"Who could have sent them?" murmured Francis, again in ecstasy. It was so sweet not to be forgotten. To know that some one still remembered her. "Could it be my father? Nay; he would not dare. Lord Shrope? Yea; it must have been he. Good, kind friend that he is!" From this time forward her recovery was rapid. And when the following month brought a bouquet of sweet smelling flowers, the third, a basket of cherries, her joy knew no bounds. Thereafter no month went by without some token reaching her from that unknown person who seemed so full of sweet remembrance of her. "Now blessings be upon his head who hath so much of thought for me," she exclaimed rapturously as a guitar took the place of fruit or flowers. "No more shall I be lonely with such companion." And so with books, guitar, and an occasional walk in the gardens of the lieutenant where she went to take the air, Francis passed her time not unhappily. She was upheld by the thought that she was not forgotten. Thus summer passed into fall; fall into winter, and winter in turn gave way to spring, to that memorable spring of 1588 when all England was stirred by the rumor of the threatened invasion of Spain. At this time the gifts to Francis ceased, and such an important part of her existence had they become that their stoppage grieved her more than the threats of the invasion. Books and music lost interest, and she took to watching the comings and goings of prisoners through the grated loop-hole overlooking the south ward through which all personages must pass to reach the Garden Tower which was over the principal entrance to the inner ward. One day while thus engaged she uttered an ejaculation and bent forward to take a nearer view of a prisoner who was just brought within by way of the Byward Tower through which lay the main gate to the Tower. This was used from Tower Hill and by royalty when the Tower was used as a castle. "What is it, deary?" asked Mrs. Shelton, who was in the chamber. "Edward Devereaux," answered the girl excitedly. "Now why hath he been sent here? Gramercy! methought none of the pages stood higher in the queen's favor than he." "'Tis past knowing," remarked the woman in a matter-of-fact tone. "He who stands high with the queen to-day, to-morrow may be beheaded on Tower Hill. Marry! 'tis better to be one of the people, for they are held dear by the queen. Beseems that Her Grace cares naught for the courtiers. They are always being sent here, either to be held in durance for life, else to be beheaded. I am glad that I am not of the court." Francis did not heed her words, but was so excited at beholding a face that she knew that she leaned forward as far as she could, calling loudly: "Edward! Edward Devereaux!" The youth looked up, but the girl was uncertain as to whether he saw her or not. Mrs. Shelton hurried forward at the sound of her voice.