“Let me hear how that occurred, maiden?” asked Sir Thomas.

“It chanced in this way, Sir.  I have already described my father’s state of mind, and the distempered view he has been accustomed to take of all things.  Yesterday, May-day sports were held in the village of Tottenham, where we dwelt; and as such things are an abomination in his sight, he took upon him to reprove the actors in the pastimes.  They who witnessed his conduct on that occasion would hardly hold him to be under the due control of reason.  Amongst the spectators was the son of an old friend, whose name having accidentally reached my father, he invited him into the house, and a misunderstanding having arisen between them, the latter suddenly left—­dismissed almost with rudeness.  On his departure, my father was greatly disturbed—­more so than I have ever seen him.  After awhile, he withdrew to his own chamber, as was his habit, to pray, and I hoped would become tranquillized; but the very reverse happened, for when he reappeared, I saw at once that a fearful change had taken place in him.  His eye blazed with preternatural light, his gestures were wild and alarming, and his language full of menace and denunciation.  He again spoke of his mission from Heaven, and said that its execution could no longer be delayed.”

“This should have been a warning to you,” observed Sir Thomas, knitting his brows.

“It should, honourable Sir.  But I did not profit by it.  I knew and felt that he was no longer under the dominion of reason—­that he was labouring under some terrible delusion that approached its crisis; but I did not check him.  I yielded passive obedience to his injunction, that I should depart instantly with an old servant to London; and I agreed to tarry at a house, which he mentioned, till I heard from him.  I had sad forebodings that I should never hear from him again—­or if I did, that the tidings would be worse than none at all; but I obeyed.  I could not, indeed, resist his will.  I set forth with my attendant, and my father parted with us at the door.  He placed money in my hand, and bade me farewell! but in such a tone, and with such a look, that I felt his senses were gone, and I would have stayed him, but it was then too late.  Breaking from my embrace, he sprang upon his horse, which was ready saddled, and rode off, taking the direction of Edmonton; while I, with a heart full of distress and misgiving, pursued my way to London.  Ere midnight, my sad presentiments were verified.  A messenger traced me out, bringing intelligence of the direful event that had happened, and informing me that my father was a prisoner at Theobalds.  As soon as I could procure means of reaching the palace, I set forth, and arrived here about an hour ago, when, failing in my efforts to obtain an interview with my father, who is closely confined, and none suffered to come near him save with authority from the Secretary of State, I sought an audience of you, honourable Sir, in the hope that you would grant me permission to see him.”