As the days glided by, and no sign or message came from her, the anxiety engendered by her last words faded away, and once more a feeling of security crept into their hearts. This false confidence was dispelled however one warm day in July when a messenger from the queen rode into the courtyard, and demanded an audience with the master of the Hall. The guest had been but a short time in the presence chamber when Lord Stafford emerged from the apartment with pale face. "Bid my lady and my daughter repair hither without delay," he cried hailing a servitor. "But, my lord," Francis heard him say as they hastened to the room in answer to the summons, "I do but speak the truth when I declare that, as I live by bread, I have no son. I have but one child, and that a daughter. She is here to speak for herself." "What is it, father?" asked Francis going to him, while Lord Shrope, the queen's messenger, looked his bewilderment. "The queen hath commanded that my son, Francis Stafford, shall accompany my Lord Shrope to the court to become one of her pensioners. He doubts my word when I say that I have no son." "Nay, my lord; I must believe you if you say that you have none," said the nobleman courteously. "But there is misapprehension somewhere. If I do not misreckon foully the queen spoke of both seeing and speaking with him during her progress hither. There is grave misunderstanding, I fear." "Alas! my lord, this comes of deception," Lord Stafford despairing cried. "Let me unfold to thee all that chanced during Her Majesty's stay, and do you advise me what course to pursue for I am nigh bereft of wit." "Let me hear all, Stafford," returned the other. "Thou knowest that I bear a heart well disposed toward thee, and will gladly do aught that will aid thee. Full well do I remember how thou and I did consort together at the court, and there hath been none to take thy place since thou didst go into retirement upon thy marriage. Therefore, say on."