It was a strange little homily, thus delivered without any affectation by this high-born gentleman to his fellows in sorrow. They did not perhaps altogether understand him, but in his own quaint way he had appealed to a comradeship of misery, and the hearts of his hearers went out to him in a vague feeling of pity and reverence. They had no need to call for "largesse," for with his own hand he was already distributing gold to those from whom he had asked prayers. "God save Your Grace!" muttered men and women, as one by one their rough palms closed over the munificent donations. The ladies and gentlemen on the terrace had all watched this little scene from afar. After a while the curiosity of all these gay idlers was still further aroused. Some of them wished to watch it a little more closely, and began slowly strolling down the terrace steps, towards the quaint group made up of all these miserable vagrants surrounding the imposing, sable-clad figure of the Duke. The Queen herself, attracted by the novelty of the spectacle, and her heart ever yearning for the near presence of the man she still loved so dearly, turned her steps towards the marble basin, with His Eminence the Cardinal--ever a faithful attendant--by her side. When Mary Tudor, closely followed by some of her ladies and courtiers, thus reached the scene where the little drama was being enacted, they saw His Grace standing somewhat irresolutely beside the huddled figure of a woman, whose tawdry drapings and matted, brilliant hair presented a strange contrast to the dull greys and browns of the other people around her. "Wilt thou not hold thy hand out to me, wench," His Grace was saying somewhat impatiently. "I would fain help thee, as it hath pleased Heaven I should help thy companions in misfortune." The servitor who had stood close by all this while, lest the people prove too importunate or troublesome, now came up to the woman, and, less benevolently inclined than His Grace, he caught hold of her, somewhat rudely, by the shoulder. "Come, wench, wake up!" he said roughly, "think thou His Grace hath more time to waste on thee? She seems somewhat daft, so please Your Grace," added the man with a shrug of the shoulders, "and hath not spoken since her arrest." "Who is she?" "Some vagrant or worse, so please Your Grace. She was arrested a fortnight ago, and hath never been heard to utter one word." "Wilt look up, wench?" said Wessex gently. "I dare not," murmured the woman under her breath. "Dare not? Why? I'll not harm thee." "'Tis I have wronged thee so." Wessex laughed lightly. Clearly the poor wretch was demented, but he would have liked to have put some money into her own hand, lest some unscrupulous person should rob her of his gift. Therefore he said as kindly as he could-- "I forgive thee gladly any wrong thou mayst have done me, and now wilt look at me in token that thou'rt no more afraid?"