as “a man of high nobility by birth, and of nature to his friend gentle and courteous; more easy indeed to be led than was thought expedient, nevertheless stout and hardy; hasty and soon kindled, but pacified straight again, and sorry if in his heat aught had passed him otherwise than reason might seem to bear; upright and plain in his private dealings; no dissembler, nor well able to bear injuries; but yet forgiving and forgetting the same, if the party would but seem to acknowledge his fault and seek reconcilement; bountiful he was, and very liberal; somewhat learned himself, and a great favourer of those that were learned, so that to many he showed himself a very Maecenas; as free from covetousness, as devoid of pride and disdainful haughtiness of mind, more regarding plain-meaning men than clawback flatterers.” Such, as depicted by the honest old chronicler above-named, was Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, father of Queen Jane. Just as the two dukes emerged from the portal, a slight commotion was heard in the outer court, and a valet, stepping forward, made a profound reverence to Northumberland, and presented him with a paper. The duke broke the silken thread and seal with which it was fastened, and ran his eye rapidly over its contents. His brow darkened for an instant, but as speedily cleared, and a smile of fierce satisfaction played upon his lips. “Traitors!” he ejaculated in an under tone, turning to Suffolk; “but I have them now; and, by God’s precious soul! they shall not escape me.” “What new treason has come to light, brother!” demanded the Duke of Suffolk, uneasily. “Nothing new,—nothing but what I suspected. But their plots have taken a more dangerous and decided form,” replied Northumberland, sternly. “You do not name the traitors,—but you speak of the privy-council, I conclude?” observed Suffolk. “Ay, brother, of the privy-council. They are all my enemies,—your enemies,—the queen’s enemies. This scroll warns me that a conspiracy is forming against my life.” “Heaven forbid!” ejaculated Suffolk. “Surely, our English nobles are not turned assassins.” “The chief mover in the dark scheme is not an Englishman,” returned Northumberland. “It cannot be the light-hearted De Noailles. Ha! I have it: it is the plotting and perfidious Simon Renard.” “Your Grace is in the right,” replied Northumberland; “it is Simon Renard.” “Who are his associates?” inquired Suffolk. “As yet I know not,” answered the other; “but I have netted them all, and, like the fowler, will spare neither bird of prey nor harmless songster. I have a trick shall test the true metal from the false. What think you, brother?—a letter has arrived from Mary to this false council, claiming the crown.”. “Ha!” exclaimed Suffolk.