She then rang a hand-bell, and on the entrance of a gentlewoman, commanded that I should be taken to the Brick Tower, to attend upon the Lady Jane Grey. CHAPTER XXII With Lady Jane I did not find Lady Jane in bed, in the gloomy quarters where she was confined. Separated from her husband, who was imprisoned in the Beauchamp Tower, and left entirely alone, she was passing the time in prayer, meditation, and studying the philosophic and holy writings, from which she imbibed deep draughts of resignation and wisdom. Like a child exhausted with play after having acted a difficult part, and like one worn with the strain that has been put upon her in the battle of life, she was simply waiting at the foot of the Cross, and I found her on her knees, weeping gently as she prayed. The warder, who conducted me to her apartment, retired, bolting the door after him, and I stood by it a little while, unwilling to interrupt my dear lady and noticing with dismay the iron-barred windows of the room and the stone walls, partly concealed by tapestry. I saw also that the furniture--a table and some chairs--was of carved oak. and the deep window-seats were covered with velvet, as was also the seat of the oak chair before which the poor young prisoner knelt. Perhaps she heard some one enter--certainly the warder made noise enough as he closed the door--and therefore, ending her prayer, she arose and looked round. The next moment I was folded in her arms, and we were crying together. 'Oh, Margery! My poor Margery!' she said, at last, when we were a little calmer. 'Where have you been? Why, dear,' looking at me more closely, 'what have they done to you? You look so pale and thin! How did you get into the Tower?' 'It took me a week to get in,' I said, beginning to answer her last question first, and then, as we sat together on one of the window seats, I proceeded to tell her all that had befallen me since I was carried off from Isleworth. Lady Jane was very sympathizing when she heard of all my danger, distress and trouble in Crossley Hall, and was delighted that my valiant knight, Sir Hubert Blair, had rescued me, with a strong hand. But when I proceeded to tell her that he was now in London bent upon fighting for her and deep in schemes with her father, to bring about a change of monarchy, she was greatly concerned and not a little distressed. 'Why did not you stop them, Margery?' she said. 'You know so well that I do not think it right to be queen, when my cousins Mary and Elizabeth are living. You are well aware how I disliked to be queen, and how gladly I gave it up.'