“May be I shall,” rejoined Simnel; “but if I am burned at the stake, you will bear me company. However, I refuse to believe that the Prince of Spain has any such fell designs as you calumniously attribute to him. Don Philip will give us an assurance to the contrary. Doubtless he is in his Highness’s confidence. I pray your lordship to contradict him. Give him the lie direct.” “Set your mind at ease, Sir,” rejoined Philip. “The Prince is a good Catholic, but that you need not be told. But even his abhorrence of heresy will not induce him to interfere with the religious affairs of this realm, which belong, of right, to the Queen and the Church. You need not fear the establishment of the Inquisition.” As the words were uttered, a passer-by, who had lingered to hear what was going forward, exclaimed, “’Tis he!” and then, hurrying on his way, speedily disappeared. The exclamation troubled Philip, and he felt the necessity of instant departure. “I am sorry I cannot longer continue this discourse, gentlemen,” he said, “neither can I accept Master Tyrrell’s hospitality. I bid you all good-night.” And bowing to the party with a dignity that strongly impressed them, and prevented them from attempting to accompany him, he walked away with Osbert. “My mind misgives me,” said Rodomont, looking after him. “Did I not feel sure the Prince must be on board the ‘Santissima Trinidada,’ I should think this haughty hidalgo was he. What an air he has!” “A princely air, indeed!” exclaimed Simnel. “Who was it cried ‘’Tis he?’” demanded Bittern. “Nay, I know not,” returned Jack Holiday. “Whoever the fellow might be, he went away quickly.” “From the glimpse I caught of him, he looked like the French Ambassador,” observed Huttoft. “His Excellency is in Southampton. I saw him this morning.” “The French Ambassador!” exclaimed Rodomont. “Nay, then, my suspicions are well founded. Gentlemen, we have been conversing with the Prince of Spain.” Expressions of incredulity arose from the whole party. “If it be the Prince of Spain, I would not give much for your ears, Rodomont,” said Simnel, laughing. “Bethink you how disrespectfully you spoke of the Queen.” “I but affirmed the truth in saying she was not a beauty,” rejoined Bittern. “Ay, but the truth must not be spoken when her Majesty’s looks are in question,” observed Simnel. “You are in for it, friend Rodomont.”