CHAPTER XXI
AN UNLOOKED FOR RECEPTION
The night was dark as Dame Margery had said. The broken clouds thatflitted across the sky obscured the faint light of the stars thatstruggled to peep through the nebulous masses. At another time thesuperstitious spirit of the girl would have shrunk from the noises of thewood, and found omens in the hoot of the owl, or the moaning of the windas it sobbed fitfully through the trees. But now the screech of the nightbird and the soughing of the wind fell upon deaf ears for she was soabsorbed in the one idea of getting home that all else was unheeded.
In the darkness she was obliged to proceed slowly, trusting rather to theinstinct of the horse than to the dim light of the lantern. The drippingtrees saturated her garments almost as thoroughly as if it were indeedraining, but the fire of filial love was in her heart, and its flamerendered her impervious to creature discomforts. At length the dawncame, and the sun's bright beams soon dispersed the mists of the night,his revivifying rays inspiring the girl with new courage. The horse, ofhis own volition, struck into a brisker gait, and Francis was obliged tocontrol her emotion as each succeeding moment brought her nearer theHall.
Just before noon the turrets of Stafford Hall came into view. With a cryof exultation she spurred her horse forward.
"On, on!" she cried. "Thy journey is almost done!"
At full gallop she sped through the gates and into the base court. Herfather's horse, bridled and saddled, stood at the foot of the stepsleading to the terrace.
"Mistress Francis," cried Brooks, the old servitor who held the horse,"how came you here?"
"My father?" gasped Francis as she sprang to the ground.
"In the presence chamber, mistress. He----"
She waited to hear no more, but ran up the steps, through the ante-rooms,and bounded into the presence chamber.
Lord Stafford and his wife stood with their arms twined about each other,as if in the act of saying farewell. They started at her entrance, theutmost surprise upon their faces when they saw who the intruder was.
"Father!" exclaimed Francis running to him with outstretched arms."Father!"
Her father did not stir to meet her, but, folding his arms, regarded hersternly.
"False girl," he cried, "why come you hither?"
"To save thee, my father." Francis paused bewildered by his manner."Father, they accuse thee of treason. The queen's men are coming to takethee to the Tower. You must fly."
"And do you bid me fly? You who have betrayed me? You whom I trusted? Youwho vowed that not even the rack could extort one syllable from yourlips? Base girl, is it thus that thou dost requite my love? Away! Go backto that court whose enticements have caused thee to betray thy father."
"I betray thee?" cried Francis in horror. "I, Francis Stafford, betray myfather? Never! Never!"
"Seek not to deny it, girl. One hath been here from the court. I knowthat every incident of the journey to Chartley, even to the meeting withBabington at Salisbury, is known to the queen. Who knew all this butthee? Fool that I was to confide in thee! But thou wert so cock-sure ofthy ability! So apt and froward with thy promises, that I believed inthee."
"My father, if there are those who say that I betrayed thee, they speaknot the truth. I have come to warn thee of peril. Even now thepursuivants are on their way to take thee. Oh, sir! tarry no longer butfly. 'Tis death to be taken, father. Death!"
She wrung her hands as her father stood there so unheedingly when timewas so precious.
"And if it be death, by whose hand hath it been wrought? Why hast thoudallied at court so long? Why dost thou still wear that garb which shamesthy modesty?"
"Father, hear me," cried Francis, flinging herself at his feet. "If everthou didst bear aught of affection to her that kneels to thee, believe mewhen I say that I betrayed thee not. May my tongue be palsied if I speaknot the truth. Father, by all the saints, I----"
"False girl, perjure not thy soul," and he strove to release himself fromher grasp. "Unclasp thine arms, Francis Stafford, and hearken to afather's curse. May----"
"Hold, my lord!" shrieked Lady Stafford. "Curse not thy child! Curse notthine own flesh and blood!"
"No child is she of mine, madam. Rather do I believe her some changelingforced upon us by witches' craft. Never did Stafford betray trust before!Stay me not! Whether child or changeling yet still shall she be cursed."
"Father, father, I am innocent of having done this monstrous, wickedthing! 'Twas Anthony Babington that hath so maliciously spoken about me!I know----"
"How know you that 'twas Babington?" demanded her father quickly. "Girl,thine own words condemn thee. Say no more! I will listen to thy falsewords no longer. I curse the day that thou wast born. I curse thee----"
"Forbear," shrieked the girl in agonized tones. "O, father, withhold thycurse! Hear me for the love of mercy."
But Lord Stafford tore himself from her clinging hands, and hastily leftthe room.
"Father," cried Francis, darting after him. "Father!"
He heeded her not, but strode out of the castle to the place where oldBrooks held his horse.
"Father, father!" The frantic girl reached him as he mounted his steedand held out her arms entreatingly. But the father answered never a word,and without another look at her gave spur to his horse, and dashedthrough the open gates of the court.
Then a great cry of anguish broke from the girl's lips. A black mist rosebefore her eyes, engulfing her in its choking, smothering embrace. Sheswayed unsteadily and fell in an unconscious heap upon the ground.
In Doublet and Hose: A Story for Girls Page 21
