“What, brother!” cried Milady, “must I name him again? Have you not yet divined who he is?”
“What?” cried Felton, “he — again he — always he? What — the truly guilty?”
“The truly guilty,” said Milady, “is the ravager of England, the persecutor of true believers, the base ravisher of the honor of so many women — he who, to satisfy a caprice of his corrupt heart, is about to make England shed so much blood, who protects the Protestants today and will betray them tomorrow — ”
“Buckingham! It is, then, Buckingham!” cried Felton, in a high state of excitement.
Milady concealed her face in her hands, as if she