“It would have been a lasting disgrace to the country,” continued the Earl, “if the Prince whom our Queen has chosen as her spouse, and whom we are all bound to love, honour, and defend, had been basely assassinated on setting foot on our shores, and we may be thankful that we have been spared that foul reproach—thankful, also, that the design was not conceived by an Englishman. But for the present, for reasons which will be apparent to you all, a veil must be thrown over the mysterious occurrence. Out of these walls none of you will speak of it. The preservation of public tranquility necessitates this caution. Some rumours of the attempt may be bruited abroad, but it will be best to discredit them. Doubtless the Prince desires to keep his nocturnal visit to the town secret. Nothing, therefore, must be publicly said of it. This you will carefully observe. Bear in mind, also, that you will have many Spaniards in your town to-day. They are a fiery nation, easily roused to anger, and if this unlucky affair be talked about, they may resent it, and quarrels and bloodshed will ensue. It is the Queen’s desire that all who come with her destined consort be cordially welcomed. As loyal subjects, I am sure you will carry out her wishes.” The mayor and the town authorities having promised compliance with his lordship’s instructions, the meeting broke up. Before leaving the Bar-gate, however, the Earl of Arundel desired to see the prisoner. Accordingly, he was conducted by the mayor to the subterranean dungeon, where, in a dark and noisome cell, the floor of which was humid with the drippings from the stone walls, they found the miserable wretch stretched upon a few trusses of straw. His wounds had been bound up, but little beyond had been done for his comfort. Pained by the light of the lamp flashed upon him by the officer in attendance on the visitors, he tried to turn aside his head, but ineffectually. “Raise him, that I may look at him,” said the Earl of Arundel to the officer. The execution of the order gave the poor wretch so much pain that he could not repress a groan. But though he was suffering excruciating agony, his courage did not desert him, and his answers to the interrogations put to him showed unfaltering resolution. Threats of torture could wring nothing from him, and he sternly refused to betray his accomplices. “I gave no orders to have his wounds dressed,” said the mayor. “By whom hath he been tended, Piers?” “By Master Malwood, the chirurgeon,” replied the officer. “I thank him not for his care,” said the prisoner. “Had he let me be, I had ere this escaped man’s malice.” “He speaks the truth, an please your worship,” observed Piers. “Master Malwood declared, that if left to himself, the poor wretch would die before the morning.” “But who sent for Master Malwood, answer me that, Sirrah?” demanded the mayor.