Seating himself by the table, Edward took up a pen, and though his fingers trembled with weakness upon the parchment, wrote and signed an order for his uncle’s release, the first and last legal document that his own free will ever originated. After it was written, he took up a small agate cup, perforated in the side, and after shaking a quantity of gold dust over the damp ink, he folded the parchment and held it toward the still irresolute lieutenant. There was something in the manner with which all this was done; so quiet, so firm and full of dignity, that, in spite of himself, the officer was awed by a feeling of respect which could not be resisted. Bending his knee, he reverently took the parchment, pressed his lips to the hand which extended it, and left the presence, irresolute how to act, and yet deprived of sufficient courage to resist the command of his sovereign. As the page ran forward to open a door which led from the ante-room to a corridor, through which the lieutenant was obliged to pass, he saw, at the farther extremity, the Duke of Northumberland, now Lord Protector, moving toward the king’s apartments, followed by some half dozen retainers whom he left near the entrance, while he advanced to meet the lieutenant with a look of surprise and displeasure at seeing him there. The page observed that when the duke and his officer met, they conversed earnestly and with considerable animation together, but in low voices, and all the time looking suspiciously around to be certain that no person was within hearing. They were thus engaged for more than ten minutes, while the restless page stood, with the door in his hand, regarding them through a crevice thus conveniently created to gratify his curiosity. “Now,” said he, muttering to himself as he softly swung back the door a little to increase his opportunity of survey—“now, if I could but steal through without making these rusty hinges sound an alarm, it would be rare pastime to creep along the wall and hear what treason those lofty old fellows are plotting. It is no light matter, I’ll warrant—see, how the tall old duke clutches his fingers and bends his dark forehead over his eyes till one can scarcely see them, beneath the hoary brows—see, his lips are pressing hard upon each other like a vice—now is his turn to speak—nay, if I were master lieutenant now, beshrew me! but I should get away from that beautiful old gentleman without waiting to say ‘by your leave!’ There he stands, looking the king a thousand times more than my young master yonder, and I doubt not berating that poor lieutenant, as if he were a hound. See, how slowly, and with what a manner he lifts that right hand, holding the finger up, and shaking it before the poor lieutenant as if it were the blade of a dagger. Beshrew me! but I must learn more of this game—the corridor is half in shadow, and they can but kick me out, like a troublesome dog, if I am discovered—so be quiet, latch and hinge, if you can, for once.”