The rest of the party speedily followed their example, and as Xit took his leave, he remarked to his host, “Nothing but Magog’s desire to terrify his dame prevented me from attacking Max. I am certain I could master him.”
“Say you so?” replied Hairun; “then you may have an opportunity of displaying your prowess before the queen tomorrow.”
“I will certainly avail myself of it,” replied Xit. “Give him a good supper, and he will be in better condition for the fight.”
Early on the following day, Mary arrived at the Tower. She came by water, and was received at the landing-place by Sir Henry Bedingfeld, who conducted her with much ceremony to the palace, where a sumptuous banquet was prepared, at which the knight assisted as chief sewer, presenting each dish to the queen on his bended knee, and placing a silver ewer filled with rosewater, and a napkin, before her between the courses. Mary looked grave and thoughtful, nor could the liveliest sallies of De Noailles, who was one of the guests, call a smile to her lips. Renard, also, was present, and looked more gloomy than usual. The banquet ended, Sir Henry Bedingfeld approached, and laid a parchment before the queen.
“What is this, sir?” she demanded.
“The warrant for the burning of Edward Underhill, the miscreant who attempted your highness’s life,” replied Bedingfeld.
“How!—burned! and I had pardoned him,” exclaimed Mary.
“He has been delivered over by the council to the ecclesiastical authorities, and such is the sentence pronounced against him,” returned the knight.
Mary sighed, and attached her signature to the scroll.
“The hour of execution, and the place?” demanded Bedingfeld.