“Cicely, my beloved,” cried Cholmondeley, clasping her in his arms, “why—why have you done this?” “To preserve you,” she replied, hurriedly. “Once out of this dungeon, I can bring assistance to liberate you.” “Indeed!” ejaculated Nightgall, who, having placed his ear to the wall, lost not a syllable of their discourse. “It will be unavailing,” replied Cholmondeley. “No one will venture to oppose an order of the Council. You must make known my case to Lord Guilford Dudley. Take this ring. Explain all to him, and I may yet be saved. Do you hear me, Cicely?” “I do,” she replied “And I,” added Nightgall. “In case you fail,” continued the esquire, “the token of my escape shall be”—And placing his lips close to her ear, he spoke a few words in so low a tone, that they escaped the jailer. “Till you receive that token treat Nightgall as before.” “Doubt it not,” she answered. “I am content,” said the esquire. “I see through the design,” muttered the jailer, “and will defeat it. Have you done?” he added, aloud. “A moment,” replied Cholmondeloy, again pressing the damsel to his bosom, “I would sooner part with my life’s-blood than resign you.” “I must go,” she cried, disengaging herself from his embrace. “Now, Master Nightgall, I am ready to attend you.” “In an hour I shall return and release you,” said the jailer, addressing the prisoner. “Your hand, Cicely.” “I will go alone,” she replied, shrinking from him with a look of abhorrence. “As you please,” he rejoined, with affected carelessness. “You are mine.” “Not till I have received the token. Farewell!” she murmured, turning her tearful gaze upon Cholmondeley. “For ever!” exclaimed the youth. And as they quitted the cell, he threw himself despairingly on the ground. Issuing from the outer door of the dungeon, Cicely and her companion took their way towards the Stone Kitchen. They had not proceeded far, when they perceived several persons approaching them, who, as they drew nearer, proved to be Dame Potentia, Xit, and the giants. “What have you been doing, Cicely?” inquired her adoptive mother, angrily. “I have been searching for you everywhere!” “You shall know anon,” replied the maiden. “But come with me to the palace. I must see Lord Guilford Dudley, or the Duke of Northumberland, without a moment’s delay.” “Warders,” interposed Nightgall, authoritatively: “go to Master Manger’s lodging in the Bloody Tower. Bid him hasten with two assistants, and the sworn tormentor, to the dungeon beneath the Devilin Tower. He will know which I mean. Justice is about to be done upon a prisoner.” “Oh no—no—do not go,” cried Cicely, arresting the giants. “He does not mean it. He is jesting.” “Go home, then, and do not stir forth till I bring you the token,” rejoined Nightgall, in a deep whisper. “In Heaven’s name, what is the meaning of all this?” cried Dame Potentia, in amazement.