“If I do grant it, the interview must take place in the presence of the officer to whom his custody has been committed,” replied Sir Thomas.  “With this restriction, I am willing to sign an order for you.”

“Be it as you please, honourable Sir; and take my heartfelt gratitude for the grace.”

Sir Thomas struck a small bell upon the table, and the usher appeared at the summons.

“Bid the officer in charge of Hugh Calveley attend me,” he said.

The man bowed, and departed.

Sir Thomas Lake then turned to the paper which he had just opened before Aveline’s appearance, and was soon so much engrossed by it that he seemed quite unconscious of her presence.  His countenance became gloomier and more austere as he read on, and an expression of pain—­almost a groan—­escaped him.  He appeared then to feel sensible that he had committed an indiscretion, for he laid down the paper, and, as if forcibly diverting himself from its contents, addressed Aveline.

“What you have said respecting your father’s condition of mind,” he observed, “by no means convinces me that it is so unsound as to render him irresponsible for his actions.  It were to put a charitable construction upon his conduct to say that no one but a madman could be capable of it; but there was too much consistency in what he has said and done to admit of such an inference.  But for the interposition of another person he owned that he would have killed the King; and the disappointment he exhibited, and the language he used, prove such to have been his fixed intention.  His mind may have been disturbed; but what of that?  All who meditate great crimes, it is to be hoped, are not entirely masters of themselves.  Yet for that reason they are not to be exempt from punishment.  He who is sane enough to conceive an act of wickedness, to plan its execution, and to attempt to perpetrate it, although he may be in other respects of unsettled mind, is equally amenable to the law, and ought equally to suffer for his criminality with him who has a wiser and sounder head upon his shoulders.”

Aveline attempted no reply, but the tears sprang to her eyes.

At this moment the door was thrown open by the usher to admit Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey.

The emotion displayed by the young couple when thus brought together passed unnoticed by the Secretary of State, as he was occupied at the moment in writing the authority for Aveline, and did not raise his eyes towards them.

“Are you the officer to whom my father’s custody has been entrusted?” exclaimed Aveline, as soon as she could give utterance to her surprise.

“Why do you ask that question, mistress?” demanded Sir Thomas, looking up.  “What can it signify to you who hath custody of your father, provided good care be taken of him?  There is a Latin maxim which his Majesty cited at the banquet last night—­Etiam aconito inest remedium—­and which may be freely rendered by our homely saying, that ‘It is an ill wind that bloweth nobody good luck;’ and this hath proved true with Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey—­for the gust that hath wrecked your father hath driven him into port, where he now rides securely in the sunshine of the King’s favour.  Nor is this to be wondered at, since it was by Sir Jocelyn that his Majesty’s life was preserved.”