The storm was abating, and Sir John stood at the open window watching the fleeting clouds and the occasional glimmer of stars emerging from the gloom. A light step across the thickly carpeted floor did not catch his ear, but a caressing arm thrown round his neck told him that Susan was there. "To rest, dear uncle, to rest," said she; "for this day will bring thee labour and toil for body and mind! Yet tell me briefly, does all go well—do our friends give us cause to hope for the best?" Then Sir John comforted her distressed heart by telling her in a few words their schemes for the great event in the Star Chamber, and their hopes for a joyful delivery from their cares, and Susan at length sought her chamber somewhat cheered. -------------- The day broke fine and cloudless. The sun shone through the painted windows of the great Court House of the Star Chamber, casting a thousand richly tinted shadows on the marble floor. The gilt stars in the roof glittered, and rich beams of light fell on the beautiful panelling which lined the walls of the noble hall. It was yet early morn, and the only occupants of the Court were the ushers, attendants and servants who were making preparations for the meeting of the Court. At ten o'clock armed warders took up their positions within the hall; a few minutes later the Sheriff with a strong force of javelin men made his entry; he had brought up the prisoner, William Jefferay, from the Fleet prison. The boy's handsome face was deadly pale, forming a strong contrast with his dark, flashing eyes. There was no sign of fear or misgiving on the part of the youthful prisoner as he took his place in the dock, a warder standing on each side of him. Presently a small group of gentlemen entered the hall to whom all present showed great deference, and they were shown to benches reserved for distinguished visitors who held permits from the Lord Chancellor. William's eyes lit up with pleasure, and his pale face flushed as he recognized Don Simon Renard and his stepson Diego, Sir John Jefferay, and the Master of the Rolls among the group. When all were seated a solemn silence ensued, shortly to be broken by the clarion tones of silver trumpets. The Lords of the Council were entering the Chamber in a stately procession vested in their robes of office. Every point of the ancient form and ceremony was rigidly observed. All men stood, cap in hand, until the Chancellor had taken his seat; then, at a sign from him, a richly bedizened herald stepped forth and proclaimed that the Court was opened. On the Chancellor's right hand sat Cardinal Pole. Between these famous men there was a marked and striking contrast.