“I have already said it must not be,” replied Mary.
“Nay then,” rejoined Renard, “I will take the responsibility of the act upon myself.”
“Disobeyed!” exclaimed Mary, authoritatively. “I command you not to leave the presence.”
“Your majesty will repent this mistaken clemency,” cried Renard, chafing with fury.
“I shall never repent adhering to my word,” returned Mary. “And see here comes our lieutenant. How now, Sir Henry? Is the traitor gone?”
“He is, your highness,” replied Bedingfeld; “and it required all my authority to prevent the infuriated guard from falling upon him, and cutting him in pieces.”
“I am glad you were with him,” replied Mary; “I would not for the best jewel in my crown that any harm had happened to him. Give me your hand, Sir Henry. I will myself visit the ramparts, and cheer the soldiers with my presence.”
“Your majesty will expose yourself,” returned Bedingfeld.
“To whom?” replied Mary,—“only to my subjects. They will not dare to assail their queen. The daughter of your old master, Henry the Eighth, should have no fear.”