death moved her to tears. One expression of bitter regret burst from her lips; it was mingled with blame of her consort; and she checked herself, while she wept still more abundantly. Dorset felt uneasy at the sight of female tears; he longed to escape. Monina's request for a private interview came to liberate him; he presented her to his sister, and hurried away.
Elizabeth eagerly asked many questions concerning her mother's dying moments. The Spanish maiden, wondering at her own success, fearful of interruption, presented the missal, and then hastened to declare the motive for which it was sent. She opened the jewelled clasps, and showed the queen the prayer written in her mother's hand on a blank leaf of the brilliantly-illuminated pages. Rapidly the enthusiastic girl detailed the escape, the exile of the duke of York, while Elizabeth, not daring to believe her own senses, astounded, terrified, looked with largo open eyes on the animated eountenance of her lovely visitant. Before Monina paused, or gave time for an answer, they were interrupted by the entrance of Sir William Stanley. He started when he saw Monina, nor did the confused look of his queen, as she hastily closed the fatal volume, tend to re-assure him. He came to announce a visit from Henry to Elizabeth. Frightened at what he saw, he hardly permitted a slight interchange of greeting, but hurried Monina away, through a door hid by the tapestry, down a narrow staircase into a garden, and then by a small gate that opened on a court. In this court was placed the entrance to the apartments of the pages and esquires of the king. Stanley unlocked the gate cautiously, hesitating before he permitted his fair companion to pass on, in the fear that some mischievous boy or prying servitor might be there to wonder at and question wherefore he led the maiden from the queen's garden through a door, sacred, and never opened, into the resort of wild and dissolute youth. As he unclosed the wicket, at its very entrance, standing so that in spite of every caution a full view of Monina was at once afforded, stood a young man, whose countenance bespoke him to be ever on the alert for gamesome tricks or worse mischief. His first aspect was that of recklessness; his second spoke of baser habits; and athwart both broke gleams now of better feelings, now of desperate passion. He had heard the rusty bolts move, and perceived the slow opening of the door. Knowing how sacred was the respect enforced towards this ingress to the queen's retirement, he stood close to discover and shame any intruder. "In good season, my Lord Chamberlain!" he at first exclaimed, vexed to find no cause for taunt, till perceiving his fair companion, the expression of his countenance changed to irony, as
