At the same time, Shakespeare agreed that after the unlucky business of the previous night, Oxford was no place for any one of them. The sooner they quitted it the better, since at any moment a hue and cry was likely to be upon them. A play had to be given at two o’clock that afternoon by the Lord Chamberlain’s servants. But Shakespeare had already come to the conclusion that as soon as it was at an end, the Company would do well to lose no time in setting out for London. The player now proposed that Gervase should keep his present disguise and return that evening with the others. Particularly anxious not to lose sight of the young man, and hoping also to prevent his doing anything unwise, Shakespeare entreated him to stay with the Company and accept the hospitality of his lodging on the Bankside until such time as his case could be brought to the Queen’s notice. Much persuasion was necessary before Gervase could be brought to accede to this course. But when Shakespeare gave a solemn promise that he would return to London that evening, and that he would take care to keep well informed of all that related to the position of Sir John Feversham, the young man gave a reluctant consent. He would lie in hiding in the player’s lodging in Southwark, until a favorable moment came to present his case to the Queen. Shakespeare was glad to have obtained this promise from Gervase Heriot. And he then unfolded the design that was in his mind. Having referred to Parflete’s accident and its disastrous effect upon the new comedy which depended so much on the part that young actor had to play, the author made so bold as to suggest to Anne that she should undertake the chief female character in her boy’s dress. Nature, he said, had equipped her perfectly for the part of _Rosalind_, if only she could learn to play it at so short a notice. Moreover, it would be a golden opportunity to bring her to the favorable consideration of the Queen. Would Mistress Feversham venture upon a task so delicate and so difficult? “Yes,” said Anne, “I will, indeed, if you think my doing so may help to save the life of Gervase.” She spoke with a candor, a simplicity, a decision which told the playwright that here was a firm will and a high courage. And such evidence removed at least half of the risk he was about to run. One who could take such a resolve with such a clear determination was not likely to fail in the critical hour. “Mistress,” said Shakespeare, “you shall receive instruction at once. And if you can make yourself reasonably perfect in the part by next Thursday, you shall play before the Queen.” Gervase, however, was strongly averse from the scheme. Still, the event of the previous night had furnished signal proof of the player’s wisdom. Such a design might appear far sought, yet surely not more so than the one which a few hours ago had been brought to such a terrible issue.