subject, and speaking with an air of eagerness, “tell me how did King Richard escape thine arm? Methought that arm of thine mought have crushed him like a gnat. Ha! trust me, thou needst have no fear that England should have lacked a monarch, if thou hadst chanced to have rid her of him who now reigns. But, blessed St. Erkenwold, what noise is that I hear? Holy St. Mary, grant that there be not spies about us!”
The door of the dungeon opened, a man entered, and the guards who brought him retreated, after again locking the door.
“Mortimer Sang!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne; “what, I pray thee, hath brought thee hither? There was at least some spark of kindness in their thus admitting thee to visit thy master.”
“Nay, not a whit, Sir Knight,” replied Sang; “for albeit I am right glad to have the good fortune thus to share thy captivity, by St. Baldrid, I came thither as no matter of favour, seeing I am a prisoner like thyself.”
“A prisoner!” cried Hepborne; “and what canst thou have done to merit imprisonment?”
“I sat up for thee yesternight, until I did become alarmed for thy safety, Sir Knight,” replied Sang; “and knowing those who had the guard at the Tower gate, I made my way in, and was in the act of entering the Palace to inquire about thee, when, as I crossed the threshold, I was met by two friars, one of whom bore a lady in his arms. She was disguised in a monk’s habit; but my recollection of Maurice de Grey, together with what your worship hath told me, made me recognize her at once as the Lady Beatrice. The Franciscan who carried her——”
“Franciscan!” cried Hepborne. “What! he who came to Lochyndorbe to denounce the Bishop of Moray’s threatened excommunication against Lord Badenoch?”
“The same,” replied Sang.
“Then,” cried Hepborne in distraction, “then hath the hapless lady’s murder been made the consummation of their guilt. [[529]]That friar was an assassin. He did once attempt her life at midnight. Ah, would I could break through these walls, to sacrifice him who hath been the author of a deed so foul; would I were led forth to death, for that alone can now give relief to my misery. But,” continued he, turning reproachfully to his esquire, “how couldst thou behold her whom my soul adores thus borne to her death, and not strike one blow for her deliverance?”