She stared at him blankly a moment. Then a sudden uneasy memory awakened by his words, she drew him forward to a window embrasure apart from those who had stood about her, and for greater security addressed him, as he tells us, in Italian. “I do not think I understand you, sir. Will you be plain with me?” She stood erect and stiff, and frowned upon him after the manner of her bullying father. But de Quadra held the trumps, and was not easily intimidated. “About the prophecy?” said he. “Why, did not your Majesty foretell the poor lady’s death a full day before it came to pass? Did you not say that she was already dead, or nearly so?” He saw her blench; saw fear stare from those dark eyes that could be so very bold. Then her ever-ready anger followed swiftly. “’Sblood, man! What do you imply?” she cried, and went on without waiting for his answer. “The poor woman was sick and ill, and must soon have succumbed; it will no doubt be found that the accident which anticipated nature was due to her condition.” Gently he shook his head, relishing her discomfiture, taking satisfaction in torturing her who had flouted him and his master, in punishing her whom he had every reason to believe guilty. “Your Majesty, I fear, has been ill-informed on that score. The poor lady was in excellent health—and like to have lived for many years—at least, so I gather from Sir William Cecil, whose information is usually exact.” She clutched his arm. “You told him what I had said?” “It was indiscreet, perhaps. Yet, how was I to know...?” He left his sentence there. “I but expressed my chagrin at your decision on the score of the Archduke—hardly a wise decision, if I may be so bold,” he added slyly. She caught the suggestion of a bargain, and became instantly suspicious. “You transcend the duties of your office, my lord,” she rebuked him, and turned away. But soon that night she was closeted with Dudley, and closely questioning him about the affair. My lord was mightily vehement. “I take Heaven to be my witness,” quoth he, when she all but taxed him with having procured his lady’s death, “that I am innocent of any part in it. My injunctions to Blount, who has gone to Cumnor, are that the matter be sifted without respect to any person, and if it can be shown that this is other than the accident I deem it, the murderer shall hang.” She flung her arms about his neck, and laid her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Robin, Robin, I am full of fears,” she wailed, and was nearer to tears than he had ever seen her. But, anon, as the days passed their fears diminished, and finally the jury at Cumnor—delayed in their finding, and spurred by my lord to exhaustive inquiries—returned a verdict of “found dead,” which in all the circumstances left his lordship—who was known, moreover, to have been at Windsor when his lady died—fully acquitted. Both he and the Queen took courage from that finding, and made no secret of it now that they would very soon be wed.