They went down a corridor or two, passing a sentry who let the well-known page and the gentleman pass without challenging; ascended a twisted oak staircase, went along a gallery, with stained glass of heraldic emblems in the windows, and paused before a door. The page, before knocking, turned and looked meaningly at Anthony, who stood with every pulse in his body racing; then the boy knocked, opened the door; Anthony entered, and the door closed behind him. CHAPTER X THE APPEAL TO CÆSAR The room was full of sunshine that poured in through two tall windows opposite, upon a motionless figure that sat in a high carved chair by the table, and watched the door. This figure dominated the whole room: the lad as he dropped on his knees, was conscious of eyes watching him from behind the chair, of tapestried walls, and a lute that lay on the table, but all those things were but trifling accessories to that scarlet central figure with a burnished halo of auburn hair round a shadowed face. * * * * There was complete silence for a moment or two; a hound bayed in the court outside, and there came a far-away bang of a door somewhere in the palace. There was a rustle of silk that set every nerve of his body thrilling, and then a clear hard penetrating voice spoke two words. "Well, sir?" Anthony drew a breath, and swallowed in his throat. "Your Grace," he said, and lifted his eyes for a moment, and dropped them again. But in the glimpse every detail stamped itself clear on his imagination. There she sat in vivid scarlet and cloth of gold, radiating light; with high puffed sleeves; an immense ruff fringed with lace. The narrow eyes were fixed on him, and as he now waited again, he knew that they were running up and down his figure, his dark splashed hose and his tumbled doublet and ruff. "You come strangely dressed." Anthony drew a quick breath again. "My heart is sick," he said. There was another slight movement. "Well, sir," the voice said again, "you have not told us why you are here." "For justice from my queen," he said, and stopped. "And for mercy from a woman," he added, scarcely knowing what he said. Again Elizabeth stirred in her chair. "You taught him that, you wicked girl," she said. "No, madam," came Mary's voice from behind, subdued and entreating, "it is his heart that speaks." "Enough, sir," said Elizabeth; "now tell us plainly what you want of us." Then Anthony thought it time to be bold. He made a great effort, and the sense of constraint relaxed a little. "I have been, your Grace, to Sir Francis Walsingham, and my lord Bishop of London, and I can get neither justice nor mercy from either; and so I come to your Grace, who are their mistress, to teach them manners." "Stay," said Elizabeth, "that is insolence to my ministers."