"Mother," she cried as a full realization of all that had taken place rushed over her. "He is gone! My father is gone, and he hath cursed me!" And she burst into a flood of tears. "Think not on it, child," said the mother, her own eyes streaming. "Thou didst try him greatly. It was ill in thee not to return to us, but thou art young and full well do I ken the allurements that court life holds for youth. But this thy father could have pardoned had this been all." "My mother, art thou too against me?" The girl struggled to a sitting position, her indignation giving her strength. "Dost thou believe that I betrayed my father, or that I lingered at court from choice? Then what avails it if I tell thee all? Am I not thy child, and wherefore should I do so evil? Would that I had died ere this had come upon me!" She flung herself back upon the couch and wept bitterly. Her mother, alarmed at the intensity of her grief, strove to soothe her. "Let me make my moan, mother. If my father would have but listened, he would have known that I did not betray him; but he would not. He would not!" "Judge him not too harshly, Francis. Now tell me the cause of thy delay. Why thou didst not send us word? Why thou didst not return?" "Who was there to do my bidding? I would not have been here even yet had I not heard the queen and her ministers planning to arrest the conspirators. So soon as I heard my father's name I left the court without leave, and came hither with all dispatch to warn him." "Tell me all, Francis," urged her mother. "All that hath happened thee from the beginning. I fear me much that thy father hath done thee wrong." "He hath," said Francis bitterly. "Grievous wrong! And as I live by bread, there hath never been aught but love toward him in my heart. But now----Oh, my mother," she cried with another outburst of woe, "my heart is broken!" "There, child! weep not so much. Thy father will repent him of his injustice when he learns the truth. Dry thine eyes and tell all that hath befallen thee." Presently, when she had become calmer, Francis complied with the request, and told her mother all that had occurred since she left her. "And thy hair! Thy pretty hair!" cried Lady Stafford weeping when Francis related that incident. "Ah, child, I repent me that ever I consented to let thee leave me. But continue, I pray thee! I would know all." And the girl continued her narrative to its close. Her mother clasped her close when she finished it. "We have done thee great wrong, my daughter. Forgive me and thy father also. We should have known that thou wouldst not have done this thing, but when we did not hear, and thou didst not come, we marveled at it greatly. This morning Anthony Babington came, and told us that all was known to the queen through thy treachery. And thou must be lenient toward us that we believed him." "But why didst thou, mother! Have I been so ill a daughter that ye must believe the first word against me? I can not forgive it."