London had seldom been so agitated—nor was the excitement lessened when the halberdiers were strengthened by some troops of the Household Guards from Whitehall. Inside the Chambers many of the notabilities of the Court had gathered together, and when the judges entered it, it was noted that nearly the whole of its august body of members was present. By the side of Cardinal Pole sat the Bishop of London, Edmund Bonner, a Prelate whose attendance at this Court was a rare event. But behind them sat a figure upon whom all eyes were fixed—it was King Philip. He was dressed in a suit of black velvet without ornament of any kind, yet its dark hue was somewhat relieved by the spotless whiteness of the Valenciennes lace which bedecked his neck and wrists. He was of moderate stature and very spare in body. His long oval face was somewhat colourless, he wore a beard and moustache of a sandy colour. His large piercing eyes were of a sombre blue, the mouth large, with heavy hanging lip and protruding lower jaw. His demeanour was still and silent, tinged with a Castilian haughtiness. Philip was thirty years of age at this period, but men would have given him credit for a longer record; perhaps the cares of his world-wide sovereignty had made him prematurely old. Few mortals loved Philip; yet one fond heart had given itself to him unreservedly, for Mary loved her husband with a devotion as deep as it was unrequited. The opening of the Court had not yet been formally declared, and a murmur of subdued voices in eager consultation filled the air. Men noted that the King was conversing with the dignified ecclesiastics in front of him. Presently a silver trumpet sounded, and the Lord High Chancellor took his seat as President of the Court. A dead silence ensued, and the Clerk thereupon pronounced the Court open. All eyes turned to the dock as the prisoner was seen to be entering it, bowing low to the Court as he did so. His friends had mustered strongly in the Chamber, and an unrestrainable murmur of sympathy arose from them as they marked the deathly pallor of his youthful countenance, his wounded arm (still supported in a sling) and a great scar of a recent wound on his handsome face. The case was duly "called on," and the charge of riot and assault was made against the prisoner. Ralph would have pleaded "Guilty" forthwith, but Sir John had addressed himself to this matter at his interview with Ralph at the Fleet prison on the preceding evening, and upon his advice the prisoner pleaded "Not Guilty!" Thereupon the Pursuivant took his place in the witness-box and proceeded to set forth, with great detail, the well-known tale of the assault in Chiddingly woods. He now swore that the prisoner in the dock, Ralph Jefferay, was his assailant, and this was duly corroborated by his witnesses. At this point Cardinal Pole addressed the President—