It was Mary Hall, she that had been Mary Lascelles. The Queen came over to raise her up, and to ask what it was she sought. But the woman wept so loud, and so continually cried out that her brother was the fiend incarnate, that the Queen could ask no questions. The Lady Mary looked up over her book without stirring her body. Her eyes were awakened and sardonic. The waiting-maid looked affrightedly over her shoulders at the door. 'Well, your brother shall not come in here,' the Queen said. 'What would he have done to you?' 'Pardon!' the woman cried out. 'Pardon!' 'Why, tell me of your fault,' the Queen said. 'I have given false witness!' Mary Hall blubbered out. 'I would not do it. But you do not know how they confuse a body. And they threaten with cords and thumbscrews.' She shuddered with her whole body. 'Pardon!' she cried out. 'Pardon!' And then suddenly she poured forth a babble of lamentations, wringing her hands, and rubbing her lips together. She was a woman passed of thirty, but thin still and fair like her brother in the face, for she was his twin. 'Ah,' she cried, 'he threated that if I would not give evidence I must go back to Lincolnshire. You do not know what it is to go back to Lincolnshire. Ah, God! the old father, the old house, the wet. My clothes were all mouldered. I was willing to give true evidence to save myself, but they twisted it to false. It was the Duke of Norfolk ...' The Lady Mary came slowly over the floor. 'Against whom did you give your evidence?' she said, and her voice was cold, hard, and commanding. Mary Hall covered her face with her hands, and wailed desolately in a high note, like a wolf's howl, that reverberated in that dim gallery. The Lady Mary struck her a hard blow with the cover of her book upon the hands and the side of her head. 'Against whom did you give your evidence?' she said again. The woman fell over upon one hand, the other she raised to shield herself. Her eyes were flooded with great teardrops; her mouth was open in an agony. The Lady Mary raised her book to strike again: its covers were of wood, and its angles bound with silver work. The woman screamed out, and then uttered-- 'Against Dearham and one Mopock first. And then against Sir T. Culpepper.' The Queen stood up to her height; her hand went over her heart; the netted purse dropped to the floor soundlessly. 'God help me!' Mary Hall cried out. 'Dearham and Culpepper are both dead!' The Queen sprang back three paces. 'How dead!' she cried. 'They were not even ill.' 'Upon the block,' the maid said. 'Last night, in the dark, in their gaols.' The Queen let her hands fall slowly to her sides. 'Who did this?' she said, and Mary Hall answered-- 'It was the King!' The Lady Mary set her book under her arm. 'Ye might have known it was the King,' she said harshly. The Queen was as still as a pillar of ebony and ivory, so black her dress was, and so white her face and pendant hands.