14th of
September, the Court met for the trial of Antony Babington and his
confederates. The Talbot name and recommendation obtained ready
admission, and Lord Talbot, Richard, and his son formed one small party
together with William Cavendish, who had his tablets, on which to take
notes for the use of his superior, Walsingham, who was, however, one of
the Commissioners.

There they sat, those supreme judges, the three Chief-Justices in their
scarlet robes of office forming the centre of the group, which also
numbered Lords Cobham and Buckhurst, Sir Francis Knollys, Sir
Christopher Hatton, and most of the chief law officers of the Crown.

"Is Mr. Secretary Walsingham one of the judges here?" asked Diccon.
"Methought he had been in the place of the accuser."

"Peace, boy, and listen," said his father; "these things pass my
comprehension."

Nevertheless Richard had determined that if the course of the trial
should offer the least opportunity, he would come forward and plead his
former knowledge of young Babington as a rash and weak-headed youth,
easily played upon by designing persons, but likely to take to heart
such a lesson as this, and become a true and loyal subject. If he
could obtain any sort of mitigation for the poor youth, it would be
worth the risk.

The seven conspirators were brought in, and Richard could hardly keep a
rush of tears from his eyes at the sight of those fine, high-spirited
young men, especially Antony Babington, the playfellow of his own
children.

Antony was carefully dressed in his favourite colour, dark green, his
hair and beard trimmed, and his demeanour calm and resigned. The fire
was gone from his blue eye, and his bright complexion had faded, but
there was an air of dignity about him such as he had never worn before.
His eyes, as he took his place, wandered round the vast assembly, and
rested at length on Mr. Talbot, as though deriving encouragement and
support from the look that met his. Next to him was another young man
with the same look of birth and breeding, namely Chidiock Tichborne;
but John Savage, an older man, had the reckless bearing of the
brutalised soldiery of the Netherlandish wars. Robert Barnwell, with
his red, shaggy brows and Irish physiognomy, was at once recognised by
Diccon. Donne and Salisbury followed; and the seventh conspirator,
John Ballard, was carried in a chair. Even Diccon's quick eye could
hardly have detected the ruffling, swaggering, richl