"Unhand me, varlet," she panted. "Ye shall not stay me from my purpose." "Girl, do you utter such words in the presence of the dead? Look on thy mother and say if still thou dost hold to thy design?" He turned her forcibly toward her mother's form on the couch. Francis pressed a hand to her brow as though bewildered, and then as if drawn by that still calm face drew closer, and gazed steadfastly upon it. The sweet sereneness of the dead calmed her. Presently a sob convulsed her frame, and flinging herself upon the body she burst into a passion of weeping. "Let her weep," observed the physician. "'Tis all that hath kept her from becoming completely distraught." "I will send a woman to her," said the lieutenant. "The girl, if so she be, and no boy would rave so, hath been too long alone. We are but rude nurses for such sorrow. Truly it grieves me that one so young should meet with so much of misery." And he left the apartment. CHAPTER XXVI A FELLOW PRISONER A merciful illness prostrated Francis for many weeks, and when at length she crept slowly toward health, the winter had passed and spring was abroad in the land. Her convalescence was tedious, owing to a settled melancholy utterly unlike her usual buoyant disposition, which had taken possession of her. Upon one point only did a gleam of her native spirit flash forth. This was when Mrs. Shelton, the wife of one of the keepers, brought her the apparel suitable to her sex. "Nay; vex me not with them, good mistress," exclaimed Francis. "'Twas by my father's command that I donned this attire, and, by my faith, I will exchange it for no other until he bids me." "That may be never, Mistress Stafford," retorted the woman impatiently. "Thou mayst never see him again." "Then will I wear it to my grave," was Francis' answer. "I am fixed in this resolve, Mistress Shelton, and naught can turn me from it." "As ye please then," quoth the dame. "Full surely thou art as stubborn a lady as it hath ever been my hap to see. But if ye will not, ye will not;" and she took the garments away. Francis now occupied her mother's apartment in the Bell Tower, and because of this fact found a curious contentment in it. "It may be that her spirit lingers here loth to leave me alone," she thought, and she took to watching for a sign that such was the case. She was roused from this dangerous train of thought by Mrs. Shelton appearing before her one day with a basket of figs. The girl uttered an exclamation of delight at sight of them, so small a thing does it take to arouse interest sometimes. "For me?" she cried. "Whence came they? Who could have sent them?" "Ask me not, mistress. I know naught of them save that they came from without the gates of the Tower. Sir Michael searched the basket, and as there was nothing but the fruit, he let it pass."