She moved swiftly forward despite the detaining hand of the Duke's Daughter.
The Queen was already mounted, her hand already upon the pommel of the saddle.
Elizabeth noted the look of anguished anxiety in Angele's eyes, her face like that of one who had seen souls in purgatory; and some swift instinct, born of years upon years of peril in old days when her life was no boon to her enemies, made her lean towards the girl, whose quick whispered words were to her as loud as thunder.

She was, however, composed and still.

Not a tremor passed through her.
"Your wish is granted, mistress," she said aloud, then addressed a word to Cecil at her side, who passed on her command.

Presently she turned slowly to the spot where Sir Andrew Melvill and the other sat upon their horses.

She scanned complacently the faces of both, then her eyes settled steadily on the face of the murderer.