“He is innocent!” cried Betty, unable to keep silence longer; “give him but the opportunity to prove it.” Cromwell glanced in surprise at the animated and beautiful face as she stood before him, one hand pressed against her heart and the other outstretched, as if imploring mercy. “What wench have you here, Carew?” he asked; “such eyes should plead a cause if there were not such lips to enforce it.” “My niece, my lord,” said Carew, hastily laying a restraining hand on Betty; “a silly fool, who knows not enough to hold her tongue before her betters.” “I cannot sit by and hear an innocent man accused and not defend him!” exclaimed Betty, with all her natural impatience. Cromwell smiled grimly. “This nobleman hath truly won an advocate,” he remarked; “I take it that the young lady hath more than a common interest in him.” “They were but lately affianced,” said Sir William shortly, his cheek flushing, “but that will be soon broken if he proves the traitor.” “I am sorry, fair mistress, to lose you a lover,” Cromwell said, looking with some admiration and much kindness at the passionate distress on Betty’s face, “but the service of the king’s grace should be nearer your heart than this young nobleman.” “My lord,” said Betty bravely, her face flushed and her eyes shining, “you have been misled by circumstances; you do Lord Raby an injustice. I know that he is guiltless; I pledge my faith upon it!” “I doubt not your faith in him, my mistress,” Cromwell answered dryly, “but, unhappily, he gave me the packet which revealed the most damnable plot that it hath been my misfortune to behold.” “Would he have given it, my lord, had he been guilty?” exclaimed Raby’s defender, valiantly; “surely that alone declares his innocence.” My lord privy seal shook his head. “’Twas but a mistake,” he said; “doubtless he meant to give me another. What was it you said of papers, Carew?” “I had intrusted some documents full of reports of matters in Devon, which you had requested, to Lord Raby’s keeping,” Sir William answered; “he was to deliver them to you, but I fear they went astray.” Cromwell looked thoughtfully from the window. “’Tis strange,” he said; “there were no such matters on his person. If I told you what he bore, ’twould amaze you. I fear that there is no clear excuse; though, in the interest of this young lady, I would rejoice could one be found.” “My lord, it shall be!” said Betty, firmly. “I pray you only give me time; let me see my Lord Raby in the Tower, and I will unravel this mystery.” Cromwell glanced from her impassioned face to Sir William’s. Woman’s devotion was an old story to him, from the faithful love of Margaret Roper to the loyalty of Mary Wyatt. There was something in the spectacle that depressed him.