n, touched
the steps.

The lieutenant of the Tower, followed by numerous warders, appeared and
gave acknowledgment of their receipt to the guard. Slowly the prisoners
ascended the damp and slippery steps, Francis and her mother being the
last to go up. A few quick commands and Babington and the others were
hurried away, each man between two warders. Then the lieutenant turned to
Lady Stafford.

"Follow me, madam," he said making a respectful salutation. "I will
conduct you to your chamber, where, I pray your pardon, my orders are to
place you under some restraint. You, young master, will remain here until
my return. The time will be but short."

"Oh," cried the lady in supplicating tones, "are we to be separated?"

"Such are my commands, madam," returned he in tones of commiseration.
"Thou art to be confined in the Brick Tower. Thy son in the Beauchamp
Tower. Come!"

"Oh, my child! my child!" sobbed the mother throwing her arms about
Francis. "What will be thy fate? What will they do to thee?"

"Calm thyself, my mother," comforted Francis. "We can but hope. Mayhap
the good keeper will permit us to see each other occasionally. Go now,
mother. We must not vex him."

Clasping her convulsively to her breast for a moment, Lady Stafford
released her, and then followed the lieutenant, weeping bitterly.

Then Francis sat her down in the midst of the warders upon that very
stone where Elizabeth had rested when she herself passed into the Tower,
a prisoner to the jealousy of her sister, Mary. Soon the lieutenant
returned and said courteously:

"And now, master, be pleased to follow me to your chamber."

Francis arose and followed him without a word. Through the outer ward
they passed through the lofty portal which formed the principal entrance
to the inner ward over which rose a dismal-looking structure, then
called the Garden Tower, but later known as the Bloody Tower. Passing
beneath these grim portals the lieutenant led his prisoner into the inner
ward, over the Tower Green, and at last paused before an embattled
structure of the time of King John, just opposite the great keep, or the
White Tower. Ascending the circular stairway, he unlocked the double
doors that led into the tower, and they passed into a large, low-roofed
dark apartment that held a very scanty array of furniture. Then he
withdrew, the bolt clasped, the chain clanged, and Francis was left
alone.

A sense of desolation swept over the girl as the f