“For myself I seek nothing, Prince,” replied the abbess, in a voice that vibrated through Philip’s breast, occasioning him an uneasy feeling. “I am a messenger from the Queen to this young maiden. Her Majesty, having been informed that, under Heaven, the chief instrument of your preservation from a great peril was Mistress Constance Tyrrell, who heroically shielded you from the weapons of assassins, has sent me to bring the damsel to Winchester. This is my mission, which I was enjoined to execute without delay; but I have consented to defer my departure for a short space, as Mistress Constance hath a request to prefer to your Highness.” “I thank you for your consideration, holy mother,” replied Philip. “The fair Constance can ask nothing of me that I will not readily grant.” “Make no rash promises, Prince,” remarked the abbess. “First hear her request.” “I pray you speak, then, fair mistress,” said Philip, in an encouraging tone to Constance. “You need not apprehend a refusal.” “The boon is greater than I ought to ask,” said Constance, trembling. “Yet I must summon courage to make it. In a word, then, your Highness, I would solicit pardon for the miserable wretch who dared to raise his sacrilegious hand against your royal person.” “Pardon for that miscreant!” exclaimed the abbess. “Impossible!” “For myself I would willingly grant your request,” replied Philip, in a troubled tone, “but I have not the power. The Queen alone can pardon this offender against her laws. You must appeal to her.” “But your Highness will second me,” observed Constance. “A word from you, and it will be done.” “Be not too sure of that,” said the abbess, sternly. “The Queen is compassionate, but just. To pardon a wretch like this would be fraught with evil consequences. It may not be.” The force and decision with which these words were pronounced struck the Prince, and he looked hard at the abbess. But her features were wholly undistinguishable. “The lady abbess is right,” he said, after a pause. “I fear the appeal to the Queen will be in vain. Yet say to her that, if possible, I would have the man spared.” “The man is a heretic, as I understand,” remarked the abbess. “If he will abjure his errors, and discover his accomplices, mercy may, perchance, be shown him—not otherwise.” “I fear, then, he must die,” replied Constance. “He is obstinate in his opinions.” “Then he deserves to perish,” rejoined the abbess, “and you are wrong in seeking to save him.” “My hope is to make him profitable to the Catholic Church,” said Constance. “If he be put to death now, he will be deemed a martyr by those of his own faith. In time I may bring about his recantation.” “’Twere a good act, if you could accomplish it, fair Constance,” observed Philip; “but I fear you deal with impracticable material. But how comes it you take so much interest in this Derrick Carver, for such, if I recollect aright, is the caitiff’s name?”