“Guards!” cried Lord Guilford Dudley, advancing and motioning to his attendants—“remove this beldame and her companion, and place them in arrest.”
“Have patience, my dear lord,” said Jane, in a voice so sweet, that it was impossible to resist it—“the poor woman is distraught.”
“No, lady, I am not distraught,” rejoined the old woman, “though I have suffered enough to make me so.”
“Can I relieve your distresses?” inquired Jane, kindly.
“In no other way than by following my caution,” answered the old woman. “I want nothing but a grave.”
“Who are you that dare to hold such language as this to your queen?” demanded Lord Guilford Dudley, angrily.
“I am Gunnora Braose,” replied the old woman, fixing a withering glance upon him, “nurse and foster-mother to Henry Seymour, Duke of Somerset, lord protector of England, who perished on the scaffold by the foul practices of your father.”
“Woman,” rejoined Lord Guilford, in a menacing tone, “be warned by me. You speak at the peril of your life.”
“I know it,” replied Gunnora; “but that shall not hinder me. If I succeed in saving that fair young creature, whom your father’s arts have placed in such fearful jeopardy, from certain destruction, I care not what becomes of me. My boldness, I am well assured, will be fearfully visited upon me, and upon my grandson at my side. But were it the last word I had to utter,—were this boy’s life,” she added, laying her hand on the youth’s shoulder, who arose at the touch, “set against hers, I would repeat my warning.”
“Remove your cap in presence of the queen, knave,” cried one of the halberdiers, striking off the young man’s cap with his staff.