This crypt, for such it was, was dimly illumined by an iron lamp fixen to a pillar standing in the centre of the vault. The stone walls were of great solidity, in order to sustain the weight of the chapter-house, and the roof, which likewise formed the floor of the superstructure, was of stone, ribbed, and groined, and supported by the pillar to which the lamp was fixed. In this crypt were assembled some eight or nine young men, all of good condition, judging from their attire and deportment As De Noailles and Osbert entered the vault, a tall, richly-dressed man detached himself from the group with whom he was conversing, and advanced to meet them. As he advanced, Osbert instantly knew him to be Thomas Stafford, second son to Lord Stafford, and grandson of the Duke of Buckingham, a disaffected personage who had been engaged in Wyat’s rebellion, but had escaped owing to want of proof of his complicity in the affair. “Your excellency is welcome,” said Stafford to the ambassador. “I am glad to find you bring us a recruit. What! Osbert Clinton, is it you?” he added, as the young man unmuffled his countenance. “You are, indeed, an important accession to our ranks. But you must take the oath of fidelity. Our object is to deliver our country from the tyranny of Spain, to depose Mary, to place Elizabeth on the throne and wed her to Courtenay, and to restore the Protestant faith.” “I will be true to you to the death,” replied Osbert emphatically, “and will aid you to the utmost of my power—this I solemnly swear.” “Enough,” replied Stafford; “and now I will present you to my associates in this great and holy cause. Some of them you know.” “I know Sir Henry Dudley, Sir Anthony Kingston, and Sir Nicholas Throckmorton,” replied Osbert, saluting the three persons he named, “but the rest are strangers to me.” “This is honest Master Udal, and this bold Master Staunton, both good Protestants, and hearty haters of the Spaniard and Popish idolatry,” said Sir Henry Dudley. And after salutations had passed by Osbert and the persons indicated, he went on: “These gentlemen,” bringing forward two others, “are Masters Peckham and Werne. You have heard of them, I make no doubt?” “Ay, marry have I, oftentimes,” replied Osbert. “They are officers to the Princess Elizabeth. I am glad to see them here.” “They bring us messages from the Princess approving of our design,” said Dudley. “Her Highness will not write, after the danger she incurred from her intercepted correspondence with Wyat.” “Her Grace is very favourable to your cause, as I have already stated, Sir Henry,” observed Peckham, “and wishes it all possible success.” “She has need to do,” said Sir Anthony Kingston. “If we succeed, we shall place the crown upon her head.” “There is yet another gentleman whom you have not made known to me, Sir Henry,” said Osbert, indicating a dark, sinister-looking personage, in a philemot-coloured mantle and doublet, who stood aloof from the others.