“What say you, my lord!” demanded Gardiner of Courtenay.
“Nothing,” replied the earl.
“Do you confess yourself guilty of the high crimes and misdemeanours laid to your charge, then?” pursued the chancellor.
“No!” answered Courtenay, firmly. “But I will not seek to defend myself further. I throw myself on the queen’s mercy.”
“You do wisely, my lord,” returned Gardiner; “and your grace,” he added to Elizabeth, “would do well to abate your pride, and imitate his example.”
“In my father’s time, my lord,” observed the princess, scornfully, “you would not, for your head, have dared to hold such language towards me.”
“I dared to plead your mother’s cause with him,” retorted Gardiner with much asperity. “Your majesty will now pronounce such sentence upon the accused, as may seem meet to you,” he added, turning to the queen.
“We hold their guilt not clearly proven,” replied Mary. “Nevertheless, too many suspicious circumstances appear against them to allow us to set them at large till all chance of further trouble is ended. Not desiring to deal harshly with them, we shall not confine them longer within the Tower. Which of you, my lords, will take charge of the princess Elizabeth? It will be no slight responsibility. You will answer for her security with your heads. Which of you will take charge of her, I say?”
As she spoke, she glanced inquiringly round the assemblage, but no answer was returned.
“Had not your highness better send her grace under a sure guard to the emperor’s court at Brussels,” observed Renard, who could scarcely conceal his mortification at the queen’s decision.