Rising hastily she went to the wall that lay between the two recesses upon the left-hand side of the chamber and looked at the name carved there: IANE. "Whom could it mean but that unhappy lady," she mused. "Perchance it is her spirit that haunts this gloomy abode and inspires me to studious thoughts. It must be that she too was immured in this room. If my grim keeper prove amiable I will ask him." But the keeper soon deprived her of this comfort, small though it was. "Nay;" he said in answer to her inquiry. "The Lady Jane was not kept here. That was written by either her husband or one of his brothers who were imprisoned in this place. Know you not that only male prisoners are incarcerated in the Beauchamp Tower? Look about at those inscriptions, and thou wilt see that none of them belong to women--save and except that one." "True;" said Francis meditatively. "I had not observed that." She relapsed into thought and the keeper withdrew. Francis cared no more for the signature. It had been something of a solace to think that she was occupying the same room as that used by the hapless Jane; so small a thing does it take to comfort one in such circumstances. "I'll carve my own name," she resolved suddenly. "And then there will be one woman amongst them." Taking her dagger from her belt, for that had been left to her, she began to cut her name as best she could upon the stone. It was an interesting occupation, and she was amazed to find how quickly the time sped while she was so engaged. The keeper smiled when he found her so intent upon her self-imposed task that she did not heed his entrance. "They all do it," he remarked grimly. "Albeit thou hast waited longer than some. But eat, my master. There will be time and to spare for finishing." "You speak truly," assented the girl almost cheerfully for the mere distraction of her thoughts served to raise her spirits. "Truly; and for that cause I will teach my hand to move more slowly so that it will take a long, long time. And I trow it will for the stone is very hard." But despite her best efforts the name grew all too quickly, and, as many another had done before her, she grieved when her toil was ended. FRANCIS STAFFORD, 1586 was the inscription which she had carved below that of IANE. A feeling of deep depression now took possession of her that even her books failed to dispel. "If I could but see my mother," she said pleadingly to the jailor. "Do you not think, good sir, that I might? Let me speak to the lieutenant. Surely he will not refuse me!" "Thou mayst see her soon," said the jailor with such a note of kindness in his voice that she looked up startled. "Meseems there is some talk of permitting it." "Is there aught amiss?" asked she tremblingly. "Nay; why should there be?" queried the keeper evasively. "This day perished more of the conspirators against the queen. Making fourteen in all."