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 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY
 
 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY 
 
 A STORY OF THE 
 CAPTIVITY OE MARY OF SCOTLAND 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLOTTE M. YONGE 
 
 Poor scape-goat of crimes, where, — her part what it uiay, 
 
 So tortured, so limited to die, 
 
 Foul age of deceit and of liate, — on her head 
 
 Least stains of gore-guiltiness lie ; 
 
 To the liearts of the just her blood from the dust 
 
 Not in vain for mercy will cry. 
 
 Poor scajie-goat of nations and faiths in their strife^ 
 
 Bo cruel, — and thou so lair ! 
 
 Poor girl !— so, best, in her misery named, — 
 
 Discrown'd of two kiiiLdonis, and bare ; 
 
 Not first nor last on tliis one was cast 
 
 The burden that others should share. 
 
 Visions of England, by V. T. Palqravr. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 1884.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In p. 58 of vol. ii. of the second edition of Mis3 
 Strickland's Life, of Mary Queen of Scots, or p. 100, 
 vol. V. of Burton's History of Scotland, will be found 
 the report on which this tale is founded. 
 
 If circumstances regarding the Queen's captivity 
 and Babington's plot have been found to be omitted, 
 as well as many interesting personages in the suite of 
 the captive Queen, it must be rememljered that the 
 art of the story-teller makes it needful to curtail 
 some of the incidents which would render the nar- 
 rative too complicated to be interesting to those who 
 wish more for a view of noted characters in remark- 
 able situations, than for a minute and accurate siftins 
 of facts and evidence, 
 
 C. M. YOXGE. 
 
 February 27, 18Hi.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 P40E 
 
 The Little Waif 1 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 Evil Tidings 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Captive 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 The Oak and the Oaken Hall ... . .46 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Huckstering Woman . . , . .61 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 The Bewitched Whistle 72 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 The Blast of the Whistle 81
 
 VIU CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAQB 
 
 The Key of the CirHER ...... 97 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Unquiet , . 105 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 The Lady Aebell .... . , 118 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Queen Mary's Presence Chamber .... 126 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 A Furious Letter . . . . . . . 141 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 Beads and Bracelets 153 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 The Monograms 165 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 Mother AND Child . . . . . . . 178 
 
 CHAPTER*, XVI. 
 The Peak Cavern 200 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 The EBJiiNG Well 222
 
 CONTENTS. ix 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PAOS 
 
 Cis OR Sister 243 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 The Clash of Swords 256 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 WiNGFiELD Manor 274 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 A Tangle 290 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 TUTBURY 302 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 The Love Token 313 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 A Lioness at Bay .... . . 324 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Paul's Walk 336 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 In the Web 348 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 The Castle Well 358
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Hunting down the Deer 365 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 The Search 376 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 Tete-a-Tete 391 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 Evidence • . 405 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 Westminster Hall 413 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIIL 
 In THE Tower 422 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 FOTHERINGHAY 438 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 Before the Commissioners 452 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 A Venture 465 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 My Lady's Remorse 474
 
 CONTENTS. X] 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Master Talbot and his Chaege .... 488 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 The Fetterlock Court ...... 498 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 The Sentence 607 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 Her Royal Highness 523 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 The Supplication 634 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 The Warrant 648 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 On the Humber 66:2 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 Ten Years after 583
 
 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF. 
 
 On a spring day, in the year 1568, Mistress Talbot sat 
 in her lodging at Hull, an upper chamber, with a large 
 latticed window, glazed with the circle and diamond 
 leading perpetuated in Dutch pictures, and opening ou 
 a carved balcony, whence, had she been so minded, she 
 could have shaken hands with her opposite neighbour. 
 There was a riclily carved mantel-piece, with a sea-coal 
 fire burning in it, for though it was May, the sea 
 winds blew cold, and there was a fishy odour about 
 the town, such as it was well to counteract. The floor 
 was of slippery polished oak, the walls hung with 
 leather, gilded in some places and depending from 
 cornices, whose ornaments proved to an initiated eye, 
 that this had once been the refectory of a small priory, 
 or cell, broken up at the Eeformation. 
 
 Of furniture there was not much, only an open 
 cupboard, displaying two silver cups and tankards, a 
 sauce -pan of the same metal, a few tall, slender, 
 Venetian glasses, a little pewter, and some rare shells. 
 A few high - backed chairs were ranged against the
 
 2 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 wall; there was a tall " armory," i.e. a linen-press of dark 
 oak, guarded on each side by the twisted weapons of 
 the sea unicorn, and in the middle of the room stood 
 a large, solid-looking table, adorned with a brown 
 earthenware beau-pot, containing a stiff posy of roses, 
 southernwood, gillyflowers, pinks and pansies, of 
 small dimensions. On hooks, against the wall, hung a 
 pair of spurs, a shield, a breastplate, and other pieces 
 of armour, with an open helmet bearing the dog, the 
 well-known crest of the Talbots of the Shrewsbury line. 
 
 On the polished floor, near the window, were a 
 child's cart, a little boat, some whelks and limpets. 
 Their owner, a stout boy of three years old, in a tight, 
 borderless, round cap,and home-spun, madder-dyed frock, 
 lay fast asleep in a big wooden cradle, scarcely large 
 enough, however, to contain him, as he lay curled up, 
 sucking his thumb, and hugging to his breast the soft 
 fragment of a sea-bird's downy breast. If he stirred, his 
 mother's foot was on the rocker, as she sat spinning, 
 but her spindle danced languidly on the floor, as if 
 "feeble was her hand, and silly her thread;" while she 
 listened anxiously for every sound in the street below. 
 She wore a dark blue dress, with a small lace ruff 
 opening in front, deep cuffs to match, and a white apron 
 likewise edged with lace, and a coif, bent down in the 
 centre, over a sweet countenance, matronly, though 
 youthful, and now full of wistful expectancy, not 
 untinged with anxiety and sorrow. 
 
 Susan Hardwicke was a distant kinswoman of 
 the famous Bess of Hardwicke, and had formed one 
 of the little court of gentlewomen with whom great 
 ladies were wont to surround themselves. There she 
 met Eichard Talbot, the second son of a relative of the 
 Earl of Shrewsbury, a young man who, with the in-
 
 I.] THE LITTLE WAIF. 3 
 
 difference of those days to service by land or sea, had 
 been at one time a gentleman pensioner of Queen 
 Mary ; at another had sailed under some of the great 
 mariners of the western main. There he had acquired 
 substance enough to make the offer of his hand to the 
 dowerless Susan no great imprudence ; and as neitlier 
 could be a subject for ambitious plans, no obstacle 
 was raised to their wedding. 
 
 He took his wife home to his old father's house in 
 the precincts of Sheffield Park, where she was kindly 
 welcomed ; but wealth did not so abound in the family 
 but that, when opportunity offered, he was thankful 
 to accept the command of the Mastiff, a vessel com- 
 missioned by Queen Elizabeth, but built, manned, and 
 maintained at the expense of the Earl of Shrewsbury. 
 It formed part of a small squadron which was cruising 
 on the eastern coast to watch over the intercourse 
 between France and Scotland, whether in the interest 
 of the imprisoned Mary, or of the Lords of the Congre- 
 gation. He had obtained lodgings for Mistress Susan 
 at Hull, so that he might be with her when he put 
 into harbour, and she was expecting him for the first 
 time since the loss of their second child, a daughter 
 whom he had scarcely seen during her little life of a 
 few months. 
 
 Morefvcr, there had been a sharp storm a few days 
 previously, and experience had nob hardened her to 
 the anxieties of a sailor's wife. Slie had been down 
 once already to the quay, and learnt all that the old 
 sailors could tell her of chances and conjectures ; and 
 when her boy began to fret from hunger and weariness, 
 she had left her serving- man, Gervas, to watch for 
 further tidings. Yet, so does one trouble drive out 
 another, that whereas she had a few days ago dreaded
 
 4 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 the sorrow of his return, she would now have given 
 worlds to hear his step. 
 
 Hark, what is that in the street ? Oh, folly ! If 
 the Mastiff were in, would not Gervas have long ago 
 brought her the tidings ? Should she look over the bal- 
 cony only to be disappointed again ? Ah ! she had been 
 prudent, for the sounds were dying away. Nay, there 
 was a foot at the door ! Gervas with ill news ! No, 
 no, it bounded as never did Gervas's step ! It was 
 coming up. She started from the chair, quivering with 
 eagerness, as the door opened and in hurried her sun- 
 tanned sailor ! She was in his arms in a trance of 
 joy. That was all she knew for a moment, and then, 
 it was as if something else were given back to her. 
 No, it was not a dream ! It was substance. In her 
 arms was a little swaddled baby, in her ears its feeble 
 wail, mingled with the glad shout of little Humfrey, as 
 he scrambled from the cradle to be uplifted in his 
 father's arms. 
 
 " What is this ?" she asked, gazing at the infant 
 between terror and tenderness, as its weak cry and 
 exhausted state forcibly recalled the last hours of her 
 own child. 
 
 " It is the only thing we could save from a wreck 
 off" the Spurn," said her husband. " Scottish as I take 
 it. The rogues seem to have taken to their boats, 
 leaving behind them a poor woman and her child. I 
 trust they met their deserts and were swamped. We 
 saw the fluttering of her coats as we made for the 
 Humber, and I sent Goatley and Jaques in the boat 
 to see if anything lived. The poor wench was gone 
 before they could lift her up, but the little one 
 cried lustily, though it has waxen weaker since. We had 
 no milk on board, and could only give it bits of soft
 
 l] the little waif. 5 
 
 bread soaked in beer, and I misdoubt me whether it 
 did not all rim out at the corners of its mouth." 
 
 This was interspersed with little Humfrey's eager 
 outcries that little sister was come again, and Mrs. 
 Talbot, the tears running down her cheeks, hastened to 
 summon her one woman-servant, Colet, to bring the 
 porringer of milk. 
 
 Captain Talbot had only hurried ashore to bring 
 the infant, and show himself to his wife. He was 
 forced instantly to return to the wharf, but he pro- 
 mised to come back as soon as he should have taken 
 order for his men, and for the Mastiff, which had 
 suffered considerably in the storm, and would need to 
 be refitted. 
 
 Colet hastily put a manchet of fresh bread, a pasty, 
 and a stoup of wine into a basket, and sent it by her 
 husband, Gervas, after their master ; and then eagerly 
 assisted her mistress in coaxing the infant to swallow 
 food, and in removing the soaked swaddling clothes 
 which the captain and liis crew had not dared to 
 meddle with. 
 
 When Captain Talbot returned, as the rays of the 
 setting sun glanced high on the roofs and chimneys, 
 little Humfrey stood peeping through the tracery of 
 the balcony, watching for him, and shrieking with joy 
 at the first glimpse of the sea-bird's feather in his cap. 
 The spotless home-spun cloth and the trenchers were 
 laid for supper, a festive capon was prepared by the 
 choicest skill of Mistress Susan, and the little ship- 
 wrecked stranger lay fast asleep in the cradle. 
 
 All was well with it now, Mrs. Talbot said. Nothing 
 had ailed it but cold and hunger, and. when it had 
 been fed, warmed, and dressed, it had fallen sweetly 
 asleep in her arms, appeasing her heartache for her
 
 6 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 own little Sue, while Humfrey fully believed that 
 father had brought his little sister back again. 
 
 The child was in truth a girl, apparently three or 
 four months old. She had been rolled up in Mrs, 
 Talbot's baby's clothes, and her own long swaddling 
 bands hung over the back of a chair, where they hud 
 been dried before the fire. They were of the finest 
 woollen below, and cambric above, and the outermost 
 were edged with lace, whose quality Mrs. Talbot esti- 
 mated very highly. 
 
 " See," she added, " what we found within. A 
 Popish relic, is it not ? Colet and Mistress Gale were 
 for making away with it at once, but it seemed to me 
 that it was a token whereby the poor babe's friends may 
 know her again, if she have any kindred not lost at sea." 
 
 The token was a small gold cross, of peculiar work- 
 mansl^p, with a crystal in the middle, through which 
 might be seen some mysterious object neither husband 
 nor wife could make out, but which they agreed must 
 be carefully preserved for the identification of their 
 little waif. Mrs. Talbot also produced a strip of writing 
 which she had found sewn to the inmost band wrapped 
 round the little body, but it had no superscription, and 
 she believed it to be either French, Latin, or High 
 Dutch, for she could make nothing of it. Indeed, the 
 good lady's education had only included reading, writ- 
 ing, needlework and cookery, and she knew no language 
 but her own. Her husband had been taught Latin, 
 but his acquaintance with modern tongues was of 
 the nautical order, and entirely oral and vernacular. 
 However, it enabled him to aver that the letter — if 
 such it were— 7- was neither Scottish, French, Spanish, 
 nor High or Low Dutch. He looked at it in all direc- 
 tions, and shook his head over it.
 
 l] the little waif. 7 
 
 "Who can read it for us?" asked Mrs. Talbot. 
 '* Shall we ask Master Heatherthwayte ? he is a scholar, 
 and he said he would look in to see how you fared." 
 
 "At supper-time, I trow," said Eichard, rather 
 grimly, " the smell of thy stew will bring him down 
 in good time." 
 
 " Nay, dear sir, I thought you would be fain to see 
 the good man, and he lives but poorly in his garret." 
 
 " Scarce while he hath good wives like thee to boil 
 his pot for him," said Eichard, smiling. " Tell me, 
 hath he heard anght of this gear? thou hast not laid 
 this scroll before him ?" 
 
 " No, Colet brought it to me only now, having 
 found it when washing the swaddling-bands, stitched 
 into one of them." 
 
 " Then hark thee, good wife, not one word to him 
 of the writing." 
 
 "Might he not interpret it ?" 
 
 " Not he ! I must know more about it ere I let it 
 pass forth from mine hands, or any strange eye fall 
 upon it — Ha, in good time! I hear his step on the stair." 
 
 The captain hastily rolled up the scroll and put it 
 into his pouch, while Mistress Susan felt as if she had 
 made a mistake in her hospitality, yet almost as if her 
 husband were unjust towards the good man who had 
 been such a comfort to her in her sorrow ; but there 
 was no lack of cordiality or courtesy in Eichard's 
 manner when, after a short, quick knock, there en- 
 tered a figure in hat, cassock, gown, and bands, with a 
 pleasant, though grave counteuance, the complexion 
 showing that it had been tanned and sunburnt in 
 early youth, although it wore later traces of a sedentary 
 student life, and, it might be, of less genial living than 
 had nourished the up-growthof that sturdily-built frima
 
 8 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Master Joseph Heatherthwayte was the greatly 
 underpaid curate of a small parish on the outskirts of 
 Hull. He contrived to live on some £ 1 per annum in 
 the attic of the house where the Talbots lodged, — and 
 not only to live, but to be full of charitable deeds, mostly 
 at the expense of his own appetite. The square cut of 
 his bands, and the uncompromising roundness of the hat 
 which he dolfed on his entrance, marked him as inclined 
 to the Puritan party, which, being that of apparent pro- 
 gress, attracted most of the ardent spirits of the time. 
 
 Captain Talbot's inclinations did not lie that way, 
 but he respected and liked his fellow-lodger, and his 
 vexation had been merely the momentary disinclina- 
 tion of a man to be interrupted, especially on his first 
 evening at home. He responded heartily to Master 
 Heatherthwayte's warm pressure of the hand and 
 piously expressed congratulation on his safety, mixed 
 with condolence on the giief that had befallen him. 
 
 "And you have been a good friend to my poor 
 wife in her sorrow," said Eichard, "for the which I 
 thank you heartily, sir." 
 
 " Truly, sir, I could have been her scholar, with 
 such edifying resignation did she submit to the dis- 
 pensation," returned the clergyman, uttering these long 
 words in a broad northern accent which had nothing 
 incongruous in it to Eichard's ears, and taking advan- 
 tage of the lady's absence on " hospitable tasks intent " 
 to speak in her praise. 
 
 Little Humfrey, on his father's knee, comprehend- 
 ing that they were speaking of the recent sorrow, put 
 in his piece of information that " father had brought 
 little sister back from the sea." 
 
 "Ah, child!" said Master Heath erth way te, in the 
 ponderous tone of one unused to children, "thDu hast
 
 I.] THE LITTLE WAIF. 9 
 
 yet to learn the words of the holy David, ' I shall go 
 to him, but he shall not return to me.' " 
 
 " Bring not that thought forward, Master Heather- 
 thwayte," said Eichard, " I am well pleased that my 
 poor wife and this little lad can take the poor little 
 one as a solace sent them by God, as she assuredly is." 
 
 " Mean you, then, to adopt her into your family ? " 
 asked the minister. 
 
 " We know not if she hath any kin," said Eichard, 
 and at that moment Susan entered, followed by the 
 man and maid, each bearing a portion of the meal, 
 which was consumed by the captain and the clergy- 
 man as thoroughly hungry men eat ; and there was 
 silence till the capon's bones were bare and two large 
 tankards had been filled with Xeres sack, captured in a 
 Spanish ship, " the only good thing that ever came 
 from Spain," quoth the sailor. 
 
 Then he began to tell how he had weathered the 
 storm on the Berwickshire coast ; but he was inter- 
 rupted by another knock, followed by the entrance of 
 a small, pale, spare man, with the lightest possible 
 hair, very short, and almost invisible eyebrows ; he 
 had a round ruff round his neck, and a black, scholarly 
 gown, belted round his waist with a girdle, in which 
 he carried writing tools. 
 
 " Ha, Cuthbert Langston, art thou there ? " said the 
 captain, rising. " Thou art kindly welcome. Sit down 
 and crush a cup of sack with Master Heatherthwayte 
 and me." 
 
 " Thanks, cousin," returned the visitor, " I heard 
 that the Mastiff was come in, and I came to see 
 whether all was well." 
 
 " It was kindly done, lad," said Eichard, while the 
 others did their part of the welcome, though scarcely
 
 10 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 SO willingly. Ciithbert Langston was a distant relation 
 on the mother's side of Eichard, a young scholar who, 
 after his education at Oxford, had gone abroad with a 
 nobleman's son as his pupil, and on his return, instead 
 of taking Holy Orders, as was expected, had obtained 
 employment in a merchant's counting-house at Hull, 
 for which his knowledge of languages eminently fitted 
 him. Though he possessed none of the noble blood of 
 the Talbots, the employment was thought by Mistress 
 Susan somewhat derogatory to the family dignity, and 
 there was a strong suspicion both in her mind and 
 that of Master Heatherthwayte that his change of 
 purpose was due to the change of religion in England, 
 although he was a perfectly regular church - goer. 
 Captain Talbot, however, laughed at all this, and, 
 though he had not much in common with his kinsman, 
 alway^reated him in a cousinly fashion. He too had 
 heard a rumour of the foundling, and made inquiry for 
 it, upon which Eichard told his story in greater detail, 
 and his wife asked what the poor mother was Eke. 
 
 " I saw her not," he answered, " but Goatley 
 thought the poor woman to whom she was bound 
 more like to be nurse than mother, judging by her 
 years and her garments." 
 
 " The mother may have been washed off before," said 
 Susan, lifting the little one from the cradle, and hushing 
 it. " Weep not, poor babe, thou hast found a mother here." 
 
 " Saw you no sign of the crew ? " asked Master 
 Heatherthwayte. 
 
 "^^None at all. The vessel I knew of old as the 
 brig Bride of Dunbar, one of the craft that ply between 
 Dumbarton and the Erench ports." 
 
 "And how think you? Were none like to be saved?" 
 
 " I mean to ride along the coast to-moirow, to see
 
 l] the little waif. 11 
 
 whether aught can be heard of them, but even if their 
 boats could live in such a sea, they would have evil 
 hap among the wreckers if they came ashore. I would 
 not desire to be a shipwrecked man in these parts, and 
 if I had a Scottish or a French tongue in my head so 
 much the worse for me." 
 
 " Ah, Master Heatherthwayte," said Susan, " should 
 not a man give up the sea when he is a husband and 
 father ? " 
 
 " Tush, dame ! With God's blessing the good ship 
 Mastiff will ride out many another such gale. Tell 
 thy mother, little Numpy, that an English sailor is 
 worth a dozen French or Scottish lubbers." 
 
 " Sir," said Master Heatherthwayte, " the pious trust 
 of the former part of your discourse is contradicted by 
 the boast of the latter end." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Minister, what doth a sailor put his trust 
 in but his God foremost, and then his good ship and 
 his brave men ?" 
 
 It should be observed that all the three men wore 
 their hats, and each made a reverent gesture of touch- 
 ing them. The clergyman seemed satisfied by the 
 answer, and presently added that it would be well, if 
 Master and Mistress Talbot meant to adopt the child, 
 that she should be baptized. 
 
 " How now ?" said Eichard, " we are not so near any 
 coast of Turks or Infidels that we should deem her 
 sprung of heathen folk." 
 
 " Assuredly not," said Cuthbert Langston, whose 
 quick, light-coloured eyes had spied the reliquary in 
 Mistress Susan's work-basket, " if this belongs to her. 
 By your leave, kinswoman," and he lifted it in his hand 
 with evident veneration, and began examining it. 
 
 " It is Babylonish gold, an accursed tiling ! " ex-
 
 12 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 claimed Master Heatherthwayte. "Beware, Master 
 Talbot, and cast it from thee." 
 
 " Nay," said Eichard, " that shall I not do. It may 
 lead to the discovery of the child's kindred. Why, 
 my master, what harm think you it will do to us in 
 my dame's casket ? Or what right have we to make 
 away with the little one's property ?" 
 
 His common sense was equally far removed from 
 the horror of the one visitor as from the reverence of 
 the other, and so it pleased neither. Master Langston 
 was the first to speak, observing that the reKc made it 
 evident that the child must have been baptized. 
 
 " A Popish baptism," said Master Heatherthwayte, 
 " with chrism and taper and words and gestures to 
 destroy the pure simplicity of the sacrament." 
 
 Controversy here seemed to be setting in, and the 
 infant cause of it here setting up a cry, Susan escaped 
 under pretext of putting Humfrey to bed in the next 
 room, and carried off both the little ones. The con- 
 versation then fell upon the voyage, and the captain 
 described the impregnable aspect of the castle of 
 Dumbarton, which was held for Queen Mary by her 
 faithful partisan, Lord Flemyng. On this, Cuthbert 
 Langston asked whether he had heard any tidings of 
 the imprisoned Queen, and he answered that it was re- 
 ported at Leith that she had well-nigh escaped fromLoch- 
 leven, in the disguise of a lavender or washerwoman. 
 She was actually in the boat, and about to cross the lake, 
 when a rude oarsman attempted to pull aside her muffler, 
 and the whiteness of the hand she raised in self-protec- 
 tion betrayed her, so that she was carried back. " If she 
 had reached Dumbarton," he said, "she might have 
 mocked at the Lords of the Congregation, Nay, she 
 might have been in that very brig, whose wreck I beheld."
 
 I.] THE LITTLE WAIF. 13 
 
 „ "And well would it have been for Scotland and 
 England had it been the will of Heaven that so it 
 should fall out," observed the Puritan. 
 
 . " Or it may be," said the merchant, " that the poor 
 lady's escape was frustrated by Providence, that she 
 might be saved from the rocks of the Spurn." 
 
 " The poor lady, truly ! Say rather the murtheress,' 
 quoth Heatherthwayte. 
 
 " Say rather the victim and scapegoat of otlier 
 men's plots," protested Laugstou. 
 
 " Come, come, sirs," says Talbot, " we'll have no 
 high words here on what Heaven only knoweth. Poor 
 lady she is, in all sooth, if sackless ; poorer still if 
 guilty ; so I know not what matter there is for falling 
 out about. In any sort, I will not have it at my 
 table." He spoke with the authority of the captain of a 
 ship, and the two visitors, scarce knowing it, submitted 
 to his decision of manner, but the harmony of the even- 
 ing seemed ended. Cuthbert Langs ton soon rose to bid 
 good-night, first asking his cousin at what hour he 
 proposed to set forth for the Spurn, to which Eichard 
 briefly replied that it depended on what had to be 
 done as to the repairs of the ship. 
 
 The clergyman tarried behind him to say, "Master Tal- 
 bot, I marvel that so godly a man as you have ever been 
 should be willing to harbour one so popishly affected, 
 and whom many suspect of being a seminary priest." 
 
 " Master Heatherthwayte," returned the captain, 
 " my kinsman is my kinsman, and my house is my 
 house. No offence, sir, but I brook not meddling." 
 
 The clergyman protested that no offence was in- 
 tended, only caution, and betook himself to his own 
 bare chamber, high above. No sooner was he gone 
 than Captain Talbot again became absorbed in the
 
 14 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 endeavour to spell out the mystery of the scroll, with 
 his elbows on the table and his hands over his ears, nor 
 did he look up till he was touched by his wife, when 
 he uttered an impatient demand what she wanted now. 
 She had the little waif in her arms undressed, and 
 with only a woollen coverlet loosely wrapped round 
 her, and without speaking she pointed to the little 
 
 M 
 
 shoulder-blades, /" I J where two marks 
 
 had been indelibly made — on one side the crowned 
 monogram of the Blessed Virgin, on the other a device 
 
 like the Labarum, ""^L I jr" only that the up- 
 
 right was surmounted by a jleur-de-lis. 
 
 Eichard Talbot gave a sort of perplexed grunt of 
 annoyance to acknowledge that he saw them. 
 
 " Poor little maid ! how could they be so cruel ? 
 They have been branded with a hot iron," said the 
 lady. 
 
 " They that parted from her meant to know her 
 again," returned Talbot. 
 
 " Surely they are Popish marks," added Mistress 
 Susan. 
 
 " Look you here, Dame Sue, I know you for a dis-
 
 l] the little waif. 15 
 
 creet woman. Keep this gear to yourself, both the 
 letter and the marks. Who hath seen them ? " 
 
 " I doubt me whether even Colet has seen this mark." 
 
 " That is well. Keep all out of sight. Many a 
 man has been brought into trouble for a less matter 
 swelled by prating tongues." 
 
 " Have you made it out ? " 
 
 " ISTot I. It may be only the child's horoscope, or 
 some old wife's charm that is here sewn up, and these 
 marks may be naught but some sailor's freak ; but, on 
 the other hand, they may be concerned with perilous 
 matter, so the less said the better." 
 
 " Should they not be shown to my lord, or to her 
 Grace's Council ? " 
 
 " I'm not going to run my head into trouble for mak- 
 ing a coil about what may be naught. That's what 
 befell honest Mark Walton. He thought he had seized 
 matter of State, and went up to Master Walsingham, 
 swelling like an Indian turkey-cock, with his secret 
 letters, and behold they turned out to be a Dutch fish- 
 wife's charm to bring the herrings. I can tell you he 
 has rued the work he made about it ever since. On the 
 other hand, let it get abroad through yonder prating fel- 
 low, Heatherthwayte, or any other, that Master Eichard 
 Talbot had in his house a child with, I know not what 
 Popish tokens, and a scroll in an unknown tongue, and 
 I should be had up in gyves for suspicion of treason, 
 or may be harbouring the Prince of Scotland himself, 
 when it is only some poor Scottish archer's babe." 
 
 " You would not have me part with the poor little 
 one ? " 
 
 "Am I a Turk or a Pagan ? No. Only hold thy 
 peace, as I shall hold mine, until such time as I can 
 meet some one whom I can trust to read this riddla
 
 16 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Tell me — what like is the cliild ? Wouldst guess it 
 to be of gentle, or of clownish blood, if women can tell 
 such things ? " 
 
 " Of gentle blood, assuredly," cried the lady, so that 
 he smiled and said, "I might have known that so thou 
 wouldst answer." 
 
 " Nay, but see her little hands and fingers, and the 
 mould of her dainty limbs. No Scottish fisher clown 
 was her father, I dare be sworn. Her skin is as fair 
 and fine as my Humfrey's, and moreover she has 
 always been in hands that knew how a babe should be 
 tended. Any woman can tell you that ! " 
 
 " And what like is she in your woman!s eyes ? 
 What complexion doth she promise ? " 
 
 " Her hair, what she has of it, is dark ; her eyes — 
 bless them — are of a deep blue, or jjurple, such as 
 most babes have till they take their true tint. There 
 is no guessing. Humfrey's eyes were once like to be 
 brown, now are they as blue as thine own." 
 
 " I understand all that," said Captain Talbot, smil- 
 ing. " If she have kindred, they will know her better 
 by the sign manual on her tender flesh than by her face." 
 
 " And who are they ?" 
 
 "Who are they?" echoed the captain, rolling up 
 the scroll in despair. " Here, take it, Susan, and keep 
 it safe from all eyes. Whatever it may be, it may 
 serve thereafter to prove her true name. And above 
 all, not a word or breath to Heatherthwayte, or any 
 of thy gossips, wear they coif or bands." 
 
 " Ah, sir ! that you will mistrust the good man." 
 
 " I said not I mistrust any one ; only that I will 
 have no word of all this go forth ! Not one ! Thou 
 heedest me, wife ? " 
 
 " Verily I do, sir ; I will be mute."
 
 il] evil tidings. 17 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 EVIL TIDINGS. 
 
 After giving orders for the repairs of the Mastiff, and 
 the disposal of her crew, Master Eichard Talbot pur- 
 veyed himself of a horse at the hostel, and set forth 
 for Spurn Head to make inquiries along the coast 
 respecting the wreck of the Bride of Dunbar, and he was 
 joined by Cuthbert Langston, who said his house had 
 had dealings with her owners, and that he must ascer- 
 tain the fate of her wares. His good lady remained 
 in charge of the mysterious little waif, over whom her 
 tender heart yearned more and more, while her little 
 boy hovered about in serene contemplation of the 
 treasure he thought he had recovered. To him the 
 babe seemed really his little sister ; to his mother, if 
 she sometimes awakened pangs of keen regret, yet she 
 filled up much of the dreary void of the last few weeks. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was a quiet, reserved woman, not prone 
 to gadding abroad, and she had made few acquaintances 
 during her sojourn at Hull ; but every creature she 
 knew, or might have known, seemed to her to drop in 
 that day, and bring at least two friends to inspect the 
 orphan of the wreck, and demand all particulars. 
 
 The little girl was clad in the swaddling garments 
 of Mrs. Talbot's own children, and the mysterious 
 
 c
 
 18 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 .marks were suspected Ly no one, far less the letter 
 which Susan, for security's sake, had locked up in 
 her nearly empty, steel-bound, money casket. The 
 opinions of the gossips varied, some thinking the babe 
 might belong to some of the Queen of Scotland's party 
 fleeing to France, others fathering her on the refugees 
 from the persecutions in Flanders, a third party believ- 
 ing her a mere fisherman's child, and one lean, lantern- 
 jawed old crone, Mistress Eotherford, observing, " Take 
 my word, Mrs. Talbot, and keep her not with you. 
 They that are cast up by the sea never bring good 
 with them." 
 
 The court of female inquiry was still sitting when 
 a heavy tread was heard, and Colet announced " a 
 serving-man from Bridgefield had ridden post haste to 
 speak with madam," and the messenger, booted and 
 spurred, with the mastiff badge on his sleeve, and the 
 hat he held in his hand, followed closely. 
 
 "What news, Nathanael?" she asked, as she re- 
 sponded to his greeting. 
 
 " 111 enough news, mistress," was the answer. 
 " Master Eichard's ship be in, they tell me." 
 
 " Yea, but he is rid out to malce inquiry for a 
 wreck," said the lady. " Is all well with my good 
 father-in-law ?" 
 
 " He ails less in body than in mind, so please you. 
 Being that Master Humfrey was thrown by Blackfoot, 
 the beast being scared by a flash of lightning, and 
 never spoke again." 
 
 "Master Humfrey!" 
 
 "Ay, mistress. Pitched on his head against the 
 south gate-post. I saw how it was with him when we 
 took him up, and he never so much as lifted an eyelid, 
 but died at the turn of the nidit. Heaven rest his soul !"
 
 11.] EVIL TIDINGS. 19 
 
 "Heaven rest his soul!" echoed Susan, and the 
 ladies around chimed in. They had come for one excite- 
 ment, and here was another. 
 
 " There ! See but what I said ! " quoth Mrs. 
 Eotherford, uplifting a skinny finger to emphasise 
 that the poor little flotsome had already brought evil. 
 
 " Nay," said the portly wife of a merchant, " begging 
 your pardon, this may be a fat instead of a lean sorrow. 
 Leaves the poor gentleman heirs, Mrs. Talbot ? " 
 
 " Oh no !" said Susan, with tears in her eyes. " His 
 wife died two years back, and her chrisom babe with 
 her. He loved her too well to turn his mind to wed 
 again, and now he is with her for aye." And she 
 covered her face and sobbed, regardless of the congratu- 
 lations of the merchant's wife, and exclaiming, " Oh ! 
 the poor old lady !"' 
 
 " In sooth, mistress," said Nathanael, who had stood 
 all this time as if he had by no means emptied his 
 budget of ill news, " poor old madam fell down all of 
 a heap on the floor, and when the wenches lifted her, 
 they found she was stricken with the dead palsy, and 
 she has not spoken, and there's no one knows what to 
 do, for the poor old squire is like one distraught, sit- 
 ting by her bed like an image on a monument, with 
 the tears flowing down his old cheeks. ' But,' says he 
 to me, 'get you to Hull, Nat, and take madam's 
 palfrey and a couple of sumpter beasts, and bring my 
 good daughter Talbot back with you as fast as she and 
 the babes may brook.' I made bold to say, 'And 
 Master Eichard, your worship ?' then he groaned 
 somewhat, and said, ' If my son's ship be come in, he 
 must do as her Grace's service permits, but meantime 
 he must spare us his wife, for she is sorely needed 
 here.' And he looked at the bed so as it would break
 
 20 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 your heart to see, for since old Nurse Tooke hath heeu 
 doited, there's not been a wench about the house that 
 can do a hand's turn for a sick body." 
 
 Susau knew this was true, for her mother-in-law 
 had been one of those bustling, managing housewives, 
 who prefer doing everything themselves to training 
 others, and she was appalled at the idea of the prob- 
 able desolation and helplessness of the bereaved 
 household. 
 
 It was far too late to start that day, even had her 
 husband been at home, for the horses sent for her had 
 to rest. The visitors would fain have extracted some 
 more particulars about the old squire's age, his kindred 
 to the great Earl, and the amount of estate to which 
 her husband had become heir. There were those 
 among them who could not understand Susan's genuine 
 grief, and there were others whose consolations were no 
 less distressing to one of her reserved character. She 
 made brief answer that the squire was threescore and 
 fifteen years old, his wife nigh about his age ; that her 
 husband was now their only child ; that he was 
 descended from a son of the great Earl John, killed at 
 the Bridge of Chatillon ; that he held the estate of 
 Bridgefield in fief on tenure, of military service to the 
 head of his family. She did not know how much it 
 was worth by the year, but she must pray the good 
 ladies to excuse her, as she had many preparations to 
 make. Volunteers to assist her in packing her mails 
 were made, but she declined them all, and rejoiced 
 when left alone with Colet to arrange for what would 
 be probably her final departure from Hull. 
 
 It was a blow to find that she must part from her 
 servant-woman, who, as well as her husband Gervas, was 
 a native of Hull. Not only were they both unwilling
 
 il] evil tidings. 2] 
 
 to leave, but the inland country was to their imagination 
 a wild unexplored desert. Indeed, Colet had only 
 entered Mrs. Talbot's service to supply the place of a 
 maid who had sickened with fever and ague, and had 
 to be sent back to her native Hallamshire. 
 
 Ere long Mr. Heatherthwayte came down to offer 
 his consolation, and still more his advice, that,the little 
 foundling should be at once baptized — conditionally, if 
 the lady preferred it. 
 
 The Eeformed of imperfect theological training, and 
 as such Joseph Heatherthwayte must be classed, were 
 apt to view the ceremonial of the old baptismal form, 
 symbolical and beautiful as it was, as almost destroy- 
 ing th^ efficacy of the rite. Moreover, there was a 
 further impression that the Church by which the child 
 was baptized, had a right to briug it up, and thus the 
 clergyman was urgent with the lady that she should 
 seize this opportunity for the little one's baptism. 
 
 " l^ot without "my husband's consent and know- 
 ledge," she said resolutely, 
 
 " Master Talbot is a good man, but somewhat care- 
 IfSo of sound doctrine, as be the most of seafaring 
 men." 
 
 Susan had been a little nettled by her husband's 
 implied belief that she was influenced by the minister, 
 so there was double resolution, as well as some offence 
 in her reply, that she knew her duty as a wife too well 
 to consent to such a thing without him. As to his 
 being careless, he was a true and God-fearing man, and 
 Mr. Heatherthwayte should know better than to speak 
 thus of him to his wife. 
 
 Mr. Heathertliwayte's real piety and goodness had 
 made him a great comfort to Susan in her lonely grief, 
 but he had not the delicate tact of gentle blood, and
 
 22 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cHAP. 
 
 had not known where to stop, and as he stood half 
 apologising and half exhorting, she felt that her Eichard 
 was quite right, and that he could he both ineddliug 
 and presuming. He was exceedingly in the way of 
 her packing too, and she was at her wit's end to get rid 
 of him, when suddenly Humfrey managed to pinch his 
 fingers in a box, and set up such a yell, as, seconded by 
 the frightened baby, was more than any masculine ears 
 could endure, and drove Master Heatherthwayte to 
 beat a retreat. 
 
 Mistress Susan was well on in her work when her 
 husband returned, and as she expected, was gTeatly 
 overcome by the tidings of his brother's death. He 
 closely questioned Nathanael on every detail, and could 
 think of nothing but tlie happy days he had shared 
 with his brother, and of the gTief of his parents. He 
 approved of all that his wife had done ; and as the 
 damage sustained by the Mastiff could not be repaired 
 under a month, he had no doubt alTout leaving his crew 
 in the charge of his lieutenant while he took his family 
 home. 
 
 So busy were both, and so fall of needful cares, the 
 one in giving up her lodging, the other in leaving his 
 men, that it was impossible to inquire into the result 
 of his researches, for the captain was in that mood of 
 suppressed grief and vehement haste in which irrele- 
 vant inquiry is perfectly unbearable. 
 
 It was not till late in the evening that Eichard 
 told his wife of his want of success in his investiga- 
 tions. He had found witnesses of the destruction of 
 the ship, but he did not give them full credit. " The 
 fellows say the ship drove on the rock, and that they 
 saw her boats go down with every soul on board, and 
 that they would not lie to an officer of her Grace.
 
 il] evil tidings. 2o 
 
 Heaven pardon nie if I do them injustice in believing 
 they would lie to him sooner than to any one else. 
 They are rogues enough to take good care that no poor 
 wretch should survive even if he did chance to conic 
 to land." 
 
 " Then if there be no one to claim her, we may 
 bring up as our own the sweet babe whom Heaven 
 hath sent us." 
 
 " Not so fast, dame. Thou wert wont to be more 
 discreet. I said not so, but for the nonce, till I can 
 come by the rights of that scroll, there's no need to 
 make a coil. Let no one know of it, or of the trinket 
 — Thou hast them safe ? "' 
 
 " Laid up with the Indian gold chain, thy wedding 
 gift, dear sir." 
 
 " 'Tis well. My mother ! — ah me," he added, 
 catching himself up; " little like is she to ask questions, 
 poor soul." 
 
 Then Susan diffidently told of Master Heather- 
 thwayte's earnest wish to christen the child, and, what 
 certainly biassed her a good deal, the suggestion that 
 this would secure her to their own religion. 
 
 " There is something in that," said Eichard, 
 " specially after what Cuthbert said as to the golden 
 toy yonder. If times changed again — which Heaven 
 forfend — that fellow might give us trouble about the 
 matter." 
 
 " You doubt him then, sir !" she asked. 
 
 " I relished not his ways on our ride to-day," said 
 Richard. " Sure I am that he had some secret cause 
 for being so curious about the wreck. I suspect him 
 of some secret commerce with the Queen of Scots' folk." 
 
 " Yet you were on his side against Mr. Heathcr- 
 thwayte," said Susan.
 
 24 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHA.P. 
 
 " I would not have my kinsman browbeaten at 
 mine own table by the self-conceited son of a dalesman, 
 even if he have got a round hat and Geneva band ! 
 Ah, well ! one good thing is we shall leave both of 
 them well behind us, though I would it were lor 
 another cause." 
 
 Something in the remonstrance had, however, so 
 worked on Eichard Talbot, that before morning he 
 declared that, hap what hap, if he and his wife were to 
 bring up the child, she should be made a good Pro- 
 testant Christian before they left the house, and there 
 should be no more ado about it. 
 
 It was altogether illogical and untheological ; but 
 Master Heatherthwayte was delighted when in the 
 very early morning his devotions were interrupted, and 
 he was summoned by the captain himself to christen 
 the child. 
 
 Eichard and his wife were sponsors, but the ques- 
 tion of name had never occurred to any one. However, 
 in the pause of perplexity, when the response lagged 
 to " Name this child," little Humfrey, a delighted 
 spectator, broke out again with " Little Sis." 
 
 And forthwith, " Cicely, if thou art not already 
 baptized," was uttered over the child, and Cicely be- 
 came her name. It cost Susan a pang, as it had been 
 that of her own little daughter, but it was too late to 
 object, and she uttered no regret, but took the child to 
 her heart, as sent instead of her who had been taken 
 from her. 
 
 MasteT Heatherthwayte bade them good speed, and 
 Master Laugston stood at the door of his office and 
 waved them a farewell, both alike unconscious of the 
 rejoicing with which they were left behind. Mistress 
 Talbot rode on the palfrey sent for her use, with the
 
 il] evil tidings. 25 
 
 little stranger slung to her neck for security's sake. 
 Her boy rode " a cock-horse " before his father, but 
 a resting-place was provided for him on a sort of 
 pannier on one of the sumpter beasts. What these 
 animals could not carry of the household stuff was left 
 in Colet's charge to be despatclied by carriers ; and the 
 travellers jogged slowly on through deep Yorkshire 
 lanes, often halting to refresh the horses and supply 
 the wants of the little children at homely wayside inns, 
 their entrance usually garnished with an archway 
 formed of the jawbones of whales, which often served 
 for gate-posts in that eastern part of Yorkshire. And 
 thus tliey journeyed, with frequent halts, until they 
 came to the Derbyshire borders. 
 
 Bridgefield House stood on the top of a steep slope 
 leading to the river Dun, with a high arched bridge 
 and a mill below it. From the bridge proceeded oup. 
 of the magnificent avenues of oak-trees which led up 
 to the lordly lodge, full four miles off, right across 
 Sheffield Park. 
 
 The Bridgefield estate had been a younger son's 
 portion, and its owners had always been regarded as 
 gentlemen retainers of the head of their name, the Earl 
 of Shrewsbury. Tudor jealousy had forbidden the 
 marshalling of such a meind as the old feudal lords 
 had loved to assemble, and each generation of the 
 Bridgefield Talbots had become more independent than 
 the former one. The father had spent his younger 
 days as esquire to the late Earl, but had since become 
 a justice of the peace, and took rank with the substan- 
 tial .landowners of the country. Humfrey, his eldest 
 son, had been a gentleman pensioner of the Queen till 
 his marriage, and Eichard, though beginning his career 
 as page to the present Earl's first wife, had likewise
 
 26 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 entered the service of her Majesty, though still it was 
 iiuderstood tliat the head of their name had a claim to 
 their immediate service, and had he been called to 
 take up arms, they would have been the first to follow 
 his banner. Indeed, a pair of spurs was all the annual 
 rent they paid for their estate, which they held on 
 this tenure, as well as on paying the heriard horse 
 on the death of the head of the family, and other con- 
 tributions to their lord's splendour when he knighted 
 his son or married his daughter. In fact, they stood 
 on the borderland of that feudal retainership which 
 was being rapidly extinguished. The estate, carved 
 out of the great Sheffield property, was sufficient to 
 maintain the owner in the dignities of an English 
 gentleman, and to portion off the daughters, provided 
 that the superfluous sons shifted for themselves, as 
 Eichard had hitherto done. The house had been 
 ruined in the time of the Wars of the Eoses, and re- 
 built in the later fashion, with a friendly-looking front, 
 containing two large Mdndows, and a porch projecting 
 between them. The hall reached to the top of the 
 house, and had a waggon ceiling, with mastiffs alternat- 
 ing with roses on portcullises at the intersections of 
 the timbers. This was the family sitting and dining 
 room, and had a huge chimney never devoid of a wood 
 fire. One end had a buttery-hatch communicating 
 with the kitchen and offices ; at the other was a small 
 room, sacred to the master of the house, niched under 
 the broad staircase tliat led to the upper rooms, which 
 opened on a gallery running round three sides of the 
 hall. 
 
 Outside, on the southern side of the house, was a 
 garden of potherbs, with the green walks edged by a 
 few bright flowers for beau-pots and posies. This had
 
 II.] EVIL TIDINGS. 27 
 
 stone walls separating it from the paddock, which 
 sloped down to the river, and was a good deal broken 
 by ivy-covered rocks. Adjoining the stables were farm- 
 buildings and barns, for there M'ere several fields for 
 tillage alonif the river -side, and the mill and two 
 more farms were the property of the Bridgefield squire, 
 so that the inheritance was a very fair one, wedged in, 
 as it were, between the river and the great Chase of 
 Sheffield, up whose stately avenue the riding party 
 looked as they crossed the bridge, Eichard having 
 become more silent than ever as he came among the 
 familiar rocks and trees of his boyhood, and knew he 
 should not meet that hearty welcome from his brother 
 which had never hitherto failed to greet his return. 
 The house had that strange air of forlornness which 
 seems to proclaim sorrow within. The great court 
 doors stood open, and a big, rough deer-hound, at the 
 sound of the approaching hoofs, rose slowly up, and 
 began a series of long, deep-mouthed barks, with pauses 
 between, sounding like a knell. One or two men and 
 maids ran out at the sound, and as the travellers rode 
 up to the horse-block, an old gray-bearded serving-man 
 came stumbling forth with " Oh ! Master Diccon, woe 
 worth the day !" 
 
 "How does my mother?" asked Eichard, as he 
 sprang off and set his boy on his feet. 
 
 " No worse, sir, but she hath not yet spoken a word 
 — back, Thunder — ah ! sir, the poor dog knows you." 
 
 For the great hound had sprung up to Eichard in 
 eager greeting, but then, as soon as he heard his voice, 
 the creature drooped his ears and tail, and instead of 
 continuing his demonstrations of joy, stood quietly by, 
 only now and then poking his long, rough nose into 
 Eichard's hand, knowing as well as possible that
 
 28 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 though not his dear lost master, he was the next 
 thing ! 
 
 Mistress Susan and the infant were lifted down — 
 a hurried question and answer assured them that the 
 funeral was over yesterday. My Lady Countess had 
 come down and would have it so ; my lord was at 
 Court, and Sir Gilbert and his brothers had been 
 present, but the old servants thought it hard tliat none 
 nearer in blood should be there to lay their young 
 squire in his grave, nor to support his father, who, 
 poor old man, had tottered, and been so like to swoon 
 as he passed the hall door, that Sir Gilbert and old 
 Diggory could but help him back again, fearing lest 
 he, too, might have a stroke. 
 
 It was a great grief to Richard, who had longed to 
 look on his brother's face again, but he could say 
 nothing, only he gave one hand to his wife and the 
 other to his son, and led them into the hall, which was 
 in an indescribable state of confusion. The trestles 
 which had supported the cofhn were still at one end of 
 the room, the long tables were still covered with cloths, 
 trenchers, knives, cups, and the remains of the funeral 
 baked meats, and there were overtln-own tankards and 
 stains of wine on the cloth, as though, wliatever else 
 were lacking, the Talbot retainers had not missed their 
 revel. 
 
 One of the dishevelled rough-looking maidens began 
 some hurried muttering about being so distraught, and 
 not looking for madam so early, but Susan could not 
 listen to her, and merely putting the babe into her 
 arms, came with her husband up the stairs, leaving 
 little Humfrey with Nathanael. 
 
 Eichard knocked at the bedroom door, and, receiving 
 no answer, opened it There in the tapestry- hung
 
 n.] EVIL TIDINGS. 29 
 
 chamber was the huge old bedstead with its solid posts. 
 In ■ it lay something motionless, but the first thing 
 the husband and wife saw was the bent head which 
 was lifted up by the burly but broken figure in the 
 chair beside it. 
 
 The two knotted old hands clasped the arms of the 
 chair, and the squire prepared to rise, his lip trembling 
 under his white beard, and emotion working in his 
 dejected features. They were beforehand with him. 
 Ere he could rise both were on their knees before him, 
 while Pilchard in a broken voice cried, " Father, 
 father!" 
 
 " Thank God that thou art come, my son," said the 
 old man, layiug his hands on his shoulders, with a 
 gleam of joy, for as they afterwards knew, he liad 
 sorely feared for Kichard's ship in the storm that had 
 caused Humfrey's death. " I looked for thee, my 
 daughter," he added, stretching out one hand to Susan, 
 who kissed it. " Now it may go better with her ! 
 Speak to thy mother, Eichard, she may know thy 
 voice." 
 
 Alas ! no ; the recently active, ready old lady was 
 utterly stricken, and as yet held in the deadly grasp 
 of paralysis, unconscious of all that passed around her. 
 
 Susan found herself obliged at once to take up 
 the reins, and become head nurse and housekeeper. 
 The old squire trusted implicitly to her, and helplessly 
 put the keys into her hands, and the serving-men and 
 maids, in some shame at the condition in which tlie 
 hall had been found, bestirred themselves to set it in 
 order, so that there was a chance of the ordinary appear- 
 ance of things being restored by supper-time, when 
 Eichard hoped to persuade his father to come down to 
 his usual place.
 
 so UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CH^P. 
 
 Long before this, however, a trampling had been 
 heard in the court, and a shrill voice, well known to 
 Bicliard and Susan, was heard demanding, "Come home, 
 is she — Master Diccon too ? More shame for you, 
 you sluttish queans and lazy lubbers, never to have let 
 me know ; but none of you have any respect " 
 
 A visit from my Lady Countess was a greater 
 favour to such a household as that of Bridgefield than 
 it would be to a cottage of the present day ; Eichard 
 was hurrying downstairs, and Susan only tarried to 
 throw off the housewifely apron in which she had been 
 compounding a cooling drink for the poor old lady, 
 and to wash her hands, while Himifrey, rushing up to 
 her, exclaimed "Mother, mother, is it the Queen ?" 
 
 Queen Elizabeth lierself was not inaptly represented 
 by her namesake of Hardwicke, the Queen of Hallam- 
 shire, sitting on her grdat white mule at the door, 
 sideways, with her feet on a board, as little children 
 now ride, and attended by a whole troop of gentlemen 
 ushers, maidens, prickers, and running footmen. She 
 was a woman of the same type as the Queen, which 
 was of course enough to stamp her as a celebrated 
 beauty, and though she had reached middle age, her 
 pale, clear complexion and delicate features were well 
 preserved. Her chin was too sharp, and there w^as 
 something too thin and keen about her nose and lips 
 to promise good temper. She was small of stature, 
 but she made up for it in dignity of presence, and as she 
 Bat there, with her rich embroidered green satin farthin- 
 gale spreading out over the mule, her tall ruft' standing 
 up fanlike on her shoulders, her riding- rod in her 
 hand, and her master of the horse standing at her rein, 
 while a gentleman usher wielded an enormous, long- 
 h£k,udled, green fan, to keep the sun from incommoding
 
 II.] EVIL TIDINGS. 31 
 
 her, she was, perhaps, even more magnificent than the 
 maiden queen herself might have been in her more 
 private expeditions. Indeed, she was new to her 
 dignity as Countess, having been only a few weeks 
 married to the Earl, her fourth husband. Caj)tain 
 Talbot did not feel it derogatory to his dignity as a 
 gentleman to advance with his hat in his hand to kiss 
 her hand, and put a knee to the ground as he invited 
 her to alight, an invitation his wife heard with dismay 
 .as she reached the door, for things were by no means 
 yet as they should be in the hall. She curtsied low, and 
 advanced with her son holding her hand, but shrinking 
 behind her. 
 
 "Ha, kinswoman, is it thou !" was her greeting, as 
 she, too, kissed the small, shapely, white, but exceed- 
 ingly strong hand that was extended to her ; " So thou 
 art come, and high time too. Thou shouldst never 
 have gone a -gadding to Hull, living in lodgings, 
 awaiting thine husband, forsooth. Thou art over 
 young a matron for such gear, and so I told Diccon 
 Talbot long ago." 
 
 " Yea, madam," said Eichard, somewhat hotly, 
 " and I made answer that my Susan was to be trusted, 
 and truly no harm has come thereof." 
 
 " Ho ! and you reckon it no harm that thy father 
 and mother were left to a set of feckless, brainless, idle 
 serving-men and maids in their trouble ? Why, none 
 would so much as have seen to th}' brother's poor 
 body being laid in a decent grave had not I been at 
 hand to take order for it as became a distant kinsman 
 of my lord. I tell thee, Eichard, there must be no 
 more of these vagabond seafaring ways. Thou must 
 serve my lord, as a true retainer and kinsman is bound 
 — Nay," in reply to a gesture, " I will not come in, I
 
 32 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 knoM^ too well in what ill order the house is like to 
 be. I did but take my ride this way to ask how it 
 fared with tlie mistress, and try if I could shake the 
 squire from his lethargy, if Mrs. Susan had not had 
 the grace yet to be here. How do they ? " Then in 
 answer, " Thou must waken him, Diccon — rouse him, 
 and tell him that I and my lord expect it of him that 
 he should bear his loss as a true and honest Christian 
 man, and not pule and moan, since he has a son left — 
 ay, and a grandson. You should breed your boy up 
 to know his manners, Susan Talbot," as Humfrey re- 
 sisted an attempt to make him do his reverence to my 
 lady ; " that stout knave of yours wants the rod. 
 Methought I heard you'd borne another, Susan ! Ay ! 
 as I said it would be," as her eye fell on tJie swaddled 
 babe in a maid's arms. " No lack of fools to eat up 
 the poor old squire's substance. A maid, is it ? Be- 
 shrew me, if your voyages will find portions for all 
 your wenches ! Has the leech let blood to thy good- 
 mother, Susan ? There ! not one amongst you all 
 bears any brains. Knew you not how to send up to 
 the castle for Master Drewitt ? Farewell ! Thou 
 wilt be at the lodge to-morrow to let me know how it 
 fares with thy mother, when her brain is cleared by 
 further blood-letting. And for the squire, let him 
 know that I expect it of him that he shall eat, and 
 show himself a man !" 
 
 So saying, the great lady departed, escorted as far 
 as the avenue gate by Eichard Talbot, and leaving the 
 family gratified by her condescension, and not allo\Aing 
 to themselves how much their feelings were chafed.
 
 ul] the captive. 33 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 Death and sorrow seemed to have marked the house 
 of Bridgefield, for the old lady never rallied after the 
 blood-letting enjoined by the Countess's medical science, 
 and her husband, though for some months able to 
 creep about the house, and even sometimes to visit the 
 fields, had lost his memory, and became more childish 
 week by week. 
 
 Eichard Talbot was obliged to return to his ship at 
 the end of the month, but as soon as she was laid up 
 for the winter he resigned his command, and returned 
 home, where he was needed to assume the part of 
 master. In truth he became actually master before 
 the next spring, for his father took to his bed with 
 the first winter frosts, and in spite of the duteous 
 cares lavished upon him by his son and daughter-in- 
 law, passed from his bed to his grave at the Christmas 
 feas];. Eichard Talbot inherited house and lands, with 
 the undefined sense of feudal obligation to the head of 
 his name, and ere long he was called upon to fulfil 
 those obligations by service to his lord. 
 
 There had been another act in the great Scottish 
 tragedy. Queen Mary had effected her escape from 
 Lochleven, but only to be at once defeated, a,nd then to 
 
 D
 
 34 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 cross the Solway and throw herself into the hands of 
 the English Queen. 
 
 Bolton Castle had been proved to be too perilously 
 near the Border to serve as her residence, and the 
 inquiry at York, and afterwards at Westminster, having 
 proved unsatisfactory, Elizabeth had decided on detain- 
 ing her in the kingdom, and committed her to the 
 charge of the Earl of Shrewsbury. 
 
 To go into the history of that ill-managed investi- 
 gation is not the purpose of this tale. It is probable 
 that Elizabeth believed her cousin guilty, and wished 
 to shield that guilt from being proclaimed, while her 
 councillors, in their dread of the captive, wished to 
 enhance the crime in Elizabeth's eyes, and were by no 
 means scrupulous as to the kind of evidence they 
 adduced. However, this lies outside our story; all 
 that concerns it is that Lord Shrewsbury sent a sum- 
 mons to his trusty and well-beloved cousin, Eichard 
 Talbot of Bridgefield, to come and form part of the 
 guard of honour which was to escort the Queen of 
 Scots to Tutbury Castle, and there attend upon her. 
 
 All this time no hint had been given that the little 
 Cicely was of alien blood. The old squire and his 
 lady had been in no state to hear of the death of their 
 own grandchild, or of the adoption of the orphan, and 
 Susan was too reserved a woman to speak needlessly of 
 her griefs to one so unsympathising as the Countess or so 
 flighty as the daughters at the great house. The .men 
 who had brouglit the summons to Hull had not been 
 lodged in the house, but at an inn, where they either 
 had heard notliing of Master Piichard's adventure or had 
 drowned their memory in ale, for they said nothing ; 
 and thus, without any formed intention of secrecy, 
 the child's parentage had never come into question.
 
 III.] THE CAPTIVE. 35 
 
 Indeed, though without doubt Mrs. Talbot was 
 very loyal in heart to her noble kinsfolk, it is not 
 to be denied that she was a good deal more at peace 
 when they were not at the lodge. She tried devoutly 
 to follow out the directions of my Lady Countess, and. 
 thought herself in fault when things went amiss, but 
 she prospered far more when free from such dictation. 
 
 She had nothing to wish except that her husband 
 could be more often at home, but it was better to have 
 him only a few hours' ride from her, at Chatsworth or 
 Tutbury, than to know him exposed to the perils of 
 the sea. He rode over as often as he could be spared, 
 to see his family and look after his property ; but his 
 attendance was close, and my Lord, and my Lady were 
 exacting with one whom they could thoroughly trust, 
 and it was well that in her quiet way Mistress Susan 
 proved capable of ruling men and maids, farm and 
 stable as well as house, servants and children, to whom 
 another boy was added in the course of the year after 
 her return to Bridgefield. 
 
 In the autumn, notice was sent that the Queen of 
 Scots was to be lodged at Sheffield, and long trains of 
 waggons and sumpter horses and mules began to arrive, 
 bringing her plenishing and household stuff in advance. 
 Servants without number were sent on, both by her 
 and by the Earl, to make preparations, and on a 
 November day, tidings came that the arrival might 
 be expected in the afternoon. Commands were sent 
 that the inhabitants of the little town at the park 
 gate should keep within doors, and not come forth 
 to give any show of welcome to their lord and lady, 
 lest it should be taken as homage to tlie captive 
 queen; but at the Manor-house there was a little 
 family gathering to hail the Earl and Countess. It
 
 36 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 chiefly consisted of ladies with their children, the 
 husbands of most being in the suite of the Eaii acting 
 as escort or guard to the Queen. Susan Talbot, being 
 akin to the family on both sides, was there with the 
 two elder children ; Humfrey, both that he might 
 greet his father the sooner, and that he might be able 
 to remember the memorable arrival of the captive 
 queen, and Cicely, because he had clamoured loudly 
 for her company. Lady Talbot, of the Herbert blood, 
 wife to the heir, was present with two young sisters- 
 in-law. Lady Grace, daughter to the Earl, and Mary, 
 daughter to the Countess, wdio had been respectively 
 married to Sir Henry Cavendish and Sir Gilbert Tal- 
 bot, a few weeks before their respective parents were 
 wedded, when the brides were only twelve and fourteen 
 years old. There, too, was Mrs. Babington of Dethick, 
 the recent widow of a kinsman of Lord Shrewsbury, to 
 whom had been granted the wardship of her son, and 
 the little party waiting in the hall also numbered 
 Elizabeth and William Cavendish, the Countess's 
 youngest children, and many dependants mustered in 
 the background, ready for the reception. Indeed, the 
 castle and manor-house, with their offices, lodges, and 
 outbuildings, were an absolute little city in themselves. 
 The castle was still kept in perfect repair, for the 
 battle of Bosworth was not quite beyond the memory 
 of living men's fathers ; and besides, who could tell 
 whether any day England might not have to be con- 
 tested inch by inch with the Spaniard ? So the 
 gray walls stood on the tongue of land in the valley, 
 formed by the junction of the rivers Sheaf and Dun, 
 with towers at all the gateways, enclosing a space of 
 no less than eight acres, and with the actual fortress, 
 crisp, strong, hard, and unmouldered in the midst, its
 
 III.] THE CAPTIVE. 37 
 
 tallest square tower serving as a look-out place for 
 those who watched to give the first intimation of the 
 xrrival. 
 
 The castle had its population, but chiefly of grooms, 
 warders, and their families. The state-rooms high up 
 in that square tower were so exceedingly confined, 
 so stern and grim, that the grandfather of the pre- 
 sent earl had built a manor-house for his family 
 residence on the sloping ground on the farther side of 
 the Dun. 
 
 This house, built of stone, timber, and brick, with 
 two large courts, two gardens, and three yards, covered 
 nearly as much space as the castle itself. A pleasant, 
 smooth, grass lawn lay in front, and on it converged 
 the avenues of oaks and walnuts, stretching towards 
 the gates of the park, narrowing to the eye into single 
 lines, then going absolutely out of sight, and the sea of 
 foliage presenting the utmost variety of beautiful tints 
 of orange, yellow, brown, and red. There was a great 
 gateway between two new octagon towers of red brick, 
 with battlements and dressings of stone, and from this 
 porch a staircase led upwards to the great stone-paved 
 hall, with a huge fire burning on the open hearth. 
 Around it had gathered the ladies of the Talbot 
 family waiting for the reception. The warder on the 
 tower had blown his horn as a signal that the master 
 and his royal guest were within the park, and the 
 banner of the Talbots had been raised to announce 
 their coming, but nearly half an hour must pass while 
 the party came along the avenue from the drawbridge 
 over the Sheaf ere they could arrive at the lodge. 
 
 So the ladies, in full state dresses, hovered over the 
 fire, while the children played in the window seat near 
 at hand.
 
 38 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Gilbert Talbot's wife, a tliin, yellow-haired, young 
 creature, promising to be like her mother, the Countess, 
 had a tongue which loved to run, and with the preco- 
 city and importance of wifehood at sixteen, she dilated 
 to her companions on her mother's constant attendance 
 on the Queen, and the perpetual plots for that lady's 
 escape. " She is as shifty and active as any cat-a- 
 mount ; and at Chatsworth she had a scheme for being 
 off out of her bedchamber window to meet a traitor 
 fellow named EoU ; but my husband smelt it out in 
 good, time, and had the guard beneath my lady's 
 window, and the fellows are in gyves, and to see the 
 lady the day it was found out ! Not a wry face did 
 she make. Oh no ! 'Twas all my good lord, and my 
 sweet sir with her. I promise you butter would not 
 melt in her mouth, for my Lord Treasurer Cecil hath 
 been to see her, and he has promised to bring her to 
 speech of her Majesty. May I be there to see. I pro- 
 mise you 'twill be diamond cut diamond between them." 
 
 "How did she and my Lord Treasurer fare to- 
 gether?" asked Mrs. Babington. 
 
 - " Well, you know there's not a man of them all that 
 is proof against her blandishments. Her Majesty 
 should have women warders for her. 'Twas good 
 sport to see the furrows in his old brow smoothing out 
 against his will as it were, while she plied him with 
 her tongue. I never saw the Queen herself win such a 
 sndle as came on his lips, but then lie is always a sort 
 of master, or tutor, as it were, to the Queen. Ay," on 
 some exclamation from Lady Talbot, " she heeds him 
 like no one else. She may fling out, and run counter 
 to him for the very pleasure of feeling that she has 
 the power, but she will come round at last, and 'tis 
 bis will that is done in the long run. If this lady
 
 m.] THE CAPTIVE. 39 
 
 could beguile liim indeed, she miglit be a free woman 
 in the end." 
 
 "And think you that she did ?" 
 
 " Not she ! The Lord Treasurer is too long-headed, 
 and has too strong a hate to all Paj)istry, to be beguiled 
 more than for the very moment he was before her. He 
 cannot help the being a man, you see, and they are all 
 alike when once in her presence — your lord and father, 
 like the rest of them, sister Grace. Mark me if there 
 be not tempests brewing, an we be not the sooner rid 
 of this guest of ours. My mother is not the woman 
 to bear it long." 
 
 Dame Mary's tongue was apt to run on too fast, 
 and Lady Talbot interrupted its career with an amused 
 gesture towards the children. 
 
 For the little Cis, babe as she was, had all the three 
 boys at her service. Humfrey, with a paternal air, was 
 holding her on the window-seat ; Antony Babington 
 was standing to receive the ball that was being tossed 
 to and fro between them, but as she never caught it. 
 Will Cavendish was content to pick it up every time 
 and return it to her, aj)pearing amply rewarded by her 
 laugh of delight. 
 
 The two mothers could not but laugh, and Mrs. 
 Babington said the brave lads were learning their 
 knightly courtesy early, while Mary Talbot began 
 observing on the want of likeness between Cis and 
 either the Talbot or Hardwicke race. The little girl 
 was much darker in colouring than any of the boys, and 
 had a pair of black, dark, heavy brows, that prevented 
 her from being a pretty child. Her adopted mother 
 shrank from such observations, and was rejoiced that a 
 winding of horns, and a shout from the boys, announced 
 that the expected arrival was about to take place. The
 
 40 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 ladies darted to the window, and beholding the avenue 
 full of horsemen and liorsewomen, their accoutrements 
 and those of- their escort gleaming in the sun, each 
 mother gathered her own chicks to herself, smoothed 
 the plumage somewhat ruffled by sport, and advanced 
 to the head of the stone steps, William Cavendish, the 
 eldest of the boys, being sent down to take his step- 
 father's rein and hold his stirrup, page fashion. 
 
 Clattering and jingling the troop arrived. The 
 Earl, a stout, square man, with a long narrow face, 
 lengthened out farther by a light-coloured, silky beard, 
 which fell below his ruff, descended from his steed, 
 gave his hat to Eichard Talbot, and handed from her 
 horse a hooded and veiled lady of slender proportions, 
 who leant on his arm as she ascended the steps. 
 
 The ladies knelt, whether in respect to the heads of 
 the family, or to the royal guest, may be doubtfuL 
 
 The Queen came up the stairs with rheumatic steps, 
 declaring, however, as she did so, that she felt the 
 better for her ride, and was less fatigued than when 
 she set forth. She had the soft, low, sweet Scottish 
 voice, and a thorough Scottish accent and language, 
 tempered, however, by French tones, and as, coming 
 into the warmer air of the hall, she withdrew her 
 veil, her countenance was seen. Mary Stuart was 
 only thirty-one at this time, and her face was still 
 youthful, though worn and wearied, and beariog tokens 
 of illness. The features were far from" being regularly 
 beautiful ; there was a decided cast in one of the 
 eyes, and in spite of all that Mary Talbot's detracting 
 tongue liad said, Susan's first impression was dis- 
 appointment. But, as the Queen greeted the lady 
 whom she already knew, and the Earl presented his 
 daughter, Lady Grace, his stepdaughter, Elizabeth
 
 Ill,] THE CAPTIVE. 41 
 
 Cavendish, and his kinswoman, Mistress Stisan Talbot, 
 the extraordinary magic of her eye and lip beamed on 
 them, the queenly grace and dignity joined with a 
 wonderful sweetness impressed them all, and each in 
 measure felt the fascination. 
 
 The Earl led the Qneen to the fire to obtain a little 
 warmth before mounting the stairs to her own apart- 
 ments, and likewise while Lady Shrewsbury was dis- 
 mounting, and being handed up the stairs by her second 
 stepson, Gilbert. The ladies likewise knelt on one 
 knee to greet this mighty dame, and the children 
 should have done so too, but little Cis, catching sight 
 of Captain Eichard, who had come up bearing the 
 Earl's hat, in immediate attendance on him, broke out 
 with an exulting cry of "Father! father! father!" 
 trotted with outspread arms right in front of the royal 
 lady, embraced the booted leg in ecstasy, and then 
 stretching out, exclaimed " Up ! up !" 
 
 " How now, malapert poppet ! " exclaimed the 
 Countess, and though at some distance, uplifted her 
 riding-rod. Susan was ready to sink into the earth 
 with confusion at the great lady's displeasure, but 
 Eichard had stooped and lifted the little maid in his 
 arms, while Queen Mary turned, her face lit up as by 
 a sunbeam, and said, " Ah, bonnibcll, art thou fain 
 to see thy father? Wilt thou give me one of thy 
 kisses, sweet bairnie ?" and as Eichard held her up to 
 the kind face, " A goodly child, brave sir. Thou must 
 let me have her at times for a playfellow. Wilt come 
 and comfort a poor prisoner, little sweeting ?" 
 
 The child responded with " Poor poor," stroking the 
 soft delicate cheek, but the Countess interfered, still 
 wrathful. " Master Eicliard, I marvel that you should 
 let her Grace be beset by a child, who, if she cannot
 
 42 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 demean herself decorously, should have been left at 
 home. Susan Hardwicke, I thought I had schooled 
 you better." 
 
 " Nay, madam, may not a babe's <{entle deed of 
 pity be pardoned ?" said Mary. 
 
 " Oh ! if it pleasures you, madam, so be it," said 
 Lady Slirewsbury, deferentially ; " but there be children 
 here more worthy of your notice than yonder little 
 black-browed wench, who hath been allowed to thrust 
 herself forward, while others have been kept back 
 from importuning your Grace." 
 
 " No child can importune a mother who is cut off 
 from her own," said Mary, eager to make up for the 
 jealousy she had excited. " Is this bonnie laddie yours, 
 madam ? Ah ! I should have known it by the 
 resemblance." 
 
 She held her white hand to receive the kisses of 
 the boys : William Cavendish, under his mother's eye, 
 knelt obediently ; Antony Babington, a fair, pretty lad, 
 of eight or nine, of a beautiful piuk and white com- 
 plexion, pressed forward with an eager devotion which 
 made the Queen smile and press her delicate hand on 
 his curled locks; as for Humfrey, he retreated behind 
 the shelter of his mother's farthingale, where his 
 presence was forgotten by every one else, and, after 
 the rebuff just administered to Cicely, there was no 
 inclination to briug him to light, or combat ^ith his 
 bashfulness. 
 
 The introductions over, Mary gave her hand to the 
 Earl to be conducted from the hall up the broad stair- 
 case, and along the great western gallery to the south 
 front, where for many days her properties had been in 
 course of being arranged. 
 
 Lady Shrewsbury followed as mistress of the house,
 
 III.] THE CAPTIVE. 43 
 
 and behind, in order of precedence, came the Scottish 
 Queen's household, in which the dark, keen features of 
 the French, and the rufous hues of the Scots, were 
 nearly equally divided. Lady Livingstone and Mistress 
 Seaton, two of the Queen's Maries of the same age 
 with herself, came next, the one led by Lord Talbot, 
 the other by Lord Livingstone. There was also the 
 faithful French Marie de Courcelles, paired with ]\Taster 
 Beatoun, comptroller of the household, and Jean 
 Kennedy, a stiff Scotswoman, whose hard outlines 
 did not do justice to her tenderness and fidelity, and 
 with her was a tall, active, keen-faced stripling, looked 
 on with special suspicion by the English, as Willie 
 Douglas, the contriver of the Queen's flight from Loch- 
 leven. Two secretaries, French and Scottish, were 
 shrewdly suspected of being priests, and there were 
 besides, a physician, surgeon, apothecary, with per- 
 fumers, cooks, pantlers, scullions, lacqueys, to the 
 number of thirty, besides their wives and attendants, 
 these last being " permitted of my lord's benevolence." 
 
 They were all eyed askance by the sturdy, north 
 country English, who naturally hated all strangers, 
 above all French and Scotch, and viewed the band of 
 captives much like a caged herd of wild beasts. 
 
 When on the way home Mistress Susan asked her 
 little boy why he would not make his obeisance to the 
 pretty lady, he sturdily answered, " She is no pretty 
 lady of mine. She is an evil woman who slew her 
 husband." 
 
 " Poor lady ! tongues have been busy with her," said 
 Ills father. 
 
 " How, sir ?" asked Susan, amazed, " do you think 
 her guiltless in the matter ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell," returned liichard. " All I know ia
 
 44 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 that many who liave no mercy on her would change 
 their minds if they beheld her patient and kindly 
 demeanour to all." 
 
 This was a sort of sliock to Susan, as it seemed to 
 her to prove the truth of little Lady Talbot's words, 
 that no one was proof against Queen Mary's wiles ; 
 but she was happy in having her husband at home 
 once more, though, as he told her, he would be occu- 
 pied most of each alternate day at Sheffield, he and 
 another relation having been appointed "gentlemen 
 porters," which meant that they were to wait in a 
 chamber at the foot of the stairs, and keep watch over 
 whatever went in or out of the apartments of the 
 captive and her suite. 
 
 " And," said Richard, " who think you came to see 
 me at Wingfield ? None other than Cuthbert Lang- 
 ston." 
 
 " Hath he left his merchandise at Hull ?" 
 
 " Ay, so he saith. He would fain liave had my 
 good word to my lord for a post in the household, as 
 comptroller of accounts, clerk, or the like. It seemed 
 as though there were no office he would not take so 
 tbat he might hang about the neighbourhood of this 
 queen." 
 
 " Then you would not grant him your recommend- 
 ation ? " 
 
 " Nay, truly. I could not an.swer for him, and his 
 very anxiety made me the more bent on not bringing' 
 him hither. I'd fain serve in no ship where I know 
 not the honesty of all the crew, and Cuthbert hath ever 
 had a hankering after the old profession." 
 
 " Verily then it were not well to bring him hither." 
 
 " Moreover, he is a lover of mysteries and schemes," 
 said Richard. " He would never be content to let
 
 III.] THE CAPTIVE. 45 
 
 alone the question of our little wenvih's birth, and 
 would be fretting us for ever about the matter." 
 
 " Did he speak of it ? " 
 
 " Yea. He would have me to "v^'it that a nurse and 
 babe had been put on board at Dumbarton. Well, 
 said I, and so they must have been, since on board 
 they were. Is that all thou hast to tell me ? And 
 mighty as was the work he would liave made of it, 
 this was all he seemed to know. I asked, in my turn, 
 how he came to know thus much about a vessel sailing 
 from a port in arms against the Lords of the Congrega- 
 tion, the allies of her Majesty?" 
 
 " What said he ?" 
 
 " That his house had dealings with the owners of 
 the Bride of Dmibar. I like not such dealings, and so 
 long as this lady and her train are near us, I would by 
 no means have him whispering here and there that she 
 is a Scottish orphan." 
 
 "It would chafe my Lady Countess !" said Susan, 
 to whom this was a serious matter. " Yet doth it 
 not behove us to endeavour to find out her parentage ?" 
 
 " I tell you I proved to myself that he knew 
 nothing, and all that we have to do is to hinder liim 
 from making mischief out of that little," returned 
 Richard impatiently. 
 
 The honest captain could scarcely have told the 
 cause of his distrust or of his secrecy, but he had a 
 general feeling that to let an intriguer like Cuthljert 
 Langston rake up any tale that could be connected 
 with the party of the captive queen, could only lead 
 tx) danger and trouble.
 
 46 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY, [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 THE OAK AND THE OAKEN HALL. 
 
 The oaks of Sheffield Park were one of the greatest 
 glories of the place. Giants of the forest stretched 
 their huge arms over the turf, kept smooth and velvety 
 by the creatures, wild and tame, that browsed on it, 
 and made tlieir covert in the deep glades of fern and 
 copsewood that formed the background. 
 
 There were not a few whose huge trunks, of such 
 girth that two men together could not encompass them 
 with outstretched arms, rose to a height of more than 
 sixty feet before throwing out a horizontal branch, and 
 these branches, almost trees in themselv^es, spread 
 forty-eight feet on each side of the bole, lifting a 
 mountain of rich verdure above them, and casting a 
 delicious shade upon the ground beneath them. Beneath 
 one of these noble trees, some years after the arrival 
 of the hapless Mary Stuart, a party of children were 
 playing, much to the amusement of an audience of 
 which they were utterly unaware, namely, of sundry 
 members of a deer-hunting party ; a lady and gentle- 
 man who, having become ^parated from the rest, 
 were standing in the deep bracken, which rose nearly 
 as high as their heads, and were further sheltered by a 
 rock, looking and listening.
 
 IV.] THE OAK AND THE OAKEN HALL. 47 
 
 " Now then, Cis, bravely doue ! Show how she 
 
 treats her ladies " 
 
 . "Who will be her lady ? Thou must, Humfrey !" 
 
 "'No, no, I'll never be a lady," said Humfrey, 
 gruffly. 
 
 " Thou then, Diccon." 
 
 " No, no," and the little fellow shrank back, " thou 
 wilt hurt me, Cis." 
 
 " Come then, do thou, Tony ! I'll not strike too 
 hard !" 
 ' " As if a wench could strike too hard." 
 
 " He might have turned that more chivalrously," 
 whispered the lady to her companion, " What are 
 they about to represent ? Mort de ma vie, the profane 
 little imps ! I believe it is my sacred cousin, the 
 Majesty of England herself ! Truly the little maid 
 hath a bearing that might serve a queen, though she 
 be all too black and beetle-browed for Queen Elizabeth, 
 Who is she. Master Gilbert?" 
 
 " She is Cicely Talbot, daughter to the gentleman 
 porter of your Majesty's lodge," 
 
 " See to her — mark her little dignity with her 
 heather and bluebell crown as she sits on the rock, as 
 stately as jewels could make her! See her gesture 
 with her hands, to mark where the standing ruff 
 ought to be. She hath the true spirit of the comedy 
 — ah! and here cometh young Antony with mincing 
 pace, with a dock-leaf for a fan, and a mantle for a 
 farthingale! She speaks ! now hark!" 
 
 " Good morrow to you, my young mistress," began a 
 voice pitched two notes higher tlian its actual childlike 
 key. " Thou hast a new farthingale, I see ! Antony, 
 that's not the way to curtsey — do it like tlr's. No, 
 no ! thou clumsy fellow — back and knees together,"
 
 48 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CKy\P. 
 
 "Never mind, Cis," interposed one of the boys — ■ 
 " we shall lose all our play time if you try to make 
 him do it with a grace. Curtsies are women's work 
 — go on." 
 
 " Where was I ? — " (resuming her dignity after 
 these asides) " Thou hast a new fartliingale, I see." 
 
 " To do my poor honour to your Grace's birthday. 
 
 " Oh ho ! Is it so ? Methought it had been to do 
 honour to my fair mistress's own taper waist. And 
 pray how much an ell was yonder broidered stuff?" 
 
 " Two crowns, an't please your Grace," returned 
 the supposed lady, making a wild conjecture. 
 
 " Two crowns ! thou foolish Antony ! " Then 
 recollecting herself, " two crowns ! what, when mine 
 costs but half! Thou presumptuous, lavish varlet — 
 no, no, wench ! what right hast thoa to wear gowns 
 finer than thy liege ? — I'll teach you." Wherewith, 
 erecting all her talons, and clawing frightfully with 
 them in the air, the supposed Queen Bess leapt at the 
 unfortunate maid of honour, appeared to tear the 
 imaginary robe, and drove her victim off the stage 
 with a great air of violence, amid peals of laughter 
 from the other cliildren, loud enough to drown those 
 of the elders, who could hardly restrain their merri- 
 ment. Gilbert Talbot, however, had been looking 
 about him anxiously all the time, and would fain have 
 moved away ; but a sign from Queen Mary withheld 
 him, as one of the children cried, 
 
 " Now ! show us how she serves her lords." 
 
 The play seemed well understood between them, 
 for the mimic queen again settled herself on her 
 throne, while Will Cavendisli, calling out, " Now I'm 
 Master Hatton," began to tread a stately measure on 
 the grass, while tlie queen exclaimed, " Who is this
 
 IV.] THE OAK AND THE OAKEN HALL. 49 
 
 new star of my court ? What stalwart limbs, what 
 graceful tread ! Who art thou, sir ?" 
 
 " Madam,! am — I am. Wliat is it? An ef — ef " 
 
 " A daddy-long-legs," mischievously suggested an- 
 other of the group. 
 
 " No, it's Latin. Is it Ephraim ? No ; it's a fly, 
 something like a gnat " (then at an impatient gesture 
 from her Majesty) " disporting itself in the beams of 
 the noontide sun." 
 
 " Blood-sucking," whispered the real Queen behind 
 the fern. " He is not so far out there. See ! see ! 
 with what a grace the child holds out her little hand 
 for him to kiss. I doubt me if Elizabeth herself could 
 be more stately. But who comes here ?" 
 
 " I'm Sir Philip Sydney." 
 
 " No, no," shouted Humfrey, " Sir Philip shall not 
 come into this fooling. My father says he's the best 
 knight in England." 
 
 " He is as bad as the rest in flattery to the Queen," 
 returned youug Cavendish. 
 
 " I'll not have it, I say. You may be Lord Lei- 
 cester an you will ! He's but Eobin Dudley." 
 
 " Ah !" began the lad, now advancing and shading 
 his eyes. " What burnished splendour dazzles my 
 weak sight ? Is it a second Juuo- that I behold, or 
 lovely Venus herself ? Nay, there is a wisdom in her 
 that can only belong to the great Minerva herself! 
 So youthful too. Is it Hebe descended to this earth ?" 
 
 Cis smirked, and held out a hand, saying in an 
 affected tone, " Lord Earl, are tliy wits astray ?" 
 
 "Whose wits would not be perturbed at the mere 
 sight of such exquisite beauty ?" 
 
 " Come and sit at our feet, and we will try to restore 
 them," ?aid the stage queen ; but here little Diccon, 
 
 E
 
 50 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAp. 
 
 tlie yoTingest of the party, eager for more action, called 
 out, " Show us how she treats her lords and ladies 
 together." 
 
 On which young Babington, as the lady, and 
 Hunifrey, made demonstrations of love-making and 
 betrothal, upon whicli their sovereign lady descended 
 on them with furious tokens of indignation, abusing thein 
 right and left, until in the midst the great castle bell 
 pealed forth, and caused a flight general, being, in fact, 
 the summons to the school kept in one of the castle 
 chambers by one Master Snigg, or Sniggius, for the 
 children of the numerous colony who peopled the 
 castle. Girls, as well as boys, were taught there, and 
 thus Cis accompanied Humfrey and Diccon, and con- 
 sorted with their companions. 
 
 Queen Mary was allowed to hunt and take out-of- 
 door exercise in the park whenever she pleased, but 
 Lord Shrewsbury, or one of his sons, Gilbert and 
 Francis, never was absent from her for a moment 
 when she went beyond the door of the lesser lodge, 
 which the Earl had erected for her, with a flat, leaded, 
 and parapeted roof, where she could take the air, and 
 with only one entrance, where was stationed a " gentle- 
 man porter," with two subordinates, whose business it 
 was to keep a close watch over every person or thing 
 that went in or out. If she had any purpose of losing 
 herself in the thickets of fern, or copsewood, in the 
 park, or holding unperceived conference under shelter 
 of the chase, these plans were rendered impossible by 
 the pertinacious presence of one or other of the Talbots, 
 who acted comj)letely up to their name. 
 
 Thus it was that the Queen, with Gilbert in close 
 attendance, had found herself an unseen spectator of 
 the children's performance, which she watched with
 
 IV.] THE OAK AND THE OAKEN HALL. 51 
 
 the keen enjoyment that sometimes made her fci'get her 
 troubles for the moment. 
 
 "How got the imps such knowledge ?" mused Gil- 
 bert Talbot, as he led the Queen out on the sward 
 "which had been the theatre of their mimicry. 
 
 "Do you ask that, Sir Gilbert?" said the Queen 
 with emphasis, for indeed it was his wife who had been 
 the chief retailer of scandal about Queen Elizabeth, 
 to the not unwilling ears of herself and his mother ; 
 and Antony Babington, as my lady's page, had but 
 used his opportunities. 
 
 " They are insolent varlets and deserve the rod," 
 continued Gilbert. 
 
 "You are too ready with the rod, you English," 
 returned Mary. " You flog all that is clever and 
 spirited out of your poor children !" 
 
 " That is the question, madam. Have the English 
 been found so deficient in spirit compared with other 
 nations ?" 
 
 " Ah ! we all know what you English can say for 
 yourselves," returned the Queen. " See what Master 
 John Coke hath made of the herald's argument before 
 Dame Eenown, in his translation. He hath twisted 
 all the other way." 
 
 " Yea, madam, but the French herald had it all his 
 own way before. So it was but just we should have 
 our turn." 
 
 Here a cry from tlie other hunters greeted them, 
 and they found Lord Shrewsbury, some of the ladies, 
 and a number of prickers, looking anxiously for 
 them. 
 
 " Here we are, good my lord," said the Queen, wlio, 
 when free from rheumatism, was a most active walker. 
 " We have only been stalking my sister Queen's court
 
 52 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAF 
 
 in small, the prettiest and drollest ])astime 1 have seen 
 for many a long day." 
 
 ]\Iucli had happened in the conrse of the past years. 
 The intrigues with Northumberland and Norfolk, and 
 the secret efforts of the unfortunate Queen to obtain 
 friends, and stir up enemies against Elizabeth, had 
 resulted in her bonds being drawn closer and closer. 
 The Eising of the North had taken place, and Cuth- 
 bert Langston had been heard of as taking a prominent 
 part beneath the sacred banner, but he had been 
 wounded and not since heard of, and his kindred knew 
 not whether he were among the unnamed dead who 
 loaded the trees in the rear of the army of Sussex, or 
 whether he had escaped beyond seas. Eichard Talbot 
 still remained as one of the trusted kinsmen of Lord 
 Shrewsbury, on whom that nobleman depended for the 
 execution of the charge which yearly became more weari- 
 some and onerous, as hope decayed and plots thickened. 
 
 Though resident in the new lodge with her train, 
 it was greatly diminished by the dismissal from time 
 to time of persons who were regarded as suspicious; 
 Mary still continued on intimate terms with Lady 
 Shrewsbury and her daughters, specially distinguishing 
 with her favour Bessie PieiTepoint, the eldest grandchild 
 of the Countess, who slept with her, and was her play- 
 thing and her pupil in French and needlework. The 
 fiction of her being guest and not prisoner had not 
 entirely passed away ; visitors were admitted, and she 
 went in and out of the lodge, walked or rode at will, 
 only under pretext of courtesy. She never was un- 
 accompanied by the Earl or one of his sons, and they 
 endeavoured to make all private conversation with 
 strangers, or jjersons unauthorised from Court, im- 
 possible to her.
 
 rV.] THE OAK AND TBIE OAKEN HALL. 53 
 
 The invitation given to little Cicely on the 
 arrival had not been followed up. The Countess wished 
 to reserve to her own family all the favours of one who 
 might at any moment become the Queen of England, 
 and she kept Susan Talbot and her children in what 
 she called their meet place, in which that good lady 
 thoroughly acquiesced, having her hands much too full 
 of household affairs to run after queens. 
 
 There was a good deal of talk about this child's 
 play, a thing which had much better have been left 
 where it was ; but in a seclusion like that of Sheffield 
 subjects of conversation were not over numerous, and 
 every topic which occurred was apt to be worried to 
 shreds. So Lady Shrewsbury and her daughters heard 
 the Queen's arch description of the children's mimicry, 
 and instantly conceived a desire to see the scene 
 repeated. The gentlemen did not like it at all : their 
 loyalty was offended at the insult to her gracious 
 Majesty, and besides, what might not happen if such 
 sports ever came to her ears ? However, the Countess 
 ruled Sheffield ; and Mary Talbot and Bessie Cavendish 
 ruled the Countess, and they were bent on their own 
 way. So the representation was to take place in the 
 great hall of the manor-house, and the actors were to 
 be dressed in character from my lady's stores. 
 
 " They will ruin it, these clumsy English, after their 
 own fashion," said Queen Mary, among her ladies. " It 
 was the unpremeditated grace and innocent audacity of 
 the little ones that gave the charm. Now it will be a 
 mere broad farce, worthy of Bess of Hardwicke. Mais 
 que voulez vons ?" 
 
 The performance was, however, laid under a great 
 disadvantage by the absolute refusal of Eichard and 
 Susan Talbot to allow their Cicely to assume the part
 
 54 UNKNOWN TO IIISTORV'. [CHAP. 
 
 of Queen Elizabeth. They had been dismayed at her 
 doing so in child's ph\y, and since she could read 
 fluently, write pretty well, and cipher a little, the good 
 mother had decided to put a stop to this free associa- 
 tion with the boys at the castle, and to keep her at 
 home to study needlework and housewifery. As to 
 her acting with boys before the assembled households, 
 the proposal seemed to them absolutely insulting to 
 any daughter of tlie Talbot liue, and they had by this 
 time forgotten that she was no such thiug. Bess 
 Cavendish, the special spoilt child of the house, 
 even rode down, armed with her mother's commands, 
 but her feudal feeling did not here sway Mistress 
 Susan. 
 
 Public acting was esteemed an indignity for women, ■ 
 and, though Cis was a mere child, all Susan's woman- 
 hood awoke, and she made answer lirndy that she 
 could not obey my Lady Countess in this. 
 
 Bess flounced out of the house, indignantly telling 
 her she should rue the day, and Cis herself cried pas- 
 sionately, longing after the fine robes and jewels, and 
 the presentation of herself as a queen before the whole 
 company of the castle. The harsh system of the time 
 made the good mother think it her duty to requite 
 this rebellion with the rod, and to set the child down 
 to her seam in the corner, and there sat Cis, pouting 
 and brooding over what Antony Babiiigton had told 
 her of what he had picked up when in his page's 
 capacity, attending his lady, of Queen Mary's admira- 
 tion of the pretty ways and airs of the little mimic 
 Queen Bess, till she felt as if she were defrauded of 
 her due. The captive Queen was her dream, and to 
 hear her commendations, j)erhaps be kissed by her, 
 would be supreme bliss. Nay, she still hoped that
 
 IV.] THE OAK AND THE OAKEN HALL. 55 
 
 there would lie an interference of the higher powers 
 on her behalf, which would give her a triumph. 
 
 No ! Captain Talbot came home, saying, " So, 
 Mistress Sue, thou art a steadfast woman, tc/ have 
 resisted my lady's will ! " 
 
 " I knew, my good husband, that thou wouldst 
 never see our Cis even in sport a player ! " 
 
 " Assuredly not, and thou hadst the best of it, for 
 when Mistress Bess came in as full of wrath as a 
 petard of powder, and made your refusal known, my 
 lord himself cried out, 'And she's in the right o't ! 
 What a child may do in sport is not fit for a gentle- 
 woman in earnest.' " 
 
 " Then, hath not my lord put a stop to the whole ? " 
 
 " Fain would he do so, but the Countess and her 
 daughters are set on carrying out the sport. They 
 have set Master Sniggius to indite the speeches, and 
 the boys of the school are to take the parts for their 
 autumn interlude." 
 
 " Surely that is perilous, should it come to the 
 knowledge of those at Court." 
 
 " Oh, I promise you, Sniggius hath a device for 
 disguising all that could give offence. The Queen 
 will become Semiramis or Zenobia, I know not which, 
 and my Lord of Leicester, Master Hatton, and the 
 others, will be called Ninus or Longiuus, or some 
 such heathenish long-tailed terms, and speak speeches 
 of mighty length. Are they to be in Latin, Hum- 
 frey?" 
 
 " Oh no, sir," said Humfrey, with a shudder. 
 " Master Sniggius would have had them so, but the 
 young ladies said they would have nothing to do with 
 the affair if there were one word of Latin uttered. It 
 is bad enough as it is. I am to be Philidaspes, an
 
 56 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAP. 
 
 Assyrian knight, and have some speeches to learn, 
 at least one is twenty-five lines, and not one is less 
 than five ! " 
 
 " A right requital for thy presumptuous and treason- 
 able game, my son," said his father, teasing him. 
 
 "And who is to be the Queen?" asked the mother. 
 
 " Antony Babington," said Humfrey, " because he 
 can amble and mince more like a wench than any of 
 us. The worse luck for him. He will have more 
 speeches than any one of us to learn," 
 
 The report of the number of speeches to be learnt 
 took off the sting of Cis's disappointment, though she 
 would not allow that it did so, declarinQ- with truth 
 that she could learn by hearing faster than any of the 
 boys. Indeed, she did learn all Humfrey 's speeches, 
 and Antony's to boot, and assisted both of them with 
 all her might in conmiitting them to memory. 
 
 As Captain Talbot had foretold, the boys' sport 
 was quite sufficiently punished by being made into 
 earnest. Master Sniggius was far from merciful as to 
 length, and his satire was so extremely remote that 
 Queen Elizabeth herself could hardly have found out 
 that Zenobia's fine moral lecture on the vanities of too 
 aspiring ruffs was founded on tlie box on the ear wliich 
 rewarded poor Lady Mary Howard's display of her 
 rich petticoat, nor would her cheeks have tingled when 
 the Queen of the East — by a bold adaptation — j)layed 
 the part of Lion in interrupting the interview of our 
 old friends Py ramus and Thisbe, who, by an awful 
 anachronism, were carried to Palmyra. It was no 
 plagiarism from "Midsummer Night's Dream," only 
 drawn from the common stock of playwrights. 
 
 So, shorn of all that was perilous, and only under- 
 stood by the initiated, the play took place in the Castle
 
 IV.] THE OAK AND THE OAKEN HALL. 57 
 
 Hall, the largest a"\"ailable place, with Queen Mary 
 seated upou the dais, with a canopy of State over her 
 head, Lady Shrewsbury on a chair nearly as high, the 
 Earl, the gentlemen and ladies of their suites drawn 
 np in a circle, the servants where they could, the 
 Earl's musicians thundering Avith drums, tooting with 
 fifes, twanging on fiddles, overhead in a gallery. Cis 
 and Diccon, on either side of Susan Talbot, gazing on 
 the stage, where, much encumbered by hoop and far- 
 thingale, and arrayed in a yellow curled wig, strutted 
 forth Antony Babington, declaiming — 
 
 " Great Queen Zenobia am I, 
 The Roman Power I defy. 
 At my Palmyra, in the East, 
 I rule o'er every man and beast," 
 
 Here was an allusion couched in the Eoman power, 
 which Master Antony had missed, or he would hardly 
 have uttered it, since he was of a Eoman Catholic 
 family, though, while in the Earl's household, he had 
 to conform outwardly. 
 
 A slender, scholarly lad, with a pretty, innocent 
 face, and a voice that could " speak small, like a 
 woman," came in and announced himself thus — 
 
 " I'm Thisbe, an Assyrian maid, 
 My robe's with jewels overhiid." 
 
 The stiff colloquy between the two boys, encumbered 
 with their dresses, shy and awkward, and rehearsing 
 their lines like a task, was no small contrast to the 
 merry impromptu under the oak, and the gq.y, free 
 grace of the children. 
 
 Poor Philidaspes acquitted himself worst of all, for 
 when done up in a glittering suit of sham armour, with
 
 58 -UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 a sword and dagger of lath, his entire speech, though 
 well conned, deserted him, and he stood red-faced, 
 hesitating, and ready to cry, wher. suddenly from the . 
 midst of the spectators there issu.ed a childish voice, 
 " Go on, Hmnfrey ! 
 
 " Philidaspes am I, most valorous knight, 
 Ever ready for Churcli and Queen to fight. 
 
 "Go on, I say!" and she gave a little stamp of 
 impatience, to the extreme confusion of the mother and 
 the great amusement of the assembled company. 
 Humfrey, once started, delivered himself of the rest of 
 his oration in a glum and droning voice, occasioning 
 fits of laughter, such as by no means added to his self- 
 possession. 
 
 The excellent Sniggius and his company of boys 
 liad certainly, whether intentionally or not, deprived 
 the performance of all its personal sting, and most 
 likewise of its interest. Such diversion as the specta- 
 tors derived was such as Hippolyta seems to have found 
 in listening to AVall, Lion, Moonshine and Co. ; but, 
 like llieseus, Lord Shrewsbury was very courteous, and 
 complimented both playwright and actors, relieved and 
 thankful, no doubt, that Queen Zenobia was so unlike 
 his royal mistress. 
 
 There was nothing so much enforced by Queen 
 Elizabeth as that strangers should not have resort to 
 Sliefheld Castle. No spectators, except those attached 
 to the household, and actually forming part of the 
 colony within the park, were therefore supposed to be 
 admitted, and all of them were carefully kept at a dis- 
 tant part of the hall, where they could have no access 
 to the now much reduced train of the Scottish Queen^ 
 witli whom all intercourse was forbidden.
 
 rV.] THE OAK AND THE OAKEN HALL. 59 
 
 Hnmfrey was therefore surprised when, just as he 
 had come out of the tiring-room, glad to divest liimself 
 of his encumbering and gaudy equipments, a man 
 touched him on the arm and humbly said, " Sir, I have 
 a humble entreaty to make of you. If you would 
 convey my petition to the Queen of Scots !" 
 
 " I have nothing to do with the Queen of Scots," 
 said the ex-Philidaspes, glancing suspiciously at the 
 man's sleeve, wliere, however, he saw the silver dog, 
 the family badge. 
 
 " She is a charitable lady," continued the man, who 
 looked like a groom, " and if she only knew that my 
 poor old aunt is lying famishing, she would aid her. 
 Pray you, good my lord, help me to let this scroll 
 reach to her." 
 
 " I'm no lord, and I have naught to do with the 
 Queen," repeated Humfrey, while at the same moment 
 Antony, wdio had been rather longer in getting out of 
 his female attire, presented himself ; and Humfrey, pity- 
 ing the man's distress, said, " This young gentleman is 
 the Countess's page. He sometimes sees the Queen." 
 
 The man eagerly told his story, how his aunt, the 
 widow of a huckster, had gone on with the trade till 
 slie had been cruelly robbed and beaten, and now was 
 utterly destitute, needing aid to set herself up again. 
 The Queen of Scots was noted for her beneficent alms- 
 giving, and a few silver pieces from her would be quite 
 sufficient to replenish lier basket. 
 
 I'^either boy doubted a moment. Antony had the 
 entrde to the presence chamber, where on this festival 
 night the Earl and Countess were sure to be with the 
 Queen. He went straightway thither, and traiiied as 
 he was in the usages of the place, told his business 
 to the Earl, who was seated near the Queeu. Lord
 
 60 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Shrewsbury took the petition from hiiri, glanced it 
 over, and asked, " A¥ho knew the Guy Noruian who sent 
 it?" Frank Talbot answered for him, that he was a 
 yeoman pricker, and the Earl permitted the paper to be 
 carried to Mary, watching her carefully as she read it, 
 when Antony had presented it on one knee. 
 
 " Poor woman !" she said, " it is a piteous case. 
 Master Beatoun, hast thou my purse ? Here, Master 
 Babington, wilt thou be the bearer of this angel for 
 me, since I know that the delight of being the bearer 
 w^ill be a reward to thy kind heart." 
 
 Antony gracefully kissed the fair hand, and ran 
 off joyously with the Queen's bounty. Little did any 
 one guess what the career thus begun would bring that 
 fair hoy.
 
 v.] THE HUCKSTERING WOMAN. 61 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE HUCKSTERING WOMAN. 
 
 The huckstering woman, Tibbott by name, was tended 
 by Queen Mary's apothecary, and in due time was sent 
 off well provided, to the great fair of York, whence 
 she returned with a basket of needles, pins (such as 
 they were), bodkins, and the like articles, wherewith to 
 circulate about Hallamshire, but the gate-wards would 
 not relax their rules so far as to admit her into the 
 park. She was permitted, however, to bring her wares 
 to the town of Sheffield, and to Bridgefield, but she 
 might come no farther. 
 
 Thither Antony Babington came down to lay out 
 the crown which had been given to him on his birth- 
 day, and indeed half Master Sniggius's scholars dis- 
 covered needs, and came down either to spend, or to 
 give advice to the happy owners of groats and testers. 
 So far so good ; but the huckster- woman soon made 
 Bridgefield part of her regular rounds, and took little 
 commissions which she executed for the household of 
 Sheffield, who were, as the Cavendish sisters often said 
 in their spleen, almost as much prisoners as the Queen 
 of Scots. Antony Babington was always her special 
 patron, and being Humfrey's great companion and play- 
 fellow, he was allowed to come in and out of the gates
 
 62 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 unquestioned, to play with him and with Cis, who no 
 longer went to school, hut was trained at home in 
 needlework and housewifery. 
 
 Match-making began at so early an age, that when 
 Mistress Susan had twice found her and Antony 
 Babington with their heads together over the lament- 
 able ballad of the cold fish that had been a lady, and 
 which sang its own history " forty thousand fathom 
 above water," she began to question whether the girl 
 were the attraction. He was now an orphan, and his 
 wardship and marriage had been granted to the Earl, 
 who, having disposed of all his daughters and step- 
 daughters, except Bessie Cavendish, might very fairly 
 bestow on the daughter of his kinsman so good a 
 match as the young squire of Dethick. 
 
 " Then should we have to consider of her parentage," 
 said Eichard, when his wife had propounded her views. 
 
 " I never can bear in mind that the dear wench is 
 none of ours," said Susan. " Thou didst say thou 
 wouldst portion her as if she were our own little maid, 
 and I have nine webs ready for her household linen. 
 Must we speak of her as a stranger?" 
 
 " It would scarce be just towards another family to 
 let them deem her of true Talbot blood, if she were to 
 enter among them," said Eichard ; " though I look on 
 the little merry maid as if she were mine own child. 
 But there is no need yet to begin upon any such coil ; 
 and, indeed, I would wager that my lady hath other 
 views for young Babington." 
 
 After all, parents often know very little of what 
 passes in children's minds, and Cis never hinted to her 
 mother that the bond of union between her and Antony 
 was devotion to the captive Queen. Cis had only had a 
 glimpse or two 'J her, riding by when hunting or hawk-
 
 v.] THE HUCKSTERING WOMAN. 63 
 
 ing, or when, on festive occasions, all who were privileged 
 to enter the park were mustered together, among whom 
 the Talbots ranked high as kindred to both Earl and 
 Countess ; but those glimpses had been enough to fill 
 the young heart with romance, such as the matter-of- 
 fact elders never guessed at. Antony Babington, who 
 was often actually in the gracious presence, and received 
 occasional smiles, and even greetings, was immeasur- 
 ably devoted to the Queen, and maintained Cicely's 
 admiration by his vivid descriptions of the kindness, 
 the grace, the charms of tlie royal captive, in con- 
 trast with the innate vulgarity of their own Countess. 
 
 Willie Douglas (the real Eoland Graeme of the 
 escape from Lochleven) had long ago been dismissed 
 from Mary's train, with all the other servants who were 
 deemed superfluous ; but Antony had heard the details 
 of the story from Jean Kennedy (Mrs. Kennett, as the 
 English were pleased to call her), and Willie was the 
 hero of his emulative imagination. 
 
 " Wliat would I not do to be like him!" he fervently 
 exclaimed when he had narrated the story to Humfrey 
 and Cis, as they lay on a nest in the fern one fine 
 autumn day, resting after an expedition to gather 
 blackberries for the mother's preserving. 
 
 " I would not be him for anything," said Humfrey. 
 
 " Fie, Humfrey," cried Cis ; " would not you dare 
 exile or anything else in a good cause ? " 
 
 " For a good ca,use, ay," said Humfrey in his stolid 
 way. 
 
 " And what can be a better cause than that of the 
 fairest of captive queens ? " exclaimed Antony, hotly. 
 
 " I would not be a traitor," returned Humfrev, as 
 he lay on liis back, looking up through the chei[uer- 
 work of the branches of the trees towards the sky.
 
 €4 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " Who dares link the word traitor with my name ?" 
 said Babington, feeling for the imaginary handle of a 
 sword. 
 
 " Not I ; but you'll get it linked if you go on in 
 this sort." 
 
 " For shame, Humfrey," again cried Cis, passion- 
 ately. " Why, delivering imprisoned princesses always 
 was the work of a true knight." 
 
 " Yea ; but they first defied the giant openly," said 
 Humfrey. 
 
 " What of that ? " said Antony. 
 
 " They did not do it under trust," said Humfrey. 
 
 " I am not under trust," said Antony. " Your 
 father may be a sworn servant of the Earl and the 
 Queen — Queen Elizabeth, I mean ; but I have taken 
 no oaths — nobody asked me if I woidd come here." 
 
 " No," said Humfrey, knitting his brows ; " but you 
 see we are all trusted to go in and out as we please, 
 on the understanding that we do nought that can be 
 unfaithful to the Earl ; and I suppose it was thus with 
 this same Willie Douglas." 
 
 " She was his own true and lawful Queen," cried 
 Cis. " His first duty was to her." 
 
 Humfrey sat up and looked perplexed, but with 
 a sudden thought exclaimed, " No Scots are we, thanks 
 be to Heaven ! and what might be loyalty in him 
 would be rank treason in us." 
 
 " How know you that ? " said Antony. " I have 
 heard those who say that our lawful Queen is there," 
 and he pointed towards the walls that rose in the dis- 
 tance above the woods. 
 
 Humfrey rose wrathful. " Then truly you are no 
 better than a traitor, and a Spaniard, and a Papist," 
 and fists were clenched on both sides, while Cis flew
 
 v.] THE HUCKSTERING WOMAN. 65 
 
 between, pulling down Humfrey's uplifted hand, and 
 crying, " No, no ; he did not sa}" he thought so, only 
 he had heard it." 
 
 " Let him say it again ! " growled Antony, his arm 
 bared. 
 
 " No, don't, Humfrey ! " as if she saw it between his 
 clenched teeth. " You know you only meant if Tony 
 thought so, and he didn't. Now how can you two be 
 so foolish and unkind to me, to bring me out for a 
 holiday to eat blackberries and make heather crowns, 
 and then go and spoil it all with folly about Papists, 
 and Spaniards, and grown-up people's nonsense that 
 nobody cares about ! " 
 
 Cis had a rare power over both her comrades, and 
 her piteous appeal actually disarmed them, since there 
 was no one present to make them ashamed of their 
 own placability. Grown-up people's follies were 
 avoided by mutual consent through the rest of the 
 walk, and the three children parted amicably when 
 Antony had to return to fulfil his page's duties at my 
 lord's supper, and Humfrey and Cis carried home their 
 big basket of blackberries. 
 
 When they entered their own hall they found their 
 mother engaged in conversation with a tall, stout, and 
 weather-beaten man, whom she announced — " See here, 
 my children, here is a good friend of your father's. 
 Master Goatley, who was his chief mate in all his 
 voyages, and hath now come over all the way from 
 Hull to see him ! He will be here anon, sir, so soon 
 as the guard is changed at tlie Queen's lodge. Mean- 
 time, here are the elder children," 
 
 Diccon, who had been kept at home by some tem- 
 porary damage to his foot, and little Edward were 
 devouring the sailor with their eyes ; and Humfrey 
 
 F
 
 66 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 and Cis were equally delighted with the iutioduction, 
 especially as Master Goatley was just returned from 
 the Western Main, and from a curious grass-woven 
 basket which he carried slung to his side, produced 
 sundry curiosities in the way of beads, shell-work, 
 feather-work, and a hatchet of stone, and even a curious 
 armlet of soft, dull gold, with pearls set in it. This 
 he had, with great difficulty, obtained on purpose for 
 Mistress Talbot, who had once cured him of a bad 
 festering hurt received on board ship. 
 
 The children clustered round in ecstasies of admira- 
 tion and wonder as they heard of the dark brown 
 natives, the curious expedients by which barter was 
 carried on ; also of cruel Spaniards, and of savage 
 fishes, with all the marvels of flying-fish, corals, palm- 
 trees, humming birds — all that is lesson work to our 
 modern youth, but was the most brilliant of living 
 fairy tales at this Elizabethan period. Humfrey and 
 Diccon were ready to rush off to voyage that instant, 
 and even little Ned cried imitatively in his imjrerfejt 
 language that he would be " a tailor." 
 
 Then their father came home, and joyfully wel- 
 comed and clasped hands with his faithful mate, 
 declaring that the sight did him good ; and they sat 
 down to supper and talked of voyages, till the boys' 
 eyes' glowed, and they beat upon their own knees with 
 the enthusiasm that their strict manners bade them 
 repress ; while their mother kept back her sighs as 
 she saw them becoming infected with that sea fever so 
 dreaded by parents. Nay, she saw it in her husband 
 himself. She knew him to be grievously weary of a 
 charge most monotonously dull, and only varied by 
 suspicions and petty detections ; and that he was 
 hungering and thirsting for his good ship and to be
 
 v.] THE HUCKSTERING WOMAN. 67 
 
 facing: winds and waves. She could hear his loncfino; in 
 the very sound of the " Ays ? " and brief inquiries by 
 which he encouraged Goat^ey to proceed in the story 
 of voyages and adventures, and she could not wonder 
 when Goatley said, " Your heart is in it still, sir. 
 Not one of us all but says it is a pity such a noble 
 captain should be lost as a landsman, with nothing to 
 do but to lock the door on a lady." 
 
 " Speak not of it, my good Goatley," said Richard, 
 hastily, " or you will set me dreaming and make me 
 mad." 
 
 " Then it is indeed so," returned Goatley. " Where- 
 fore then come you not, sir, where a crew is waiting for 
 you of as good fellows as ever stepped on a deck, and 
 who, one and all, are longing after such a captain 
 as you are, sir ? Wherefore hold back while still in 
 your prime ? " 
 
 " Ask the mistress, there," said Richard, as he saw 
 his Susan's white face and trembling fingers, though 
 she kept her eyes on her work to prevent them from 
 betraying their tears and their wistfulness. 
 
 " sweet father," burst forth Humfrey, " do but 
 go, and take me. I am quite old enough." 
 
 " Nay, Humfrey, 'tis no matter of liking," said his 
 father, not wishing to prolong his wife's suspense. 
 " Look you here, boy, my Lord Earl is captain of all 
 of his name by right of birth, and so long as he needs 
 my services, I have no right to take them from him. 
 Dost see, my boy ? " 
 
 Humfrey reluctantly did see. It was a great favour 
 to be thus argued with, and admitted of no reply. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot's heart rejoiced, but she was not sorry 
 that it was time for her to carry off Diccon and Ned to 
 their bf.ds, away from the fascinating narrative, and she
 
 68 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 would give no respite, though Diccon pleaded hard. 
 In fact, the danger might be the greatest to hiui, since 
 Humfrey, though born within the smell of the sea, 
 might be retained by the call of duty like his father. To 
 Cis, at least, she thought the sailor's conversation could 
 do no harm, little foreboding the words that presently 
 ensued. " And, sir, what befell the babe we found in 
 our last voyage off the Spurn ? It would methinks be 
 about the age of this pretty mistress." 
 
 Eichard Talbot endeavoured to telegraph a look 
 both of assent and warning, but though Master 
 Goatley would have been sharp to detect the least 
 token of a Spanish galleon on the most distant horizon, 
 the signal fell utterly short. " Ay, sir. Wliat, is it 
 so ? Bless me ! The very maiden ! And you have 
 bred her up for your own." 
 
 " Sir ! Eather ! " cried Cis, looking from one to the 
 other, with eyes and mouth wide open. 
 
 " Soil ! " cried the sailor, " what have I done ? I 
 beg your pardon, sir, if I have overhauled what 
 should have been let alone. But," continued the 
 honest, but tactless man, " who could have thought of 
 the like of that, and that the pretty maid never knew 
 it? Ay, ay, dear heart. Never fear but that the 
 captain will be good father to you all the same." 
 
 For Eichard Talbot had held out his arm, and, 
 as Cis ran up to him, he had seated her on his 
 knee, and held her close to him. Humfrey likewise 
 started up with an impulse to contradict, which was 
 suddenly cut short by a strange flash of memory, so 
 aU he did was to come up to his father, and grasp 
 one of the girl's hands as fast as he could. She 
 trembled and shivered, but there was something in the 
 presence of this strange man which choked back all
 
 v.] THE HUCKSTERING WOMAN. 69 
 
 inquiry, and the silence, the vehement grasp, and the 
 shuddering, alarmed the captain, lest she might sud- 
 denly go off into a fit upon his hands. 
 
 . " This is gear for mother," said he, and taking her 
 up like a baby, carried her off, followed closely by 
 Humfrey. He met Susan coming down, asking 
 anxiously, " Is she sick ? " 
 
 " I hope not, mother," he said, " but honest Goatley, 
 thinking no harm, hath blurted out that which we 
 had never meant her to know, at least not yet awhile, 
 and it hath wrought strangely with her." 
 
 " Then it is true, father ? " said Humfrey, in rather 
 an awe-stricken voice, while Cis still buried her face 
 on the captain's breast. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " yea, my children, it is true that 
 God sent us a daughter from the sea and the wreck 
 when He had taken our own little maid to His rest. 
 But we have ever loved our Cis as well, and hope 
 ever to do so while she is our good child. Take 
 her, mother, and tell the children how it befell ; if I 
 go not down, the fellow will spread it all over the 
 house, and happily none were present save Humfrey 
 and the little maiden." 
 
 Susan put the child down on her own bed, and 
 tliere, with Humfrey standing by, told the history of 
 the father carrying in the little shipwrecked babe. 
 They both listened with eyes devouring her, but they 
 were as yet too young to ask questions about evi- 
 dences, and Susan did not volunteer these, only when the 
 girl asked, " Then, have I no name ? " she answered, 
 " A godly minister. Master Heatherthwayte, gave thee 
 the name of Cicely when he christened thee." 
 
 " I marvel who I am ? " said Cis, f^azing round hei; 
 as if the world were all new to her.
 
 70 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cBLVr. 
 
 " It does not matter," said Ilumfrey, " you are 
 just the same to us, is she not, mother ? " 
 
 " She is our dear Heaven-sent child," said the mother 
 tenderly. 
 
 " But thou art not my true mother, nor Humfrey 
 nor Diccon my brethren," she said, stretching out her 
 hands like one in the dark. 
 
 " If I'm not your brother, Cis, I'll be your husband, 
 and then you will have a real right to be called Talbot. 
 That's better than if you were my sister, for then you 
 would go away, I don't know where, and now you 
 will always be mine — mine — mine very own." 
 
 And as he gave Cis a hug in assurance of his 
 intentions, his father, who was uneasy about the 
 matter, looked in again, and as Susan, w^ith tears in 
 her eyes, pointed to the children, the good man said, 
 " By my faith, the boy has found the way to cut the 
 knot — or rather to tie it. What say you, dame ? 
 If we do not get a portion for him, we do not have to 
 give one with her, so it is as broad as it is long, and she 
 remains our dear child. Only listen, children, you are 
 both old enough to keep a secret. Not one word of all 
 this matter is to be breathed to any soul till I bid you." 
 
 '•' Not to Diccon," said Humfrey decidedly, 
 
 " Nor to Antony ? " asked Cis wistfully. 
 
 " To Antony ? No, indeed ! What has he to do 
 with it ? Now, to your beds, children, and forget ail 
 about this tale." 
 
 " There, Humfrey," broke out Cis, as soon as they 
 were alone together, " Huckstress Tibbott is a wise 
 V'oman, whatever thou mayest say." 
 
 " How ? " said Humfrey. 
 
 " Miudst thou not the day when I ciossed her hand 
 with the tester father uave me ? "
 
 v.] THE HUCKSTERING WOMAN. 71 
 
 " Wlien mother whipped thee for Kstening to for- 
 tune-tellers, and wasting thy substance. Ay, I mind 
 it well," said Humfrey, " and how thou didst stand 
 simpering at her pack of lies, ere mother made thee 
 sing another tune." 
 
 " Nay, Humfrey, they were no lies, though I thought 
 thera so then. She said I was not what I seemed, 
 and that the Talbots' kennel would not always hold 
 one of the noble northern eagles. So Humfrey, sweet 
 Humfrey, thou must not make too sure of wedding 
 me." 
 
 " I'll wed thee though all the lying old gipsy-wives 
 in England wore their false throats out in screeching 
 out that I shall not," cried Humfrey. 
 
 " But she must have known," said Cis, in an awe- 
 struck voice ; " the spirits must have spoken with her, 
 and said that I am none of the Talbots." 
 
 " Hath mother heard this ? " asked Humfrey, re- 
 coiling a little, but never thinking of the more plau- 
 sible explanation. 
 
 " Oh no, no ! tell her not, Humfrey, tell her not. 
 She said she would whip me again if ever I talked 
 again of the follies that the fortune-telling woman had 
 gulled me with, for if they were not deceits, they were 
 worse. And, thou seest, they are worse, Humfrey ! " 
 
 With which awe-stricken concldsion the children 
 went off to bed.
 
 72 UNKNOWN TO HISTOHY. [CIIAr. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE BEWITCHED WHISTLE. 
 
 A \ fllljD's point of view is so different from that of a 
 gro^^n person, that the discovery did not make half 
 so much difference to Cis as her adopted parents 
 expected. In fact it was like a dream to her. She 
 found her daily life and her surroundings the same, 
 and her chief interest was — at least apparently — how 
 soon she could escape from psalter and seam, to play 
 with little Ned, and look out for the elder boys return- 
 ing, or watch for the Scottish Queen taking her daily 
 ride. Once, prompted by Antony, Cis had made a 
 beautiful nosegay of lilies and held it up to^the Queen 
 when she rode in at the gate on her return from 
 Buxton. She had been rewarded by the sweetest of 
 smiles, but Captain Talbot had said it nmst never 
 happen again, or he should be accused of letting billets 
 pass in posies. The whole place was pervaded, in 
 fact, by an atmosphere of suspicion^ and the vigilance, 
 which might have been endurable for a few months, was 
 wearing the spirits and temper of all concerned, now 
 that it had already lasted for seven or eight years, and 
 there seemed no end to it. Moreover, in sf ite of all 
 care, it every now and then became apparent that 
 Queen Mary had some communication with the outer
 
 VI.] THE BEWITCHED WHISTLE. 73 
 
 world which no one could trace, though the effects 
 endangered the life of Queen Elizabeth, the peace of 
 the kingdom, and the existence of the English Church. 
 The blame always fell upon Lord Shrewsbury ; and 
 who could wonder that he was becoming captiously 
 suspicious, aitd soured in temper, so that even such 
 faithful kinsmen as Eichard Talbot could sometimes 
 hardly bear with him, and became punctiliously anxious 
 that there should not be the smallest loophole for cen- 
 sure of the conduct of himself and his family ? 
 
 The person on whom Master Goatley's visit had left 
 the most impression seemed to be Humfrey. On the 
 one hand, his father's words had made him enter into his 
 situation of trust and loyalty, and perceive something 
 of the constant sacrifice of self to duty that it required, 
 and, on the other hand, he had assumed a position 
 towards Cis of which he in some degree felt the force. 
 There was nothing in the opinions of the time to 
 render their semi-betrothal ridiculous. At the Manor- 
 house itself, Gilbert Talbot and Mary Cavendish had 
 been married when no older than he was ; half their 
 contemporaries were already plighted, and the only 
 difference was that in the present harassing state of 
 surveillance in which every one lived, the parents 
 thought that to avow the secret so long kept might 
 bring about inquiry and suspicion, and they therefore 
 wished it to be guarded till the marriage could be 
 contracted. As Cis developed, she had looks and tones 
 which so curiously harmonised, now with the Scotch, 
 now with the French element in the royal captive's 
 suite, and which made Captain Eichard believe that 
 she must belong to some of the families who seemed 
 am])hibious between the two courts ; and her identi- 
 fication as a Seaton, a Elemyng, a Beatoun, or as a mem-
 
 74 UNKNOWN TO HISTOIIY. [CHAP. 
 
 ber of any of the families attached to the losing cause, 
 would only involve her in exile and disgrace. Besides, 
 there was every reason to think her an orphan, and a 
 distant kinsman was scarcely likely to give her such a 
 home as she had at Bridgefield, where she had always 
 been looked on as a daughter, and was now regarded 
 as doubly their own in right of their son. So Hum- 
 frey was permitted to consider her as peculiarly liis 
 own, and he exerted this right of property by a 
 certain jealousy of Antony Babington which amused 
 his parents, and teased the young lady. ISTor was 
 he wholly actuated by the jealousy of proprietor- 
 ship, for he knew the devotion with which Antony 
 regarded Queen Mary, and did not wholly trust him. 
 His sense of honour and duty to his father's trust was 
 one thing, Antony's knight-errantry to the beautiful 
 captive was another; each boy thought himself strictly 
 honourable, while they moved in parallel lines and 
 could not understand one another ; yet, with the 
 reserve of childhood, all that passed between them 
 was a secret, till one afternoon when loud angiy 
 sounds and suppressed sobs attracted Mistress Susan 
 to the garden, where she found Cis crying bitterly, 
 and little Diccon staring eagerly, while a pitched 
 battle was going on between her eldest son and young 
 Antony Babington, who were pommelling each other 
 too furiously to perceive her approach. 
 
 " Boys ! boys ! fie for shame," she cried, with a 
 hand on the shoulder of each, and they stood apart 
 at her touch, though still fiercely looking at one 
 another. 
 
 " See what spectacles you have made of yourselves !" 
 she continued. " Is this your treatment "of your guest, 
 Humfrey ? How is my Lord's page to show himself at
 
 vl] the bewitched whistle. 75 
 
 Chat'? worth to-morrow with such an eye ? What is it 
 all about?" 
 
 Both combatants eyed each other in sullen silence. 
 
 " Tell me, Cis. Tell me, Diccon. I will know, or 
 you shall have the rod as well as Humfrey." 
 
 Diccon, who was still in the era of timidity, in- 
 stead of secretiveness, spoke out, " He," indicating his 
 brother, "wanted the packet." 
 
 "What packet?" exclaimed the mother, alarmed. 
 
 " The packet that he (another nod towards Antony) 
 wanted Cis to give that witch in case she came while 
 he is at Chats worth." 
 
 " It was the dog- whistle," said Cis. " It hath no 
 sound in it, and Antony would have me change it for 
 him, because Huckster Tibbott may not come within 
 the gates. I did not want to do so ; I fear Tibbott, 
 and when Humfrey found me crying he fell on 
 Antony. So blame him not, mother." 
 
 " If Humfrey is a jealous churl, and Cis a little 
 fool, there's no help for it," said Antony, disdainfully 
 turning his back on his late adversary. 
 
 " Then let me take charge of this whistle," re- 
 turned the lady, moved by the universal habit of 
 caution, but Antony sprang hastily to intercept her 
 as she was taking from the little girl a small paper 
 packet tied round with coloured yarn, but he was not 
 in time, and conld only exclaim, " Nay, nay, madam, I 
 will not trouble you. It is nothing." 
 
 "Master Babington," said Susan firmly, "you know 
 as well as I do that no packet may pass out of the 
 park unopened. If you wished to have the whistle 
 changed you should have brought it uncovered. I am 
 Sony for the discourtesy, and ask your pardon, but this 
 jDarcel may not pass."
 
 76 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " Then," said Antony, with difficulty repressing 
 something much more passionate and disrespectful, " let 
 me have it again." 
 
 " Nay, Master Babington, that would not suit with 
 my duty." 
 
 The boy altogether lost his temper. "Duty! duty!" 
 he cried. " I am sick of the word. All it means is a 
 mere feigned excuse for prying and spying, and beset- 
 ting the most beautiful and unhappy princess in the 
 world for her true faith and true right !" 
 
 "Master Antony Babington," said Susan gravely, 
 " you had better take care what you are about. If 
 those words of yours had been spoken in my Lord's 
 hearing, they would bring you worse than the rod or 
 bread and water." 
 
 "What care I what I suffer for such a Queen?" 
 exclaimed Antony. 
 
 " Suffering is a different matter from saying ' What 
 care I,' " returned the lady, " as I fear you will learn. 
 Master Antony." 
 
 " mother ! sweet mother," said Cis, " you will 
 not tell of him !" — but mother shook her head. 
 
 " Prithee, dear mother," added Humfrey, seeing no 
 relenting in her countenance, " I did but mean to hinder 
 Cis from being maltreated and a go-between in this 
 traffic with an old witch, not to bring Tony into trouble." 
 
 " His face is a tell-tale, Humfrey," said Susan. " I 
 meant ere now to have put a piece of beef on it. 
 Come in, Antony, and let me wash it." 
 
 " Thank you, madam, I need nothing here," said 
 Antony, stalking proudly off; while Humfrey, exclaim- 
 ing " Don't be an ass, Tony ! — Mother, no one would 
 care to ask what we had given one another black eyes 
 for in a friendly way," tried to hold him back, and he
 
 VI.] THE BEWITCHED WHISTLE. 77 
 
 did linger when Cis added her persuasions to him not 
 to return the spectacle he was at present. 
 
 " If this lady will promise not to betray an un- 
 fortunate Queen," he said, as if permission to deal with 
 his bruises were a great reward. 
 
 "Oh! you foolish boy!" exclaimed Mistress Talbot, 
 " you were never meant for a plotter ! you have your- 
 self betrayed that you are her messenger." 
 
 " And I am not ashamed of it," said Antony, hold- 
 ing his head high. " Madam, madam, if you have 
 surprised this from me, you are the more bound not to 
 betray her. Think, lady, if you were shut up from 
 your children and friends, would you not seek to send 
 tidings to them ?" 
 
 " Child, child ! Heaven knows I am not blaming 
 the poor lady within there. I am only thinking what 
 is right." 
 
 ' " Well," said Antony, somewhat hopefully, " if that 
 be all, give me back the packet, or tear it up, if you 
 will, and there can be no harm done." 
 
 " Oh, do so, sweet mother," entreated Cis, earnestly ; 
 " he will never bid me go to Tibbott again." 
 
 " Ay," said Humfrey, " then no tales will be told." 
 
 For even he, with all his trustworthiness, or indeed 
 because of it, could not bear to bring a comrade to 
 disgrace ; but the dilemma was put an end to by the 
 sudden appearance on the scene of Captain Eichard 
 himself, demanding the cause of the disturbance, and 
 whether his sons had been misbehaviug to their guest. 
 
 " Dear sir, sweet father, do not ask," entreated Cis, 
 springing to him, and taking his hand, as she was 
 privileged to do ; " mother has come, and it is all made 
 ■up and over now." 
 
 Eichard Talbot, however, had seen the packet
 
 78 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 which his wife was holding, and her anxious, perplexed 
 countenance, and the perilous atmosphere of suspicion 
 around him made it incumbent on him to turn to her 
 and say, "What means this, mother? Is it as Cis 
 would have me believe, a mere childish quarrel that I 
 may pass over ? or what is this packet ?" 
 
 " Master Babington saith it is a dog-whistle which 
 he was leaving in charge with Cis to exchange for 
 another with Huckstress Tibbott," she answered. 
 
 " Feel, — nay, open it, and see if it be not, sir," 
 cried Antony. 
 
 " I doubt not that so it is," said the captain ; " but 
 you know, Master iBabington, that it is the duty of all 
 here in charge to let no packet pass the gate which 
 has not been viewed by my lord's officers," 
 
 " Then, sir, I will take it back again," said Antony, 
 with a vain attempt at making his brow frank and 
 clear. 
 
 Instead of answering, Captain Talbot took the 
 knife from his girdle, and cut in twain the yarn that 
 bound the packet. There was no doubt about the 
 whistle being there, nor was there anything written on 
 the wrapper ; but perhaps the anxiety in Antony's eye, 
 or even the old association with boatswains, incited 
 Mr. Talbot to put the whistle to his lips. Not a 
 sound would come forth. He looked in, and saw what 
 led him to blow with all his force, when a white roll 
 of paper protruded, and on another blast fell out into 
 his hand. 
 
 He held it up as he found it, and looked fuU at 
 Antony, who exclaimed in much agitation, "To keep 
 out the dust. Only to keep out the dust. It is aU 
 gibberish — from my old writing-books." 
 
 "That will we see," said Eichard very gravely.
 
 vl] the bewitched whistle. 79 
 
 "Mis/ress, be pleased to give this young gentleman 
 some water to wash his face, and attend to his bruises, 
 keeping him in the guest-chamber without speech 
 from any one until I return. Master Babin^ton, I 
 counsel you to submit quietly. I wish, and my Lord 
 will wish, to spare his ward as much scandal as pos- 
 sible, and if this be what you say it is, mere gibberish 
 from your exercise-books, you will be quit for chastise- 
 ment for a forbidden act, which has brought you into 
 suspicion. If not, it must be as my Lord thinks good." 
 
 Antony made no entreaties. Perhaps he trusted 
 that what was unintelligible to himself might j)ass for 
 gibberish with others ; perhaps the headache caused 
 by Humfrey's fists was assisting to produce a state of 
 sullen indifference after his burst of eager chivalry; at 
 any rate he let Mistress Talbot lead him away without 
 resistance. The other children would have followed, 
 but their father detained them to hear the particulars 
 of the commission and the capture. Eichard desired 
 to know from his son whether he had any reason for 
 suspecting underhand measures ; and when Humfrey 
 looked down and hesitated, added, " On your obedience, 
 boy; this is no slight matter." 
 
 " You will not beat Cis, father ? " said Humfrey. 
 
 " Wherefore should I beat her, save for doing 
 errands that yonder lad should have known better 
 than to thrust on her ?" 
 
 " Nay, sir, 'tis not for that ; but my mother said 
 she should be beaten if ever she spake of the fortune 
 yonder Tibbott told her, and we are sure that she — 
 Tibbott I mean — is a witch, and knows more than she 
 ought." 
 
 " Wliat mean'st thou ? Tell me, children ; " and 
 Cls, nothing loath, since she was securtjd from the
 
 80 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 beating, related the augury which had left so deep 
 an impression on her, Humfrey bearing witness that it 
 was before they Icnew themselves of Cicely's history. 
 
 " But that is not all," added Cicely, seeing Mr. 
 Talbot less impressed than she expected by these 
 supernatural powers of divination. " She can change 
 from a woman to a man !" 
 
 " In sooth !" exclaimed Eichard, startled enough by 
 this information. 
 
 " Yea, father," said Cicely, " Faithful Ekins, the 
 carrier's boy, saw her, in doublet and hose, and a 
 tawny cloak, going along the road to Chesterfield. He 
 knew her by the halt in her left leg." 
 
 " Ha !" said Eichard, " and how long hast thou 
 known this ?" 
 
 " Only yestermorn," said Cis ; " it was that which 
 made me so much afraid to have any dealings with 
 her." 
 
 " She shall trouble thee no more, my little wench," 
 said Eichard in a tone that made Humfrey cry out 
 joyously, 
 
 " father ! sweet father ! "wilt thou duck her for a 
 witch ? Sink or swim ! that will be rare ! " 
 
 "Hush, hush! foolish lad," said Eichard, "and thou. 
 Cicely, take good heed that not a word of all this gets 
 abroad. Go to thy mother, child, — nay, I am not 
 wroth with thee, little one. Thou hast not done amiss, 
 but bear in mind that nought is ever taken out of the 
 park without knowledge of me or of thy mother."
 
 vil] the blast of the whistle. 81 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 THE BLAST OF THE WHISTLE. 
 
 Eichard Talbot was of course convinced that witch- 
 craft was not likely to be the most serious part of the 
 misdeeds of Tibbott the huckstress. Committing 
 Antony Babington to the custody of his wife, he sped 
 on his way back to the Manor-house, where Lord 
 Shrewsbury was at present residing, the Countess 
 being gone to view her buildings at Chatsworth, tak- 
 ins; her daughter Bessie with her. He sent in a 
 message desiring to speak to my lord in his privy 
 chamber. 
 
 Francis Talbot came to him. " Is it matter of great 
 moment, Dick ?" he said, "for my father is so fretted 
 and chafed, I would fain not vex him further to-night. 
 — What ! know you not ? Here a^'e tidings that my 
 lady hath married Bess — yes, Bess Cavendish, in 
 secret to my young Lord Lennox, the brother of this 
 Queen's unlucky husband ! How he is to clear himself 
 before her Grace of being concerned in it, I know not, 
 for though Heaven wots that he is as innocent as the 
 child unborn, she will suspect him !" 
 
 " I knew she flew high for Mistress Bess," returned 
 "Richard. 
 
 " High ! nothing would serve her save royal blood ! 
 
 G
 
 82 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [UIIAP. 
 
 My poor father says as sure as the lions and Jlcur- 
 de-lis have come into a family, the headsman's axe has 
 come after them." 
 
 "However it is not our family." 
 
 " So I tell him, hut it gives him small comfort," said 
 Frank, " looking as he doth on the Cavendish brood as 
 his own, and knowing that there will be a mighty coil 
 at once- with my lady and these two queens. He is 
 sore vexed to-night, and saith that never was Earl, not 
 to say man, so baited by woman as he, and he bade 
 me see whether yours be a matter of such moment 
 that it may not wait till morning or be despatched by 
 me." 
 
 " That is for you to say. Master Francis. What 
 think you of this for a toy?" as he produced the parcel 
 with the whistle and its contents. " I went home 
 betimes to-day, as you know, and found my boy 
 Humfrey had just made young Master Babington 
 taste of his fists for trying to make our little wench 
 pass this packet to yonder huckster- woman who was 
 succoured some months back by the Queen of Scots." 
 
 Francis Talbot silently took the whistle and un- 
 rolled the long narrow strip of paper. " This is the 
 cipher," said he, "the cipher used in corresponding 
 with her French kin ; Phillipps the decipherer showed 
 me the trick of it when he was at Tutbury in the time 
 of the Duke of Norfolk's business. Soh ! your son 
 hath done good service, Kichard. That lad hath been 
 tampered with then, I thought he was over thick with 
 the lady in the lodge. Where is he, the young 
 traitor ?" 
 
 " At Bridgefield, under my wife's ward, having his 
 bruises attended to. I would not bring him up here till 
 I knew what my Lord would have done with him. He
 
 VII.] THE BLAST OF THE WHISTLE. 83 
 
 is but a child, and no doubt was wrought with by 
 sweet looks, and I trust my Lord will not be hard 
 with him." 
 
 " If my father had hearkened to me, he should never 
 have been here," said Francis. " His father was an 
 honest man, but his mother was, I find, a secret 
 recusant, and when she died, young Antony was 
 quite old enough to have sucked in the poison. You 
 did well to keep him, Eichard ; he ought not to return 
 hither again, either in ward or at liberty." 
 
 " If he were mine, I would send him to school," said 
 Eichard, " where the masters and the lads would soon 
 drive out of him all dreams about captive princesses 
 and seminary priests to boot. For, Cousin Francis, I 
 would have you to know that my children say there is 
 a rumour that this woman Tibbott the huckstress hath 
 been seen in a doublet and hose near Chesterfield." 
 
 " The villain ! When is she looked for here again ?" 
 
 " Anon, I should suppose, judging by the boy leav- 
 ing this charge with Cis in case she should come while 
 he is gone to Chatsworth." 
 
 " We will take order as to that," said Francis, com- 
 pressing his lips ; " I know you will take heed, cousin, 
 that she, or he, gets no breath of warning. I should 
 not wonder if it were Parsons himself ! " and he un- 
 folded the scroll with the air of a man seeking to 
 confirm his triumph. 
 
 " Can you make anything of it ?" asked Eichard, 
 struck by its resemblance to another scroll laid up 
 among his wife's treasures. 
 
 " I cannot tell, they are not matters to be read in 
 an hour," said Francis Talbot, " moreover, there is one 
 in use for the English traitors, hei friends, and another 
 for the French. This looks like the French sort. Let
 
 84 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAr 
 
 me see, they are read by taking the third letter in each 
 second word," Francis Talbot, somewhat proud of hia 
 proficiency, and perfectly certain of the trustworthiness 
 of his cousin Eichard, went on puzzling out the ciphered 
 letters, making Eichard set each letter down as he 
 picked it out, and trying whether they would make 
 sense in French or English. Both understood French, 
 having learned it in their page days, and kept it up by 
 intercourse with the French suite. Francis, however, 
 liad to try two or three methods, which, being a young 
 man, perhaps he was pleased to display, and at last 
 he hit upon the right, which interpreted the apparent 
 gibberish of the scroll — excepting that the names of 
 persons were concealed under soubriquets which 
 Francis Talbot could not always understand — but 
 the following sentence by and by became clear : — 
 " Quand le matelot vient dcs marais, un feu pent 
 eclater dans la meiite et dans la meUe " — " When the 
 sailor lands from tlie fens, a fire might easily break 
 out in the dog-kennel, and in the confusion" 
 (name could not be read) " could carry off the tercel 
 gentle." 
 
 "La meutc" said Francis, "that is their term for 
 the home of us Talbots, and the sailor in the fens is 
 this Don John of Austria, who means, after conquering 
 the Dutchmen, to come and set free this tercel gentle, 
 as she calls herself, and play the inquisitor upon us. 
 On my honour, Dick, your boy has played the man in 
 making this discovery. Keep the young traitor fast, 
 and take down a couple of yeomen to lay hands on 
 this same Tibbott as she calls herself." 
 
 " If I remember right," said Eichard, " she was 
 said to be the sister or aunt to one of the grooms or 
 prickers."
 
 VII.] THE BLAST OF THE WHISTLE. 85 
 
 " So u Avas, Guy Norman, metliinks. Belike he 
 was the very fellow to set fire to our kennel. Yea, 
 we must secure him. I'll see to that, and you shall 
 lay this scroll before my father meantime, Dick. Why, 
 to fall on such a trail will restore his spirits, and win 
 back her Grace to believe in his honesty, if my lady's 
 tricks should liave made her doubtful." 
 
 Off went Francis with great alacrity, and ere long 
 the Earl was present with Eichard. The long light 
 beard was now tinged with gray, and there were deep 
 lines round tlie mouth and temples, betraying how the 
 long anxiety was telling on him, and rendering him 
 suspicious and querulous. " Soh ! Eichard Talbot," 
 was his salutation, " what's the coil now ? Can a man 
 never be left in peace in his own house, between 
 queens and ladies, plots and follies, but his own kins 
 folk and retainers must come to him on every petty 
 broil among the lads ! I should have thought your 
 boy and young Babiugton might fight out their quarrels 
 alone without vexing a man that is near driven dis- 
 tracted as it is." 
 
 " I grieve to vex your lordship," said Eichard, 
 standing bareheaded, " but Master Francis thought this 
 scroll worthy of your attention. This is the manner 
 in which he deciphered it." 
 
 " Scrolls, I am sick of scrolls," said the Earl testily. 
 " What ! is it some order for saying mass, — or to get 
 some new Popish image or a skein of silk ? I wear 
 my eyes out reading such as that, and racking my 
 brains for some hidden meaning !" 
 
 And falling on Francis's first attempt at copying, 
 he was scornful of the whole, and had nearly thrown 
 the matter aside, but when he lit at last on the sen- 
 tence about burning the meute and carrying off the
 
 86 UNKNOWN TO IIISTOIIY. [CIIAP. 
 
 tercel gentle, his biow grew dark indeed, and his 
 inquiries came thickly one upon the other, both as to 
 Antony Babuigton and the huckstering woman. 
 
 In the midst, Frank Talbot returned with the 
 tidings that the pricker Guy Norman was nowhere 
 to be found. He had last been seen by his comrades 
 about the time that Captain Eichard had returned to 
 the Manor-house. Probably he had taken alarm on 
 seeing hun come back at that unusual hour, and had 
 gone to carry the warning to his supposed aunt. This 
 last intelligence made the Earl decide on going down at 
 once to Bridgefield to examine young Babington before 
 there was time to miss his presence at the lodge, or 
 to hold any communication with him. Frank caused 
 horses to be brought round, and the Earl rode down with 
 Richard by a shaded alley in an ordinary cloak and hat. 
 
 My Lord's appearance at Bridgelield was a rarer 
 and more awful event than was my Lady's, and if 
 Mistress Susan had been warned beforehand, there is 
 no saying how at the head of her men and maids she 
 would have scrubbed and polished the floors, and 
 brushed the hangings and cushions. What then were 
 her feelings when the rider, who dismounted from his 
 little hackney as unpretendingly as did her husband 
 in the twilight court, proved to have my Lord's long 
 beard and narrow face ! 
 
 Curtseying her lowest, and with a feeling of con- 
 sternation and pity as she thought of the orphan boy, 
 she accepted his greeting with duteous welcome as he 
 said, " Kinswoman, I am come to cumber you, whilst 
 I inquire into this matter. I give your son thanks 
 for the honesty and faithfulness he hath shown in the 
 mattor, as befitted his father's son. I should wish 
 myseK to examine the springald."
 
 VII.] THE BLAST OF THE WHISTLE. 87 
 
 Humfrey was accordingly called, and, privately 
 admonished by his father that he must not allow any 
 scruples about bringing his playmate into trouble to 
 lead him to withhold his evidence, or shrink from 
 telling the whole truth as he knew it, Humfrey 
 accordingly stood before the Earl and made his replies 
 a little sullenly but quite straightforwardly. He had 
 prevented the whistle from being given to his sister 
 for the huckstress because the woman was a witch, 
 who frightened her, and moreover he knew it was 
 against rules. Did he suspect that the whistle came 
 from the Queen of Scots ? 
 
 He looked startled, and asked if it were so indeed, 
 and when again commanded to say why he had 
 thought it possible, he replied that he knew Antony 
 thought the Queen of Scots a fair and gracious lady. 
 
 Did he believe that Antony ever had communica- 
 tion with her or her people unheard by others ? 
 
 " Assuredly ! Wherefore not, when he carried my 
 Lady Countess's messages ?" 
 
 Lord Shrewsbury bent his brow, but did not further 
 pursue this branch of the subject, but demanded of 
 Humfrey a description of Tibbott, huckster or witch, 
 man or woman. 
 
 " She wears a big black hood and muffler," said 
 Humfrey, " and hath a long hooked stick." 
 
 " I asked thee not of her muffler, boy, but of her 
 person." 
 
 " She hath pouncet boxes and hawks' bells, and 
 dog-whistles in her basket," proceeded Humfrey, but 
 as the Earl waxed impatient, and demanded whether 
 no one could give him a clearer account, liichard bade 
 Humfrey call his mother. 
 
 She, however, could say nothing as to the woman's
 
 88 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 appearance. She had gone to Norman's cottage to offer 
 her services after the supposed accident, but had been 
 told that the potticary of the Queen of Scots had 
 undertaken her cure, and had only seen her huddled 
 up in a heap of rags, asleep. Since her recovery the 
 woman had been several times at Bridgefield, but it 
 had struck the mistress of the house that there was 
 a certain avoidance of direct communication with her, 
 and a preference for the servants and children. This 
 Susan had ascribed to fear that she should be warned 
 off for her fortune -telling propensities, or the children's 
 little bargains interfered with. All she could answer 
 for was that she had once seen a huge pair of grizzled 
 eyebrows, with light eyes under them, and that the 
 woman, if woman she were, was tall, and bent a good 
 deal upon a hooked stick, which supported her limping 
 steps. Cicely could say little more, except that the 
 witch had a deep awesome voice, like a man, and a 
 long nose terrible to look at. Indeed, there seemed to 
 have been a sort of awful fascination about her to all 
 the children, who feared her yet ran after her. 
 
 Antony was then sent for. It was not easy to 
 judge of the expression of his disfigured countenance, 
 but when thus brought to bay he threw off all tokens 
 of compunction, and stood boldly before the Earl, 
 
 "So, Master Babington, I find you have been be- 
 traying the trust I placed in you " 
 
 " What trust, my Lord ?" said Antony, his bright 
 blue eyes looking back into those of the nobleman. 
 
 " The cockerel crows loud," said the Earl. " What 
 trust, quotha ! Is there no trust implied in the com- 
 ing and going of one of my household, when such a 
 charge is committed to me and mine ?" 
 
 " No one ever gave me any charge," said Antony.
 
 VII.] THE BLAST OF THE WHISTLE. 89 
 
 "Dost thou bandy words, thou froward imp ?" said 
 the Earl, " Thou hast not the conscience to deny that 
 there was no honesty in smuggling forth a letter thus 
 hidden. Deny it not. The treasonable cipher hath 
 been read !" 
 
 " I knew nought of what was in it," said the boy. 
 
 " I believe thee there, but thou didst know that it 
 was foully disloyal to me and to her Majesty to bear 
 forth secret letters to disguised traitors. I am willing 
 to believe that the smooth tongue which hath deluded 
 many a better man than thou hath led thee astray, 
 and I am willing to deal as lightly with thee as may 
 be, so thou wilt tell me openly all thou knowest of 
 this infamous plot." 
 
 " I know of no plot, sir." 
 
 " They would scarce commit the knowledge to the 
 like of him," said Eichard Talbot. 
 
 " May be not," said Lord Shrewsbury, looking at 
 him with a glance that Antony thought contemptuous, 
 and which prompted him to exclaim, " And if I did 
 know of one, you may be assured I would never betray 
 it were I torn with wild horses." 
 
 " Betray, sayest thou !" returned the Earl. " Thou 
 hast betrayed my confidence, Antony, and hast gone as 
 far as in thee lies to betray thy Queen." 
 
 "My Queen is Mary, the lawful Queen of us all," 
 replied Antony, boldly. 
 
 " Ho ! Sayest thou so ? It is then as thou didst 
 trow, cousin, the foolish lad hath been tampered with 
 by the honeyed tongue. I need not ask thee from whom 
 thou hadst this letter, boy. We have read it and 
 know the foul treason therein. Thou wilt never return 
 to the castle again, but for thy father's sake thou shalt 
 be dealt with less sternly, if thou wilt tell who this
 
 ^0 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 ■woman is, and how many of tliese toys thou hast given 
 to her, if thou knowest who she is." 
 
 But Antony closed his lips resolutely. In fact, 
 Eichard suspected him of being somewhat flattered by 
 being the cause of such a commotion, ond actually 
 accused of so grand and manly a crime as high treason. 
 The Earl could extract no word, and finally sentenced 
 him to remain at Bridgefield, shut up in his own 
 chamber till he could be dealt with. The lad walked 
 away in a dignified manner, and the Earl, holding up 
 his hands, half amused, half vexed, said, " So the spell 
 is on that poor lad likewise. What shall I do with 
 him ? An orphan boy too, and mine old friend's son." 
 
 " With your favour, my Lord," said Eichard, " I 
 should say, send him to a grammar school, where 
 among lads of his own age, the dreams about captive 
 princesses might be driven from him by hard blows 
 and merry games." 
 
 "That may scarce serve," said the Earl rather severely, 
 for public schools were then held beneath the dignity of 
 both the nobility and higher gentry. " I may, however, 
 send him to study at Cambridge under some trusty 
 pedagogue. Back at the castle I cannot have him, so 
 must I cumber you with him, my good kinswoman, 
 until his face have recovered your son's lusty chastise- 
 ment. Also it may be well to keep him here till we 
 can lay hands on this same huckster- woman, since 
 there may be need to confront him with her. It were 
 best if you did scour the country toward Chesterfield 
 for her, while Frank went to York." 
 
 Having thus issued his orders, the Earl took a 
 gracious leave of the lady, mounted his horse, and 
 rode back to Sheffield, dispensing with the attendance 
 of his kiusman, who had indeed to prepare for an early
 
 vil] the blast of the whistle. 91 
 
 start the next morning, when he meant to take 
 Humfrey with him, as not unlikely to recognise the 
 woman, though he could not describe her. 
 
 " The boy merits well to go forth with me," said 
 he. "He hath done yeoman's service, and proved 
 himself staunch and faithful." 
 
 "Was there matter in that scroll ?" asked Susan. 
 
 " Only such slight matter as burning down the 
 Talbots' kennel, while Don John of Austria is landing 
 on the coast." 
 
 " God forgive them, and defend us !" sighed Susan, 
 turning pale. "Was that in the cipher ?" 
 
 "Ay, in sooth, but fear not, good wife. Much is 
 purposed that ne'er comes to pass. I doubt me if the 
 ship be built that is to carry the Don hither." 
 
 " I trust that Antony knew not of the wickedness ?" 
 
 " Not he. His is only a dream out of the romances 
 the lads love so well, of beauteous princesses to be 
 freed, and the like." 
 
 " But the woman !" 
 
 " Yea, that lies deeper. What didst thou say of 
 her ? Wherefore do the children call her a witch ? Is 
 it only that she is gxim and ugly?" 
 
 " I trow there is more cause than that," said Susan. 
 " It may be that I should have taken more heed to 
 their babble at first ; but I have questioned Cis while 
 you were at the lodge, and I find that even before 
 Mate Goatley spake here, this Tibbott had told the 
 child of her being of lofty race in the north, alien to 
 the Talbots' kennel, holding out to her presages of 
 some princely destiny." 
 
 "That bodeth ill!" said Eichaid, thoughtfully. 
 " Wife, my soul misgives me that the hand of 
 Cuthbert Langston is in this."
 
 92 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY, [CHAP. 
 
 Susan started. The idea chimed in with Tibbott'a 
 avoidance of her scrutiny, and also with a certain 
 vague sense she had had of having seen those eyes 
 before. So light-complexioned a man would be easily 
 disguised, and the halt was accounted for by a report 
 that he had had a bad fall when riding to join in the 
 Eising in the North. Nor could there now be any 
 doubt that he was an ardent partisan of the imprisoned 
 Mary, while Eichard had always known his inclination 
 to intrigue. She could only agree with her husband's 
 opinion, and ask what he would do. 
 
 " My duty must be done, kin or no kin," said 
 Eichard, " that is if I find him ; but I look not to do 
 that, since Norman is no doubt off to warn him." 
 
 " I marvel whether he hath really learnt who our 
 Cis can be ?" 
 
 " Belike not ! The hint would only have been 
 thrown out to gain power over her." 
 
 " Said you that you read the cipher ?" 
 
 " Master Frank did so." 
 
 " Would it serve you to read our scroll ?" 
 
 " Ah, woman ! woman ! Why can thy kind never 
 let well alone ? I have sufficient on my hands without 
 reading of scrolls !" 
 
 Humfrey's delight was extreme when he found that 
 he was to ride forth with his father, and half-a-dozen 
 of the earl's yeomen, in search of the supposed witch. 
 They traced her as far as Chesterfield ; but having met 
 the carrier's waggon on the way, they carefully 
 examined Faithful Ekins on his report, but all the 
 youth was clear about was tlie halt and the orange 
 tawny cloak, and after entering Chesterfield, no one 
 knew anything of these tokens. There was a large 
 village belonging to a family of recusants, not far off,
 
 VII.] THE BLAST OF THE WHISTLE. 93 
 
 where the pursuers generally did lose sight of suspicious 
 persons ; and, perhaps, Eichard was relieved, though 
 his son was greatly chagrined. 
 
 The good captain had a sufficient regard for his 
 kinsman to be unwilling to have to unmask him as a 
 traitor, and to be glad that he should have effected an 
 escape, so that, at least, it should be others who should 
 detect him — if Langston indeed it were. 
 
 His next charge was to escort young Babington to 
 Cambridge, and deliver him up to a tutor of his lord- 
 ship's selection, who might draw the Popish fancies out 
 of him. 
 
 Meantime, Antony had been kept close to the 
 house and garden, and not allowed any intercourse 
 with any of the young people, save Hunifrey, except 
 when the master or mistress of the house was present ; 
 but he did not want for occupation, for Master Snig- 
 gius came down, and gave him a long chapter of the 
 Book of Proverbs — chiefly upon loyalty, in the Septua- 
 gint, to learn by heart, and translate into Latin and 
 English as his Saturday's and Sunday's occupation, 
 under pain of a flogging, which was no light thiug from 
 the hands of that redoubted dominie. 
 
 Young Babington was half - flattered and half- 
 frightened at the commotion he had excited. " Am I 
 going to the Tower?" he asked, in a low voice, awe- 
 stricken, yet not without a certain ring of self-import- 
 ance, when he saw his mails brought down, and was 
 bidden to put on his boots and his travelling dress. 
 
 And Captain Talbot had a cruel satisfaction in 
 replying, " No, Master Babington ; the Tower is not 
 for refractory boys. You are going to your school- 
 master." 
 
 But where the school was to be Ei^Jiard kept an
 
 94 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 absolute secret by special desire, in oider that no com- 
 munication should be kept up through any of the 
 household. He was to avoid Chats worth, and to return 
 as soon as possible to endeavour to trace the supposed 
 huckster-woman at Chesterfield. 
 
 When once away from home, he ceased to treat 
 young Babington as a criminal, but rode in a friendly 
 manner with him through lanes and over moors, till 
 the young fellow began to thaw towards him, and even 
 went so far as to volunteer one day tliat he would not 
 have brought Mistress Cicely into the matter if there 
 had been any other sure way of getting the letter 
 delivered in his absence. 
 
 "Ah, boy!" returned Richard, "when once we 
 swerve from the open and direct paths, there is no saying 
 into what tangles we may bring ourselves and others." 
 
 Antony winced a little, and said, " Whoever says I 
 lied, lies in his throat." 
 
 "No one hath said thou wert false in word, but 
 how as to thy deed ? " 
 
 " Sir," said Antony, " surely when a high emprise 
 and great right is to be done, there is no need to halt 
 over such petty quibbles." 
 
 " Master P3abington, no great right was ever done 
 through a little wrong. Depend on it, if you cannot 
 aid without a breach of trust, it is the sure sign that 
 it is not the will of God that you should be the one to 
 do it." 
 
 Captain Talbot mused whether he should convince 
 or only weary the lad by an argument he had once 
 heard in a sermon, that the force of Satan's temptation 
 to our blessed Lord, when showiug Him all the king- 
 doms of the world, must have been the absolute and 
 immediate vanishing of all kinds of evil, by a voluntary
 
 VII.] THE BLAST OF THE WHISTLE. 95 
 
 abdication on the part of the Prince of this world, in- 
 stead not only of the coming anguish of the strife, but 
 of the long, long, often losiug, battle which has been 
 waging ever since. Yet for this great achievement He 
 would not commit the moment's sin. He was just about 
 to begin when Antony broke in, " Then, sir, you do 
 deem it a great wrong?" 
 
 " That I leave to wiser heads tlian mine," returned 
 the sailor. " My duty is to obey my Lord, his duty is 
 to obey her Grace. That is all a plain man needs to 
 see. 
 
 " But an if the true Queen be thus mewed up, sir ?" 
 asked Antony. Eichard was too wise a man to threaten 
 the suggestion down as rank treason, well knowing that 
 thus he should never root it out. 
 
 " Look you here, Antony," he said ; " who ought 
 to reign is a question of birth, such as neither of us 
 can understand nor judge. But we know thus much, 
 that her Grace, Queen Elizabeth, hath been crowned and 
 anointed and received oaths of fealty as her due, and 
 that is quite enough for any honest man." 
 
 "Even when she keeps in durance the Queen, who 
 came as her guest in dire distress ?" 
 
 " Nay, Master Antony, you are not old enough to 
 remember that the durance began not until the Queen 
 of Scots tried to form a party for herself among the 
 English liegemen. And didst thou know, thou simple 
 lad, what the letter bore, which thou didst carry, and 
 what it would bring on this peaceful land ?" 
 
 Antony looked a little startled when he heard of 
 the burning of the kennel, but he averred that Don 
 John was a gallant prince. 
 
 " I have seen more than one gallant Spaniard under 
 whose power I should grieve to see any friend of mine."
 
 96 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 All the rest of the way Pdchard Talbot entertained 
 the young gentleman with stories of his own voyages 
 and adventures, into wliich he managed to bring traits 
 of Spanish cruelty and barbarity as shown in the Low 
 Countries, such as, without actually drawing the 
 moral every time, might show what was to be ex- 
 pected if Mary of Scotland and Don John of Austria 
 were to reign over England, armed with the Inquisition. 
 
 Antony asked a good many questions, and when he 
 found that the captain had actually been an eye-witness 
 of the state of a country harried by the Spaniards, he 
 seemed a good deal struck. 
 
 " I think if I had the training of him I could make 
 a loyal Englishman of him yet," said Eichard Talbot 
 to his wife on his return. " But I fear me there is 
 that in his heart and his conscience which will only 
 grow, while yonder sour-faced doctor, with whom I had 
 to leave him at Cambridge, preaches to him of the 
 perdition of Pope and Papists." 
 
 " If his mother were indeed a concealed Papist," 
 said Susan, " such sermons will only revolt the poor 
 child." 
 
 " Yea, truly. If my Lord wanted to make a plotter 
 and a Papist of the boy he could scarce find a better 
 means. I myself never could away with yonder lady's 
 blandishments. But when he thinks of her in con- 
 trast to yonder divine, it would take a stronger head 
 than his not to be led away. The best chance for 
 him is that the stir of the world about him may put 
 captive princesses out of his head."
 
 viil] the key of the cipher. 97 
 
 CHAPTEE Yin. 
 
 THE KEY OF THE CIPHEE. 
 
 Where is the man who does not persuade himself that 
 when he gratifies his own curiosity he does so for the 
 sake of his womankind ? So Richard Talbot, having 
 made his protest, waited two days, but when next he 
 had any leisure moments before him, on a Sunday 
 evening, he said to his wife, " Sue, what hast thou done 
 with that scroll of Cissy's ? I trow thou wilt not rest 
 till thou art convinced it is but some lying horoscope 
 or Popish charm." * 
 
 Susan had in truth been resting in perfect quiet- 
 ness, being extremely busy over her spinning, so as to 
 be ready for the weaver who came round periodically 
 to direct the more artistic portions of domestic work. 
 However, she joyfully produced the scroll from the 
 depths of the casket where she kept her chief treasures, 
 and her spindle often paused in its dance as she watched 
 her husband over it, with his elbows on the table and 
 his hands in his hair, from whence he only removed 
 them now and then to set down a letter or two by way 
 of experiment. She had to be patient, for she heard 
 nothing that night but that he believed it was French, 
 that the father of deceits himself might be puzzled 
 with the thing, and tliat she might as well ask him 
 
 H
 
 98 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 for his head at once as propose his consulting Master 
 Francis. 
 
 The next night he unfolded it with many a groan, 
 and would say nothing at all ; but he sat up late and 
 waked in early dawn to pore over it again, and on the 
 third day of study he uttered a loud exclamation of 
 dismay, but he ordered Susan off to bed in the midst, 
 and did not utter anything but a perplexed groan or 
 two when he followed her much later. 
 
 It was not till the next night that she heard any- 
 thmg, and then, in the darkness, he began, " Susan, 
 thou art a good wife and a discreet woman." 
 
 Perhaps her heart leapt as she thought to herself, 
 " At last it is coming, I knew it would !" but she only 
 made some innocent note of attention. 
 
 " Thou hast asked no questions, nor tried to pry 
 into this unhappy mystery," he went on. 
 
 " I knew you would tell me what was fit for me to 
 hear," she replied. 
 
 " Fit ! It is fit for no one to hear ! Yet I needs 
 must take counsel with thee, and thou hast shown thou 
 canst keep a close mouth so far." 
 
 " Concerns it our Cissy, husband ?" 
 
 " Ay does it. Our Cissy, indeed ! Wliat wouldst 
 say. Sue, to hear she was daughter to the lady 
 yonder." 
 
 " To the Queen of Scots ?" 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" fairly grasping her to hinder the 
 words from being uttered above her breath. 
 
 "And her father?" 
 
 " That villain. Both well, of course. Poor lassie, 
 she is ill fathered ! " 
 
 " You may say so. Is it in the ssroU ? " 
 
 "Ay! so far as I can unravel it; but besides the
 
 VIII.] THE KEY OF THE CIPHER. 99 
 
 cipher no doubt much was left for the poor woman to 
 tell that was lost in the wreck." 
 
 And he went on to explain that the scroll was a 
 letter to the Abbess of Soissons, who was aunt to 
 Queen Mary, as was well known, since an open corre- 
 spondence was kept up through the French ambassador. 
 This letter said that " our trusty Alison Hepburn " 
 would tell how in secrecy and distress Queen Maiy 
 had given birth to this poor child in Lochleven, and 
 how she had been conveyed across the lake while only 
 a few hours old, after being hastily baptized by the 
 name of Bride, one of the patron saints of Scotland. She 
 had been nursed in a cottage for a few weeks till the 
 Queen had made her first vain attempt to escape, after 
 which Mary had decided on sending her with her nurse 
 to Dumbarton Castle, whence Lord Flemyng would 
 despatch her to France. The Abbess was implored to 
 shelter her, in complete ignorance of her birth, until 
 such time as her mother should resume her liberty and 
 her throne. " Or if," the poor Queen said, " I perish in 
 the hands of my enemies, you will deal with her as my 
 uncles of Guise and Lorraine think fit, since, should her 
 unhappy little brother die in the rude hands of yonder 
 traitors, she may bring the true faith back to both 
 realms." 
 
 "Ah !" cried Susan, with a sudden gasp of dismay, as 
 she bethought her that the child was indeed heiress to 
 both realms after the young King of Scots. " But has 
 there been no quest after her? Do they deem her lost?" 
 
 " No doubt they do. Either all hands were lost in 
 the Bride of Dunhar, or if any of the crew escaped, 
 they would report the loss of nurse and child. The 
 few who know that the little one was lorn believe her 
 to have perished. None will ever ask for her. They
 
 100 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP 
 
 deem that she lias been at the bottom of the sea these 
 twelve years or more." 
 
 " And you would still keep the knowledge to our- 
 selves ?" asked his wife, in a tone of relief. 
 
 " I would I knew it not myself ! " sighed Eichard. 
 " Would that I could blot it out of my mind." 
 
 " It were far happier for the poor maid herself to 
 remain no one's child but ours," said Susan. 
 
 " In sooth it is ! A drop of royal blood is in these 
 days a mere drop of poison to them that have the ill 
 luck to inherit it. As my lord said the other day, it 
 brings the headsman's axe after it." 
 
 " And our boy Humfrey calls himself contracted 
 to her ! " 
 
 " So long as we let the secret die with us that can 
 do her no ill. Happily the wench favours not her 
 mother, save sometimes in a certain lordly carriage of 
 the head and shoulders. She is like enough to some 
 of the Scots retinue to make me think she must take 
 her face from her father, the villain, who, some one 
 told me, was beetle-browed and swarthy." 
 
 "Lives he still?" 
 
 " So 'tis thought, but somewhere in prison in the 
 north. There have been no tidings of his death ; but 
 my Lady Queen, you'll remember, treats the marriage as 
 nought, and has made offer of herself for the misfortune 
 of the Duke of Norfolk, ay, and of this Don John, 
 and I know not whom besides." 
 
 " She would not have done that had she known 
 that our Cis was alive." 
 
 " Mayhap she would, mayhap not. I believe my- 
 self she would do anything short of disowning hei 
 Popery to get out of prison ; but as matters stand I 
 doubt me whether Cis "
 
 VIII.] THE KEY OF THE CIPHER. 101 
 
 " The Lady Bride Hepburn," suggested Susan. 
 
 " Pshaw, poor child, I misdoubt me whetlier they 
 would own her claim even to that name." 
 
 " And they might put her in prison if they did," 
 said Susan. 
 
 'They would be sure to do so, sooner or later. 
 Here has my lord been recounting in his trouble about 
 my lady's fine match for her Bess, all that hath come 
 of mating with royal blood, the very least disaster 
 being poor Lady Mary Grey's 1 Kept in ward for 
 life ! It is a cruel matter. I would that I had 
 known the cipher at first. Then she might either have 
 been disposed of at the Queen's will, or have been sent 
 safe to this nunnery at Soissons." 
 
 " To be bred a Papist ! Oh fie, husband ! " 
 
 " And to breed dissension in the kingdoms ! " added 
 her husband. " It is best so far for the poor maiden 
 herself to have thy tender hand over her than that of 
 any queen or abbess of them all." 
 
 " Shall we then keep all things as they are, and 
 lock this knowledge in our own hearts ?" asked Susan 
 hopefully. 
 
 " To that am I mightily inclined," said Pichard. 
 " Were it blazed abroad at once, thou and I might be 
 made out guilty of I know not what for concealing it ; 
 and as to the maiden, she would either be put in close 
 ward with her mother, or, what would be more likely, 
 had up to court to be watched, and flouted, and spied 
 upon, as were the two poor ladies — sisters to the Lady 
 Jane — ere they made their lot hopeless by marrying. 
 Nay, I have seen those who told me that poor Lady 
 Katherine was scarce worse bested in the Tower than 
 she was while at court." 
 
 " My poor Cis ! No, no ! The only cause for which
 
 102 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CH.*r. 
 
 I could bear to yield her up would be the thought that 
 she would bring comfort to the heart of the poor 
 captive mother who hath the best right to her." 
 
 " Forsooth ! I suspect her poor captive mother 
 would scarce be pleased to find this witness to her ill- 
 advised marriage in existence." 
 
 " Nor would she be permitted to be with her." 
 
 " Assuredly not. Moreover, what could she do with 
 the poor child ? " 
 
 " Eear her in Popery," exclaimed Susan, to whom 
 the word was terrible. 
 
 " Yea, and make her hand secure as the bait to 
 some foreign prince or some English traitor, who would 
 fain overthrow Queen and Church." 
 
 Susan shuddered. " Oh yes ! let us keep the poor 
 child to ourselves. I could not give her up to such 
 a lot as that. And it might imperil you too, my hus- 
 band. I should like to get up instantly and burn the 
 scroll." 
 
 "I doubt me whether that were expedient," said 
 Eichard. " Suppose it were in the course of providence 
 that the young King of Scots should not live, then would 
 this maid be the means of uniting the two kingdoms 
 in the true and Eeformed faith ! Heaven forefend that 
 he should be cut off, but meseemeth that we have no 
 right to destroy the evidence that may one day be a 
 precious thing to the kingdom at large." 
 
 "No chance eye could read it even were it dis- 
 covered ?" said Susan. 
 
 " No, mdeed. Thou knowest how I strove in vain 
 to read it at first, and even now, when Frank Talbot 
 unwittingly gave me the key, it was days before I could 
 fully read it. It will tell no tales, sweet wife, that 
 can prejudice any one, so we will l(»t it be, even with
 
 vhl] the key of the cipher. 103 
 
 the baby clouts. So now to sleep, with no more 
 thouglits on the matter." 
 
 That was easy to say, but Susan lay awake long, 
 pondering over the wonder, and only slept to dream 
 strange dreams of queens and princesses, ay, and 
 worse, for she finally awoke with a scream, thinking 
 her husband was on the scaffold, and that Humfrey 
 and Cis were walking up the ladder, hand in hand 
 with their necks bared, to follow him ! 
 
 There was no need to bid her hold her tongue. 
 She regarded the secret with dread and horror, and a 
 sense of something amiss which she could not quite 
 define, though she told herself she was only acting 
 in obedience to her husband, and indeed her judgment 
 went along with his. 
 
 Often she looked at the unconscious Cis, studying 
 whether the child's parentage could be detected in her 
 features. But she gave promise of being of larger 
 frame than her mother, who had the fine limbs and 
 contour of her Lorraine ancestry, whereas Cis did, 
 as Eichard said, seem to have the sturdy outlines of 
 the Borderer race from whom her father came. She 
 was round-faced too, and sunburnt, with deep gray 
 eyes under black straight brows, capable of frowning 
 heavily. She did not look likely ever to be the 
 fascinating beauty which all declared her mother to 
 be — though those who saw the captive at Sheffield, 
 believed the charm to be more in indefinable grace 
 than in actual features, — in a certain wonderful 
 smile and sparkle, a mixed pathos and archness which 
 seldom failed of its momentary effect, even upon 
 thos* who most rebelled against it. Poor little Cis, a 
 sturdy girl of twelve or thirteen, playing at ball with 
 little Ned on the terrace, and coming with tardy steps
 
 104 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 to her daily task of spinning, had little of the princess 
 about her ; and yet when she sat down, and the manage- 
 ment of distaff and thread threw her shoulders back, 
 there was something in the poise of her small head and 
 the gesture of her hand that forcibly recalled the Queen. 
 Moreover, all the boys around were at her beck and 
 call, not only Humfrey and poor Antony Babington, 
 but Cavendishes, Pierrepoints, all the young pages and 
 grandsons who dwelt at castle or lodge, and attended 
 Master Sniggius's schooL Nay, the dominie himself, 
 though owning that Mistress Cicely promoted idleness 
 and inattention among his pupils, had actually 
 volunteered to come down to Bridgefield twice a week 
 himself to prevent her from forgetting her Lilly's gram- 
 mar and her Caesar's Commentaries, an attention with 
 which this young lady would willingly have dispensed. 
 Stewart, Lorraine, Hepburn, the blood of all com- 
 bined was a perilous inheritance, and good Susan 
 Talbot's instinct was that the young girl whom she 
 loved truly like her own daughter would need all the 
 more careful and tender watchfulness and training to 
 overcome any tendencies that might descend to her. 
 Pity increased her affection, and even while in ordinary 
 household life it was easy to forget who and what the 
 girl really was, yet Cis was conscious that she was 
 admitted to the intimacy and privileges of an elder 
 daughter, and made a companion and friend, while her 
 contemporaries at the Manor-house were treated as 
 children, and rated roundly, their fingers tapped with 
 fans, their shoulders even whipped, whenever they 
 transgressed. Cis did indeed live raider equal re- 
 straint, but it was the wise and gertle restraint of 
 firm influence and constant watchfulness, which took 
 from her the wish to resist.
 
 IX,] UNQUIET. 105 
 
 CHAPTEE IX, 
 
 UNQUIET. 
 
 Bridgefield was a peaceable household, and the castle 
 and manor beyond might envy its calm. 
 
 From the time of the marriage of Elizabeth Caven- 
 dish with the young Earl of Lennox all the shreds 
 of comfort which had remained to the unfortunate 
 Earl had vanished. First he had to clear himself 
 before Queen Elizabeth from having been a consent- 
 ing party, and then he found his wife furious with 
 him at his displeasure at her daughter's aggrandise- 
 ment. Moreover, whereas she had formerly been 
 on terms of friendly gossiphood with the Scottish 
 Queen, she now went over to the Lennox side because 
 her favourite daughter had married among them ; and 
 it was evident that from that moment all amity 
 between her and the prisoner was at an end. 
 
 She was enraged that her husband would not at once 
 change his whole treatment of the Queen, and treat her 
 as such guilt deserved ; and with the illogical dulness 
 of a passionate woman, she utterly scouted and failed to 
 comprehend the argument that the unhappy Mary was, 
 to say the least of it, no more guilty now than when 
 she came into their keeping, and that to altei their de- 
 meanour towards her would be unjust and unreasonabla
 
 106 UNKNOWN TO HISIORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " My Lady is altogether beyond reason," said Captain 
 Talbot, returning one evening to his wife ; " neither 
 my Lord nor her daughter can do ought with her ; so 
 puffed up is she with this marriage ! Moreover, she is 
 hotly angered that young Babingtoa should have l^een 
 sent away from her retinue withouv, notice to her, and 
 demands our Humfrey in his stead as a page." 
 
 " He is surely too old for a page !" said his mother, 
 thinking of her tall well-grown son of fifteen. 
 
 " So said I," returned Richard. " I had sooner it 
 were Diccon, and so I told his lordship." 
 
 Before Richard could speak for them, the two boys 
 came in, eager and breathless. " Father !" cried Hum- 
 frey, " who think you is at Hull ? Wliy, none other 
 than your old friend and shipmate. Captain Frobisher !" 
 
 " Ha ! Martm Frobisher ! Who told thee, Hum- 
 frey ?" 
 
 " Faithful Ekins, sir, who had it from the Doncaster 
 carrier, who saw Captain Frobisher liimself, and was 
 asked by him if you, sir, were not somewhere in 
 Yorkshire, and if so, to let you know that he will be 
 in Hull till May-day, getting men together for a voy- 
 age to the northwards, where there is gold to be had 
 for the picking — and if you had a likely son or two, 
 now was the time to make their fortunes, and show 
 them the world. He said, auy way you might ride to 
 see an old comrade." 
 
 " A long message for two carriers," said Richard Tal- 
 bot, smiling, "but Martin never was a scribe !" 
 
 " But, sir, you will let me go," cried Humfrey, 
 eagerly. " I mean, I pray you to let me go. Dear 
 mother, say nought against it," entreated the youth. 
 " Cis, think of my brmging thee home a gold bracelet 
 like mother's."
 
 IX.] UNQUIET. 107 
 
 "What," said his father, "when my lady has just 
 craved thee for a page." 
 
 " A page ! said Humfrey, with infinite contempt — 
 " to hear all theii tales and bickerings, hold skeins of 
 silk, amble mincingly along galleries, be begged to bear 
 messages that may have more in them than one knows., 
 and be noted for a bear if one refuses." 
 
 The father and Cis laughed, the mother looked 
 unhappy. 
 
 " So Martin is at Hull, is he ?" said Richard, mus- 
 ingly. " If my Lord can give me leave for a week or 
 fortnight, methinks I must ride to see the stout old 
 knave." 
 
 " And oh, sweet father ! prithee take me with you," 
 entreated Humfrey, " if it be only to come back again. 
 I have not seen the sea since we came here, and yet 
 the sound is in my ears as I fall asleep. I entreat 
 of you to let me come, good my father." 
 
 " And, good father, let me come," exclaimed Diccon ; 
 " I have never even seen the sea !" 
 
 " And dear, sweet fatlier, take me," entreated little 
 Ned. 
 
 " Nay," cried Cis, " what should I do ? Here is 
 Antony Babington borne off to Cambridge, and you all 
 wanting to leave me." 
 
 "I'll come home better worth than he!" muttered 
 Humfrey, who tliouglit he saw consent on his father's 
 brow, and drew her aside into the deep window. 
 
 " You'll come back a rude sailor, smelling of pitch 
 and tar, and Antony will be a well-bred, point-device 
 scholar, who will know how to give a lady his hand," 
 said the teasing girl. 
 
 And so the playful war was carried on, while the 
 father, having silenced and dismissed the two younger
 
 108 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAF 
 
 lads, expressed his intention of obtaining leave of 
 absence, if possible, from the Earl." 
 
 " Yea," he added to his wife, " I shall even let 
 Humfrey go v^ith me. It is time he looked beyond 
 the walls of this place, which is little better than a 
 prison." 
 
 " And will you let him go on this strange voyage ?" 
 she asked wistfully, " he, our first-born, and our heir." 
 
 " For that, dame, remember his namesake, my 
 poor brother, was the one who stayed at home, I the one 
 to go forth, and here am I now !" The lad's words 
 may have set before thee weightier perils in yonder 
 park than he is like to meet among seals and bears 
 under honest old Martin." 
 
 " Yet here he has your guidance," said Susan. 
 
 " Who knows how they might play on his honour 
 as to talebearing ? Nay, good wife, when thou hast 
 thought it over, thou wilt see that far fouler shoals 
 and straits lie up yonder, than in the free open sea that 
 God Almighty made. Martin is a devout and godly 
 man, who hath matins and evensong on board each 
 day when the weather is not too foul, and looks well 
 that there be no ill-doings in his ship ; and if he have 
 a berth for thy lad, it will be a better school for him 
 than where two-thirds of the household are raging 
 against one another, and the third ever striving to 
 corrupt and outwit the rest. I am weary of it all ! 
 Would that I could once get into blue water again, 
 and leave it all behind ! " 
 
 " You will not ! Oh ! you will not !" implored 
 Susan. " Remember, my dear, good lord, how you said 
 all your duties lay at home." 
 
 " I remember, my good housewife. Thou needst 
 not fear for me. But there is little time to spare. If
 
 IX.] UNQUIET. 109 
 
 I am to see mine old friend, I must get speecli of my 
 Lord to-night, so as to be on horsebaclv to-morrow. 
 Saddle me Brown Dumpling, boys." 
 
 And as the boys went off", persuading Cis, who went 
 coyly protesting that the paddock was damp, yet still 
 following after them, he added, " Yea, Sue, considering 
 all, it is better those two were apart for a year or so, 
 till we see better what is this strange nestling that we 
 have reared. Ay, thou art like the mother sparrow 
 that hath bred up a cuckoo and doteth on it, yet it 
 mateth not with her brood." 
 
 " It casteth them out," said Susan, " as thou art 
 doing now, by your leave, husband." 
 
 " Only for a flight, gentle mother," he answered, 
 " only for a flight, to prove meanwhile wliether there 
 be the making of a simple household bird, or of a 
 ]iawk tliat might tear her mate to pieces, in yonder 
 nestling." 
 
 Susan was too dutiful a wife to say more, though 
 her motherly heart was wrung almost as much at the 
 implied distrust of her adopted daughter as by the 
 sudden parting with her first-born to the dangers of 
 the northern seas. She could better enter into her 
 husband's fears of the temptations of page life at Shef- 
 field, and being altogether a wife, " bonner and bough- 
 some," as her marriage vow held it, she applied herself 
 and Cis to the choosing of the shirts and the crimping 
 of the ruifs that were to appear in Hull, if, for there 
 was this hope at the bottom of her heart, my Lord might 
 refuse leave of absence to his " gentleman porter." 
 
 The hope was fallacious ; Pdchard reported that my 
 Lord was so much relieved to find that he had detected 
 no fresh conspiracy, as to be willing to grant hiui a 
 fortnight's leave, and even had said with a sigh that
 
 110 UK KNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 he was in the right on't fihout his son, for Sheffield 
 was more of a school for plotting than for chivalry. 
 
 It was a point of honour with every good house- 
 wife to have a store of linen eqiial to any emergency, 
 and, indeed, as there were no washing days in the 
 winter, the stock of personal body -linen was at all 
 times nearly a sufficient outfit ; so the main of Hum- 
 frey's shirts were to he despatched by a carrier, in the 
 trust that they would reach him before the expedition 
 should sail. 
 
 There was then little to delay the father and son, 
 after the mother, with fast -gathering tears resolutely 
 forced back, had packed and strapped their mails, with 
 Cis's help, Humfrey standiug by, booted and spurred, 
 and talking fast of the wonders he should see, and the 
 gold and ivory he should bring home, to hide the 
 qualms of home-sickness, and mother-sickness, he was 
 already beginning to feel ; and maybe to get Cis to 
 pronounce that then she should think more of him than 
 of Antony Babington with his airs and graces. Wist- 
 fully did the lad watch for some such tender assurance, 
 but Cis seemed all provoking brilliancy and teasing. 
 " She knew he would be back over soon. Oh no, he 
 would never go to sea ! She feared not. Mr. Frobisher 
 would have none of such awkward lubbers. More's 
 the pity. There would be some peace to get to do her 
 broidery, and leave to play on the virginals when he 
 was gone." 
 
 But when the horsemen had disappeared down the 
 avenue, Cis hid herself in a corner and cried as if her 
 heart would break. 
 
 She cried again behind the back of the tall settle 
 when the father came back alone, full of praises of 
 Captain "Frobisher, his ship, and his corapany, and his
 
 IX.] UNQUIET. Ill 
 
 assurances that he would watch over Humfrey like his 
 own son. 
 
 Meantime the domestic storms at the park were 
 such that Master Eichard and his wife were not sorry 
 that the boy was not growing up in tlie midst of them, 
 though the Countess rated Susan severely for her 
 ingratitude. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was of course much angered at the 
 Lennox match, and the Earl had to write letter after 
 letter to clear himself from any participation in bringing 
 it about. Queen Mary also wrote to clear herself of it, 
 and to show that she absolutely regretted it, as she had 
 small esteem for Bess Cavendish. Moreover, though 
 Lady Shrewsbury's friendship might not be a very 
 pleasant thing, it was at least better than her hostility. 
 However, she was not much at Sheffield. Not only 
 was she very angry with her husband, but Queen 
 Elizabeth had strictly forbidden the young Lord Lennox 
 from coming under the same roof with his royal sister- 
 in-law. He was a weakly youth, and his wife's health 
 failed immediately after her marriage, so that Lady 
 Shrewsbury remained almost constantly at Chatsworth 
 with her darling. 
 
 Gilbert Talbot, who was the chief peacemaker of the 
 family, went to and fro, wrote letters and did his best, 
 which would have been more effective but for Mary, his 
 wife, who, no doubt, detailed all the gossip of Sheffield at 
 Chatsworth, as she certainly amused Sheffield with 
 stories of her sister Bess as a royal countess full of 
 airs and humours, and her mother treating her, if not 
 as a queen, at least on the high road to become one, 
 and how the haughty dame of Shrewsbury ran will- 
 ingly to pick up her daughter's kercliief, and stood 
 over the fire stirring the posset, rather than let it fail
 
 112 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CIIAP. 
 
 to tempt the appetite which became more dainty by 
 bein,i( cossetted. 
 
 The difference made between Lady Lennox and her 
 elder sisters was not a little nettling to Dame Mary 
 Talbot, who held that some consideration was her due, 
 as the proud mother of the only grandson of the house 
 of Shrewsbury, little George, who was just able to be 
 put on horseback in the court, and say he was riding 
 to see " Lady Danmode," and to drink the health of 
 " Lady Danmode " at his meals. 
 
 Alas ! the little hope of the Talbots suddenly faded. 
 One evening after supper a message came down in 
 haste to beg for the aid of Mistress Susan, who, though 
 much left to the seclusion of Bridgefield in prosperous 
 days, was always a resource in trouble or difficulty. 
 Little George, then two and a half years old, had been 
 taken suddenly ill after a supper on marchpane and 
 plum broth, washed down by Christmas ale. Convul- 
 sions had come on, and the skill of Queen Mary's 
 apothecary had only gone so far as to bleed him. 
 Susan arrived only just in time to see the child breathe 
 his last sigh, and to have his mother, wild with 
 tumultuous clamorous grief, put into her hands for 
 such soothing and comforting as might be possible, and 
 the good and tender woman did her best to turn the 
 mother's thoughts to something higher and better than 
 the bcwading at one moment " her pretty boy," with a 
 sort of animal sense of bereavement, and the next 
 with lamentations over the honours to which he would 
 have succeeded. It was of little use to speak to her 
 of the eternal glories of which he was now secure, for 
 Mary Talbot's sorrow was chiefly selfish, and was con- 
 nected with the loss of her prc-eniinen(,e as parent to 
 the heir-male.
 
 IX.] UNQUIET. 113 
 
 However, the grief of those times was apt to expend 
 itself quickly, and when little George's coffin, smothered 
 under heraldic devices and funeral escutcheons, had 
 been bestowed in the family vault, Dame Mary soon 
 revived enough to take a warm interest in the lords 
 s^ho were next afterwards sent down to hold confeKsnces 
 with the captive ; and her criticism of the fashion of their 
 ruffs and doublets was as animated as ever. Another 
 grief, however, soon fell upon the family. Lady Len- 
 nox's ailments proved to be no such trifles as her sisters 
 and sisters-in-law had been pleased to suppose, and 
 before the year was out, she had passed away from all 
 her ambitious hopes, leaving a little daughter. The 
 Earl took a brief leave of absence to visit his lady in 
 her affliction at Chatsworth, and to stand godfather to 
 the motherless infant. 
 
 " She will soon be fatherless, too," said Eichard 
 Talbot on his return to Bridgefield, after attending his 
 lord on this expedition. "My young Lord Lennox, 
 poor youth, is far gone in the wasting sickness, as well 
 as distraught with grief, and he could scarcely stand to 
 receive my Lord." 
 
 " Our poor lady !" said Susan, " it pities me to think 
 what hopes she had fixed upon that young couple whom 
 she had mated together." 
 
 " I doubt me whether her hopes be ended now," 
 quoth Eichard. " What think you she hath fixed on 
 as the name of the poor puling babe yonder ? They 
 have called her Arbel or Arabella." 
 
 " Arabella, say you ? I never heard such a name. 
 It is scarce Christian. Is it out of a romaunt ?" 
 
 " Better that it were. It is out of a pedigree. They 
 have got the whole genealogy of the house of Lennox 
 blazoned fair, with crowns and coronets and coats of 
 
 I
 
 114 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 arms hung up in the hall at Chatsworth going up on 
 the one hand through Sir ^neas of Troy, and on the 
 other hand through Woden to Adam and Eve ! Pass 
 for all before the Stewart line became Kings of Scots ! 
 Well, it seems that these Lennox Stewarts sprang from 
 one Walter, who was son to King Eobert II., and that 
 the mother of this same Walter was called Arnhild, or 
 as the Scots here call it Annaple, but the scholars have 
 made it into Arabella, and so my young lady is to be 
 called. They say it was a special fancy of the young 
 Countess's." 
 
 " So I should guess. My lady would fill her head 
 with such thoughts, and of this poor youth being next 
 of kin to the young Scottish king, and to our own 
 Queen." 
 
 " He is not next heir to Scotland even, barring a 
 little one we wot of, Dame Sue. The Hamiltons stand 
 between, being descended from a daughter of King 
 James I." 
 
 " So methought I had heard. Are they not Papists ?" 
 
 " Yea ! Ah ha, sweetheart, there is another of the 
 house of Hardwicke as fain to dreams of greatness for 
 her child as ever was the Countess, though she may 
 be more discreet in the telling of them." 
 
 " Ah me, dear sir, I dreamt not of greatness for 
 splendour's sake — 'twere scarce for the dear child's 
 happiness. I only thought of what you once said, 
 that she may be the instrument of preserving the true 
 religion." 
 
 " And if so, it can only be at a mighty cost!" said 
 her husband. 
 
 '* Verily," said Susan, " glad am I that you sent our 
 Plumfrey from her. Would that nought had ever 
 passed between the children !"
 
 IX.] UNQUIET. 115 
 
 " They were but cliildren," said RicLaid ; " and there 
 was no contract between them." 
 
 "*I fear me there was what Hiimfrey will hold to, 
 or know good reason why," said his mother. 
 
 " And were the young King of Scots married and 
 father to a goodly heir, there is no reason he should 
 not hold to it," rejoined Eichard. 
 
 However Richard was still anxious to keep his son 
 engaged at a distance from Sheffield. There was great 
 rejoicing and thankfulness when one of the many 
 messengers constantly passing between London and 
 Sheffield brought a packet from Humfrey, whose ship 
 had put into the Thames instead of the Humber. 
 
 The packet contained one of the black stones which 
 the science of the time expected to transmute into gold, 
 also some Esquimaux trinkets made of bone, and a few 
 shells. These were for the mother and Cis, and there 
 were also the tusks of a sea-elephant which Humfrey 
 would lay up at my Lord's London lodgings till his 
 father sent tidings what should be done with them, and 
 whether he should come home at once by sea to Hull, 
 or if, as he much desired to do, he might join an expe- 
 dition which was fitting out for the Spanish Main, where 
 he was assured that much more both of gold and hon- 
 our was to be acquired than in the cold northern seas, 
 where nothing was to be seen for the fog at most times, 
 and when it cleared only pigmies, with their dogs, white 
 beais, and seals, also mountains of ice bigger than any 
 church, blue as my lady's best sapj)liires, green as her 
 emeralds, sparkling as her diamonds, but ready to be 
 the destruction of the ships. 
 
 " One there was," wrote Humfrey, " that I could 
 have thought was no other than tlie City that the 
 blessed St. John saw descending from Heaven, so fair
 
 116 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP, 
 
 was it to look on, but they cried out that it was rathei 
 a City of Destruction, and when we had got out of the 
 current where it was bearing down on us, our lioblo 
 captain pijDed all hands up to prayers, and gave thanks 
 for our happy deliverance therefrom." 
 
 Susan breathed a thanksgiving as her husband read, 
 and he forbore to tell her of the sharks, the tornadoes, 
 and the fevers which might make the tropical seas more 
 perilous than the Arctic. No Elizabethan mariner had 
 any scruples respecting piracy, and so long as the cap- 
 tain was a godly man who kept up strict discipline on 
 board. Master Eichard held the quarterdeck to be a 
 much more wholesome place than the Manor-house, 
 and much preferred the humours of the ship to those 
 of any other feminine creature ; for, as to his Susan, he 
 always declared that she was the only woman who had 
 none. 
 
 So she accepted his decision, and saw the wisdom 
 of it, though her tender heart deeply felt the disap- 
 pointment. Tenderly she packed up the shirts which 
 she and Cis had finished, and bestrewed them with 
 lavender, which, as she said, while a tear dropped with 
 the gray blossoms, would bring the scent of home to 
 the boy. 
 
 Cis affected to be indifferent and offended. "Mas- 
 ter Humfrey might do as he chose. She did not care 
 if he did prefer pitch and tar, and whale blubber and 
 grease, to hawks and houuds, and lords and ladies. She 
 was sure she wanted no more great lubberly lads — with 
 a sly cut at Diccon — to tangle her silk, and torment 
 her to bait their hooks. She was well quit of any one 
 *of them. 
 
 When Diccon proposed that she should write a 
 letter to Humfrey, she declared that she shciuld do no
 
 IX.] UNQUIET. 117 
 
 such thing, since he had never attempted to write to 
 her. In truth Diccon may have made the proposal 
 in order to obtain a companion in misfortune, since 
 Master Sniggius, emulous of the success of other tutors, 
 insisted on his writing to his brother in Latin, and the 
 unfortunate epistle of Eicardus to Onofredus was 
 revised and corrected to the last extremity, and as it 
 was allowed to contain no word unknown to Virgilius 
 Maro, it could not have afforded much delectation to 
 the recipient. 
 
 But when Mrs. Susan had bestowed all the shirts 
 as neatly as possible, on returning to settle them for 
 the last time before wrapping them up for the messen- 
 ger, she felt something hard among them. It was a 
 tiny parcel wrapped in a piece of a fine kerchief, tied 
 round with a tress of dark hair, and within, Susan 
 knew by the feeling, a certain chess rook which had 
 been won by Cis when shooting at the butts a week 
 or two before.
 
 118 UJSKJS'OW:^ TO HISTOKY. [CHAP 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE LADY AEBELL. 
 
 After several weary months of langnishing, Charles 
 Stewart was saved from the miseries which seemed 
 the natural inheritance of his name by sinking into 
 his grave. His funeral was conducted with the 
 utmost magnificence, though the Earl of Shrewsbury 
 declined to be present at it, and shortly after, the 
 Countess intimated her purpose of returning to Sheffield, 
 bringing with her the little orphan, Lady Arabella 
 Stewart. Orders came that the best presence chamber in 
 the Manor-house should be prepared, the same indeed 
 where Queen Mary had been quartered before the 
 lodge had been built for her use. The Earl was 
 greatly perturbed. " Whom can she intend to bring ? " 
 lie went about asking. " If it were the Lady Margaret, 
 it were as much as my head were worth to admit her 
 within the same grounds as this Queen." 
 
 " There is no love lost between the mother-in-law 
 and daughter-in-law," observed his son Gilbert in a 
 consolatory tone. 
 
 " Little good would that do to me, if once it came 
 to tlie ears of her Grace and the Lord Treasurer that 
 both had been my guests ! And if I had to close the 
 gates — though in no other way could I save my life
 
 X.] THE LADY AKBELL. 119 
 
 and liononr — your mother would never forget it. It 
 would be ca.;t up to me for ever. What think you, 
 daughter Talbot ? " 
 
 " Mayhap," said Dame Mary, " my lady mother 
 has had a hint to make ready for her Majesty herself, 
 who hath so often spoken of seeing the Queen of 
 Scots, and might think well to take her unawares." 
 
 This was a formidable suggestion. " Say you so," 
 cried the poor Earl, with an alarm his eye would never 
 have betrayed had Parma himself been within a march 
 of Sheffield, " then w^ere we fairly spent. I am an 
 impoverished man, eaten out of house and lands as it 
 is, and were the Queen herself to come, I might take 
 at once to the beggar's bowl." 
 
 " But think of the honour, good my lord," cried 
 Mary. " Think of all Hallamshire coming to do her 
 homage. Oh, how I should laugh to hear the Mayor 
 stumbling over his address." 
 
 " Laugh, ay," growled the Earl ; *' and how will 
 you laugh when there is not a deer left in the park, 
 nor an ox in the stalls ? " 
 
 " Nay, my Lord," interposed Gilbert, " there is no 
 fear of her Majesty's coming. That post from M. de 
 la Mauvissiere reported her at Greenwich only five 
 days back, and it would take her Majesty a far longer 
 time to make her progress than yonder fellow, who 
 will tell you himself that she had no thoughts of 
 moving." 
 
 " That might only be a feint to be the more sudden 
 with us," said his wife, actuated in part by the diversion 
 of alarming her father-in-law, and in part really fired 
 by the hope of such an effectual enlivenment of the 
 dulness of Sheffield. 
 
 They were all in full family conclave diawn up in
 
 120 UNKNOWN TO HISTOIiY. [CHAP 
 
 the hall for the reception, and Mistress Susan, wlio 
 could not bear to see the Earl so perplexed and 
 anxious, ventured to say that she was quite sure that 
 my Lady Countess would have sent warning forward 
 if indeed she were bringing home such a guest, and at 
 tliat moment the blare of trumpets announced that 
 the cavalcade was approaching. The start "which the 
 Earl gave showed how much his nerves had become 
 affected by his years of custody. Up the long 
 avenue they came, with all the state with which 
 the Earl had conducted Queen Mary to the lodge 
 before she was absolutely termed a prisoner. Hal- 
 berdiers led the procession, horse and foot seemed 
 to form it. The home party stood on the top of the 
 steps watching with much anxiety. There was a 
 closed litter visible, beside which Lady Shrewsbury, 
 in a mourning dress and hood, could be seen riding her 
 favourite bay jDalfrey. No doubt it contained the Lady 
 Margaret, Countess of Lennox ; and the unfortunate Earl, 
 forgetting all his stately dignity, stood uneasily moving 
 from leg to leg, and pulling his long beard, torn 
 between the instincts of hospitality and of loyal obedi- 
 ence, between fear of his wife and fear of the Queen. 
 
 The litter halted at the foot cf the steps, the Earl 
 descended. All he saw v/as the round face of an 
 infant in its nurse's arms, and he turned to "aelp his wife 
 from the saddle, but she waved him aside. " My son 
 Gilbert will aid me, my Lord," said she, " your devoir is 
 to the princess." 
 
 Poor Lord Shrewsbury, his apologies on his tongue, 
 looked into the litter, where he saw the well-known 
 and withered countenance of the family nurse. He also 
 beheld a buxom young female, whose di-ess marked her 
 as a peasant, but before he had time to seek further for
 
 X.] THE LADY AEBELL. 121 
 
 the princess, the tightly rolled chrysalis of a child was 
 thrust ijito his astonished arms, while the round face 
 puckered up instantly with terror at sight of his 
 bearded countenance, and he was greeted with a loud 
 yell. H« looked helplessly round, and his lady was 
 ready at .^nce to relieve him. " My precious ! My 
 sweetheart ! My jewel ! Did he look sour at her and 
 frighten her with his ugsome beard ?" and the like 
 endearments common to grandmothers in all ages. 
 
 " But where is the princess ?" 
 
 " Where ? Where should she be but here ? Her 
 grandame's own precious, royal, queenly little darling !" 
 and as a fresh cry broke out, " Yes, yes ; she shall to 
 her presence chamber. Usher her, Gilbert." 
 
 " Bess's brat !" muttered Dame Mary, in ineffable 
 disappointment. 
 
 Curiosity and the habit of obedience to the Countess 
 carried the entire troop on to the grand apartments on 
 the south side, where Queen Mary had been lodged while 
 the fiction of her guestship had been kept up. Lady 
 Shrewsbury was all the time trying to hush the child, 
 who was quite old enough to be terrified by new faces 
 and new scenes, and who was besides tired and restless 
 in her aw^addling bands, for which she was so nearly 
 too old that she had only been kept in them for greater 
 security upon the rough and dangerous roads. Great 
 was my lady's indignation on reaching the state 
 rooms on finding that no nursery preparations had 
 been made, and her daughter Mary, with a giggle 
 hardly repressed by awe of her mother, stood forth and 
 said, " Why, verily, my lady, we expected some great 
 dame, my Lady Margaret or my Lady Hunsdon at the 
 very least, when you spoke of a princess." 
 
 " And who should it be but one who has both the
 
 122 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 royal blood of England and Scotland in her veins ? " 
 You have not saluted the child to whom you have the 
 honour to be akin, Mary ! On your knee, minion ; I 
 tell you she hath as good or a better chance of wearing 
 a crown as any woman in England." 
 
 " She hath a far better chance of a prison," 
 muttered the Earl, " if all this foolery goes on." 
 
 "What! What is that? What are you calling 
 these honours to my orphan princess ?" cried the lady, 
 but the princess herself here broke in with the lustiest 
 of squalls, and Susan, who was sorry for the child, 
 contrived to insert an entreaty that my lady would 
 permit her to be taken at once to the nursery chamber 
 that had been made ready for her, and let her there be 
 fed, warmed, and undressed at once. 
 
 There was something in the quality of Susan's voice 
 to which people listened, and the present necessity 
 overcame the Countess's desire to assert the dignity of 
 her granddaughter, so she marched out of the room 
 attended by the women, while the Earl and his sons 
 were only too glad to slink away — there is no other word 
 for it, their relief as to the expected visitor having been 
 exchanged for consternation of another description. 
 
 There was a blazing fire ready, and all the baby 
 comforts of the time provided, and poor little Lady 
 Arbell was relieved from her swathing bands, and 
 allowed to stretch her little limbs on her nurse's lap, 
 the one rest really precious to babes of all periods and 
 conditions — but the troubles were not yet over, for the 
 grandmother, glancing rouud, demanded, " Where is the 
 cradle inlaid with pearl ? Why was it not provided ? 
 Bring it here." 
 
 Now this cradle, carved in cedar wood and inlaid 
 with mother-of-pearl, had been a sponsor's gift to poor
 
 X.] THE LADY ARBELL. 123 
 
 little George, the first male heir of the Talbots, and it 
 was ref;ard(5d as a special treasure by his mother, who 
 was both wounded and resentful at the demand, and 
 stood pouting and saying, " It was my son's. It is 
 mine." 
 
 " It belongs to the family. You," to two of the 
 servants, " fetch it here instantly !" 
 
 The ladies of Hardwicke race were not guaid^d in 
 temper or language, and Mary burst into passionate 
 tears and exclamations that Bess's brat should not 
 have her lost George's cradle, and flounced away to get 
 before the servants and lock it up. Lady Shrewsbury 
 would have sprung after her, and have made no scruple 
 of using her fists and nails even on her married 
 daughter, but that she was impeded by a heavy table, 
 and this gave time for Susan to throw herself before 
 her, and entreat her to pause. 
 
 " You, you, Susan Talbot ! You should know better 
 than to take the part of an undutiful, foul-tongued 
 vixen like that. Out of my way, I say !" and as 
 Susan, still on her knees, held the riding-dress, she 
 received a stinging box on the ear. But in her maiden 
 days she had known the weiglit of my lady's hand, and 
 without relaxing her hold, she only entreated : " Hear 
 me, hear me for a little space, my lady. Did you but 
 know how sore her heart is, and how she loved little 
 Master George !" 
 
 " That is no reason she should flout and miscall 
 her dead sister, of whom she was always jealous !" 
 
 " madam, she wept with all her heart for poor 
 Lady Lennox. It is not any evil, but she sets such 
 store by that cradle in which her child died — she 
 keeps it by her bed even now, and her woman told 
 me how, for all she seems gay and blithe by day,
 
 124 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 she weeps over it at niglit, as if her heart would 
 break." 
 
 Lady Shrewsbury was a little softened. " The 
 child died in it ?" she asked. 
 
 " Yea, madam. He had been on his father's knee, 
 and had seemed a little easier, and as if he might 
 sleep, so Sir Gilbert laid him down, and he did but 
 stretch himself out, shiver all over, draw a long breath 
 and the pretty lamb was gone to Paradise!" 
 
 "You saw him, Susan ?" 
 
 " Yea, madam. Dame Mary sent for me, but none 
 could be of any aid where it was the will of Heaven 
 to take him." 
 
 " If I had been there," said the Countess, " I who 
 have brought up eight children and lost none, I should 
 have saved him ! So he died in yonder cedar cradle ! 
 Well, e'en let Mary keep it. It may be that there is 
 infection in the smell of the cedar wood, and that the 
 child will sleep better out of it. It is too late to do 
 aught this evening, but to-morrow the child shall be 
 lodged as befits her birth, in the presence chamber." 
 
 "Ah, madam!" said Susan, "would it be well for 
 the sweet babe if her Majesty's messengers, who be so 
 often at the castle, were to report her so lodged ?" 
 
 " I have a right to lodge my grandchild where and 
 how I please in my own liouse." 
 
 " Yea, madam, that is most true, but you wot how 
 the Queen, treats all who may have any claim to the 
 throne in future times ; and were it reported by any of 
 the spies that are ever about us, how royal honours 
 were paid to the little Lady Arbell, might she not be 
 taken from your ladyship's wardship, and bestowed with 
 those who would not show her such loving care ?" 
 
 The Countess would not show whether this had
 
 X,] THE LADY AEBELL. 125 
 
 any effect on her, or else some sound made by the 
 child attracted her. It was a puny little thing, and 
 she had a true grandmother's affection for it, apart 
 from her absurd pride and ambition, so that she was 
 glad to hold counsel over it with Susan, who had done 
 such justice to her training as to be, in her eyes, a 
 moUier who had sense enough not to let her children 
 waste and die ; a rare merit in those days, and one 
 that Susan could not disclaim, though she knew that 
 it did not properly belong to her. 
 
 Cis had stood by all the time like a little statue, 
 for no one, not even young Lady Talbot, durst sit 
 down uninvited in the presence of Earl or Countess ; 
 but her black brows were bent, her gray eyes intent. 
 
 " Mother," she said, as they went home on their 
 quiet mules, " are great ladies^ always so rudely spoken 
 to one another ?" • 
 
 " I have not seen many great ladies, Cis, and my 
 Lady Countess has always been good to me." 
 
 " Antony said that the Scots Queen and her ladies 
 never storm at one another like my lady and her 
 daughters." 
 
 " Open words do not always go deep, Cis," said the 
 mother. " I had rather know and hear the worst at 
 once." And then her heart smote her as she recol- 
 lected that she might be implying censure of the girl's 
 true mother, as well as defending vrrath and passion, 
 and she added, " Be that as it may, ifc is a happy thing 
 to learn to refrain the tongue."
 
 126 UNKl^'OWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 QUEEN MAEY's PRESENCE CHAMBEB. 
 
 The storm that followed on the instalment of the Lady 
 Arbell at Sheriield was the precursor of many more. 
 Her grandmother did sufficiently awake to the danger 
 of alarming the jealousy of Queen Elizabeth to submit 
 to leave her in the ordinary chambers of the children 
 of the house, and to exact no Extraordinary marks of 
 respect towards the unconscious infant ; but there was 
 no abatement in the Countess's firm belief that an 
 Enghsh-born, English -bred chUd, would have more 
 right to the crown than any " foreign princes," as she 
 contemptuously termed the Scottish Queen and her 
 son. 
 
 Moreover, in her two years' intercourse with the 
 elder Countess of Lennox, who was a gentle-tempered 
 but commonplace woman, she had adopted to the full 
 that unfortunate princess's entire belief in the guilt of 
 Queen Mary, and entertained no doubt that she had 
 been the murderer of Darnley. Old Lady Lennox 
 liad seen no real evidence, and merely believed what 
 she was told by her lord, whose impeachment of Botli- 
 well had been baffled by the Queen in a most 
 suspicious manner. Conversations with this lady had 
 entirely changed Lady Shrewsbury from the friendly
 
 XI.] QUEEN Mary's tkesence chamber. 127 
 
 hostess of her illustrious captive, to be her enemy and 
 persecutor, partly as being convinced of her guilt, 
 partly as regarding her as an obstacle in the path of 
 little Arbell to the throne. So she not only refused 
 to j)ay her respects as usual to " that murtheress,' but 
 she insisted that hei' husband should tighten the bonds 
 of restraint, and cut off all indulgences. 
 
 The Countess was one of the women to whom 
 argument and reason are impossible, and who was en- 
 tirely swayed by her predilections, as well as of so 
 imperious a nature as to brook no opposition, and to 
 be almost always able to sweep every one along with 
 her. 
 
 Her own sons always were of her mind, and her 
 daufvhters might fret and chafe, but were sure to take 
 part with her against every one else outside the Caven- 
 dish family. The idea of being kinsfolk to the future 
 Queen excited them all, and even Mary forgot her 
 offence about the cradle, and her jealousy of Bess, and 
 ranked herself against her stepfather, influencing her 
 husband, Gilbert, on whom the unfortunate Earl had 
 hitherto leant. On his refusal to persecute his un- 
 fortunate captive beyond the orders from the Court, 
 Bess of Hardwicke, emboldened by the support she 
 had gathered from her children, passionately declaied 
 that it could only be because he was himself in love 
 with the murtheress. Lord Shrewsbury could not 
 help laughing a little at the absurdity of the idcfi, 
 whereupon my lady rose up in virtuous indignation, 
 calling her sons and daughters to follow her. 
 
 All that night, lights might have been seen flitting 
 about at the Manor-house, and early in the mornit)g 
 bugles sounded to horse. A huge procession, consist- 
 ing of the Countess herself, and all her sons and
 
 128 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 daughters then at Sheffield, little Lady Arbell, and 
 the whole of their attendants, swept out of the gates 
 of the park on the way to Hard wick e. When Eichard 
 Talbot went up to fulfil his duties as gentleman porter 
 at the lodge the courts seemed well-nigh deserted, and 
 a messenger summoned him at once- to the Earl, wliom 
 he found in his bed-chamber in his morning gown 
 terribly perturbed. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake send for your wife, Eichard 
 Talbot !" he said. " It is her Majesty's charge that 
 some of mine household, or 1 myself, see this unhappy 
 Queen of Scots each day for not less than two hours, 
 as you well know. My lady has broken away, and 
 all her daughters, on this accursed fancy — yea, and 
 Gilbert too, Gilbert whom I always looked to to stand 
 by me ; I have no one to send. If I go and attend upon 
 her alone, as I have done a thousand times to my 
 sorrow, it will but give colour to the monstrous tale ; 
 but if your good wife, an honourable lady of the 
 Hardwicke kin, against whom none ever breathed a 
 word, will go and give the daily attendance, then can 
 not the Queen herself find fault, and my wife's heated 
 fancy can coin nothing suspicious. You must all come 
 up, and lodge here in the Manor-house till this tempest 
 be overpast. Oh, Eichard, Eichard ! will it last out 
 my life ? My very children are turned against me. 
 Go you down and fetch your good Susan, and take 
 order for bringing up your children and gear. Ben- 
 thall shall take your turn at the lodge. What are yon 
 tarrying for ? Do you doubt whether your wife have 
 rank enough to wait on the Queen ? She should have 
 been a knight's lady long ago, but that I deemed you 
 w^ould be glad to be quit of herald's fees ; your service 
 and estate have merited it, and I will crave license by
 
 XI.] QUEEN Mary's peesence chamber 129 
 
 to-day's courier from her Majesty to lay knightliooj 
 on your shoulder." 
 
 " That was not what I thought of, my Lord, though 
 I humbly thank you, and would be whatever was best 
 foi your Lordship's service, though, if it would serve 
 you as well, I would rather be squire than knight ; 
 but I was bethinking me how we should bestow our 
 small family. We have a young damsel at an age not 
 to be left to herself." 
 
 "The black-browed maid — I recollect her. Let 
 hei" e'en follow her mother. Queen Mary likes a young 
 face, and is kindly disposed to little maids. She 
 taught Bess Pierrepoint ~to speak French and work 
 with her needle, and I cannot see that she did the lass 
 any harm, nay, she is the only one of them all that 
 can rule her tongue to give a soft answer if things 
 go not after her will, and a maid might learn worse 
 things. Besides, your wife will be there to look 
 after the maiden, so you need have no fears. And 
 for your sons, they will be at school, and can eat 
 with us." 
 
 Eichard's doubts being thus silenced he could not 
 but bring his wife to his lord's rescue, though he well 
 knew that Susan would be greatly disturbed on all 
 accounts, and indeed he found her deep in the ironing 
 that followed the great spring wash, and her housewifely 
 mind v^as as much exercised as to the effects of her 
 desertion, as was her maternal prudence at the plunge 
 which her unconscious adopted child was about to 
 make. However, there was no denying the request 
 backed as it was by her husband, looking at her 
 proudly, and declaring slie was by general consent 
 the only discreet woman in Sheffield. She was very 
 sorry for the Earl's perplexity, and had a loyal pity
 
 130 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CIIAP 
 
 for the Countess's vexation and folly, and she was 
 consoled by the assurance that she would have a free 
 tune between dinner and supper to go home and 
 attend to her wash, and fiuish her preparations. Cis, 
 wlio had been left in a state of great curiosity, to 
 continue compounding pickle while the mother was 
 called away, was summoned to don her holiday kirtle, 
 for she was to join in attendance on the Queen of 
 Scots while Lady Shrewsbury and her daughters were 
 absent. 
 
 It was unmixed delight to the girl, and she was not 
 long in fresh-binding up her hair — black with a little 
 rust-coloured tinge — under her stiff little cap, smooth- 
 ing down the front, which was alone visible, putting 
 on the well-stiffeued ruff with the dainty little lace 
 edge and close-fittiug tucker, and then the gray home- 
 spun kirtle, with the ruffs at the top of the tight 
 sleeves, and the slashes into which she had persuaded 
 mother to insert some old pink satin, for was not she 
 sixteen now, and almost a woman ? There was a pink 
 breast-knot to match, and Humfrey's owch just above it, 
 gray stockings, home -spun and worked with elaborate 
 pink clocks, but knitted by Cis herself; and a pair of 
 shoes with pinli roses to match were put into a bag, to 
 be assumed when she arrived at the lodge. Out of 
 this simple finery beamed a face, bright in spite of the 
 straight, almost bushy, black brows. There was a light 
 of youth, joy, and intelligence, about her gray eyes 
 wliich made them sparkle all the more under their 
 dark setting, and though her complexion had no 
 brilliancy, only the clearness of health, and her 
 features would not endure criticism, there was a 
 wonderful lively sweetness about her fresh, innocent 
 young mouth ; and she had a tall lithe figure, sur-
 
 XI.] QUEEN Mary's presence chamber. 131 
 
 passing that of her stepmother. She would have been 
 a sonsie Border lass in appearance but for the remark- 
 able carriage of her small head and shoulders, which 
 was assuredly derived from her royal ancestry, and 
 indeed her air and manner of walking were such that 
 Diccon had more than once accused her of sailing 
 about ambling like the Queen of Scots, an accusation 
 which she hotly denied. Her hands had likewise a 
 slender form and fine texture, such as none of the 
 ladies of the houses of Talbot or Hardwicke could 
 rival, but she was on the whole viewed as far from 
 being a beauty. The taste of the day was altogether 
 for light, sandy -haired, small -featured women, like 
 Queen Elizabeth or her namesake of Hardwicke, so that 
 Cis was looked on as a sort of crow, and her supposed 
 parents were pitied for having so ill-favoured a 
 daughter, so unlike all their families, except one black- 
 a-vised Talbot grandmother, whose portrait had been 
 discovered on a pedigree. 
 
 Much did Susan marvel what impression the' 
 daughter would make on the true mother as they 
 jogged up on their sober ponies through the long 
 avenues, whose branches were beginning to wear the 
 purple shades of coming spring. 
 
 Lord Shrewsbury himself met them in front of the 
 lodge, where, in spite of all his dignity, he had 
 evidently been impatiently awaiting them. He 
 thanked Susan for coming, as if he had not had a 
 right to order, gave her his ungloved hand when sh« 
 luid dismounted, then at the single doorway of the 
 lodge caused his gentleman to go through the form of 
 requesting admission for himself and Mistress Talbot, 
 his dear kinswoman, to the presence of the Queen. It 
 was a ceremony daily observed as an acknowledgment
 
 132 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cHAP 
 
 of Mary's royalty, and the Earl was far too courteous 
 ever to omit it. 
 
 Queen Mary's willingness to admit him was notified 
 by Sir Andrew Melville, a tall, worn man, with the 
 typical Scottish countenance and a keen steadfast gray 
 eye. He marshalled the trio up a circular staircase, 
 made as easy as possible, but necessarily narrow, since 
 it wound up through a brick turret at the corner, to 
 the third and uppermost story of the lodge. 
 
 There, however, was a very handsome anteroom, 
 with tapestry hangings, a richly moulded ceiling, and 
 wide carved stone chimneypiece, where a bright fire was 
 burning, around which sat several Scottish and French 
 gentlemen, who rose at the Earl's entrance. Another 
 wide doorway with a tapestry curtain over the folding 
 leaves led to the presence chamber, and Sir Andrew 
 announced in as full style as if he had been marshal- 
 ling an English ambassador to the Court of Holyrood, 
 the most high and mighty Earl of Shrewsbury. The 
 room was full of March sunshine^ and a great wood 
 fire blazed on the hearth. Part of the floor was 
 carpeted, and overhung with a canopy, proceeding from 
 the tapestried wall, and here was a cross-legged velvet 
 chair on which sat Queen Mary. This was all that 
 Cis saw at first, while the Earl advanced, knelt on 
 one step of the dais, with bared head, exchanging 
 greetings with the Queen. He then added, that his 
 wife, the Countess, and her daughter, having been 
 called away from Sheffield, he would entreat her 
 Grace to accept for a few days in their stead the 
 attendance of his good kinswoman, Mrs. Talbot, and 
 her daughter, Mistress Cicely. 
 
 Mary graciously intimated her consent, and extended 
 her hand for each to kiss as thev knelt in turn on the
 
 XI.] QUEEN MARY'S PRESENCE CHAMBER. 133 
 
 step ; Susan either fancied, or really saw a wonderful 
 likeness in that taper hand to the little one whose 
 stitches she had so often guided. Cis, on her part, 
 felt the thrill of girlhood in the actual touch of the 
 subject of her dreams. She stood, scarcely hearing 
 what passed, but taking in, from under her black brows, 
 all the surroundings, and recognising the persons from 
 her former glimpses, and from Antony Babington's 
 descriptions. The presence chamber was ample for 
 the suite of the Queen, which had been reduced on 
 every fresh suspicion. There was in it, besides the 
 Queen's four ladies, an elderly one, with a close black 
 silk hood — Jean Kennedy, or Mrs. Kennett as the 
 English called her ; another, a thin slight figure, with a 
 worn face, as if a great sorrow had passed over her, 
 making her look older than her mistress, was the 
 Queen's last remaining Mary, otherwise Mrs. Seaton. 
 The gossip of Sheffield had not failed to tell how the 
 chamberlain, Beatoun, had been her suitor, and she 
 had half consented to accept him when he was sent 
 on a mission to France, and there died. The dark- 
 complexioned bright-eyed little lady, on a smaller scale 
 than the rest, was Marie de Courcelles, who, like the 
 two otliers, had been the Queen's companion in all 
 her adventures ; and the fourth, younger and prettier 
 than the rest, was already known to Cis and her mother, 
 since she was the Barbara Mowbray who was affianced 
 to Gilbert Curll, the Queen's Scottish secretary, recently 
 taken into her service. Both these were Protestants, 
 and, like the Bridgefield family, attended service in 
 the castle chapel. They were all at work, as was like- 
 wise their royal lady, to whom the girl, with the youth- 
 ful coyness that halts in the fulfilment of its dreams, 
 did not at first raise her eyes, having first taken in all
 
 134 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 the ladies, the several portions of one great coverlet 
 which they were all emljroidering in separate pieces, 
 and the genileman who was reading aloud to them from 
 a large book placed on a desk at which he was standing. 
 When she did look np, as the Queen was graciously 
 requesting her mother to be seated, and the Earl excusing 
 himself from remaining longer, her first impression was 
 one of disappointment. Either the Queen of Scots was 
 less lovely seen leisurely close at hand than Antony 
 Babington and Cis's own fancy had painted her, or the 
 last two or three years had lessened her charms, as well 
 they might, for slie had struggled and suffered much 
 in the interval, had undergone many bitter disappoint- 
 ments, and had besides endured much from rheu- 
 matism every winter, indeed, even now she could not 
 ride, and could only go out in a carriage in the park 
 on the finest days, looking forward to her annual visit 
 to Buxton to set her up for the summer. Her face 
 was longer and more pointed than in former days, her 
 complexion had faded, or perhaps in these private 
 moments it had not been worth while to enhance it ; 
 though there was no carelessness in the general attire, 
 the black velvet gown, and delicate lace of the cap, 
 and open ruff always characteristic of her. The small 
 curls of hair at her temples had their auburn tint 
 softened by far more white than suited one who was 
 only just over forty, but the delicate pencilling of the 
 eyebrows was as marked as ever ; and the eyes, on 
 whose colour no one ever agreed, melted and sparkled 
 as of old. Cis had heard debates as to their hue, and 
 furtively tried to form her own opinion, but could not 
 decide on anything but that they had a dark effect, 
 and a wonderful power of expression, seeming to look 
 at every one at once, and to rebuke, encourage, plead,
 
 XI.] QUEEN MAEY'S PRESENCE CHAMBER. 135 
 
 or smile, from moment to moment. The slight cast in 
 one of them really added to their force of expression 
 rather than detracted from their heautj, and the deli- 
 cate lips were ready to second the glances with 
 wondrous smiles. Cis had not felt the magic of her 
 mere presence five minutes without being convinced 
 that Antony Bahington was right ; the Lord Treasurer 
 and all the rest utterly wrong, and that she beheld 
 the most innocent and persecuted of princesses. 
 
 Meantime, all due formalities having been gone 
 through. Lord Shrewsbury bowed himself out backwards 
 with a dexterity that Cis breathlessly admired in one so 
 stately and so stiff, forgetting that he had daily practice 
 in the art. Then Queen Mary courteously entreated her 
 visitors to be seated, near herself, asking with a smile 
 if this were not the little maiden who had queened 
 it so prettily in the brake some few years since. 
 Cis blushed and drew back her head with a pretty 
 gesture of dignified shyness as Susan made answer for 
 her that she was the same. 
 
 " I should have known it," said the Queen, smiling, 
 " by the port of her head alone. 'Tis strange," she said, 
 musing, " that maiden hath the bearing of head and 
 neck that I have never seen save in my own mother, 
 the saints rest her soul, and in her sisters, and which 
 we always held to be their inheritance from the blood 
 of Charlemagne." 
 
 " Your grace does her too much honour," Susan 
 contrived to say, thankful that no less remote resem- 
 blance had been detected. 
 
 " It was a sad farce when they tried to repeat your 
 pretty comedy with the chief performer omitted," pro- 
 ceeded the Queen, directing her words to the gM, but 
 the mother replied for her.
 
 136 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " Your Grace will pardon me, I could not permit 
 her to play in public, before all the menii of the castle." 
 
 " Madame is a discreet and prudent mother," said 
 the Queen. " The mistake was in repeating the repre- 
 sentation at all, not in abstaining from appearing in 
 it. I should be very sorry that this young lady should 
 have been concerned in a spectacle a la comtesse." 
 
 There was something in the intonation of " this 
 young lady " that won Cis's heart on the spot, some- 
 thing in the concluding words that hurt Susan's faith- 
 ful loyalty towards her kinswoman, in spite of the 
 compliment to herself. However Mary did not pursue 
 the subject, perceiving with ready tact that it was dis- 
 tasteful, and proceeded to ask Dame Susan's opinion 
 of her work, which was intended as a gift to her good 
 aunt, the Abbess of Soissons. How strangely the 
 name fell upon Susan's ear. It was a pale blue satin 
 coverlet, worked in large separate squares, innumerable 
 shields and heraldic devices of Lorraine, Bourbon, 
 France, Scotland, etc., round the border, and beautiful 
 meandering patterns of branches, with natural flowers 
 and leaves growing from them covering the whole with 
 a fascinating regular irregularity. Cis could not repress 
 an exclamation of delight, which brought the most 
 charming glance of the winning eyes upon her. There 
 was stitchery here that she did not understand, but 
 when she looked at some of the flowers, she could not 
 help uttering the sentiment that the eyes of the daisies 
 were not as mother could make them. 
 
 So, as a great favour. Queen ]Mary entreated to be 
 shown Mrs. Talbot's mode of deahng with the eyes of 
 the daisies. No, her good Seaton would not learn so 
 well as she should ; Madame must come and sit by 
 her and show her. Meantime here was her poor little
 
 XI. J QUEEN MARY'S PEESENCE CHAMBER. 137 
 
 Bijou wliimpering to be taken on her lap. Would not 
 he find a comforter in sweet Mistress- — ah, what was 
 her name ? 
 
 " We named her Cicely, so please your Grace, ' said 
 Susan, unable to help blusliing. 
 
 " C^cile, Or fair name. Ah ! so the poor Antoine 
 called her. I see my Bijou has found a friend in you, 
 Mistress Cecile " — as the girl's idle hands were only 
 too happy to caress the pretty little shivering Italian 
 greyhound rather than to be busy with a needle. " Do 
 you ever hear of that young Babington, your play- 
 fellow ?" she added. 
 
 " No, madam," said Cis, looking up, " he hath never 
 been here !" 
 
 " I thought not," said Queen Mary, sighing. " Take 
 heed to manifest no pity for me, maiden, if you should 
 ever chance to be inspired with it for a poor worn-out 
 old prisoner. It is the sure sentence of misfortune and 
 banishment." 
 
 " In his sex, madam," here put in Marie de Cour- 
 celles. " If it were so in ours, woe to some of us." 
 
 " That is true, my dear friends," said Mary, her 
 eyes glistening with dew. " It is the women who are 
 the most fearless, the most faithful, and whom the saints 
 therefore shield." 
 
 " Alas, there are some who are faithful but who are 
 not shielded !" 
 
 It was merely a soft low murmur, but the tender- 
 hearted Queen had caught it, and rising impulsively, 
 crossed the room and gathered Mary Seaton's hands 
 into hers, no longer the queen but the loving friend of 
 equal years, soothing her in a low fond voice, and pre- 
 sently sending her to the inner chamber to compose 
 herself. Then as the Queen returned slowly to her
 
 138 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 seat it would be seen how lame slie was from rheuma- 
 tism. Mrs. Kennedy hurried to assist her, with a 
 nurse-like w^ord of remonstrance, to which she replied 
 with a bewitching look of sweetness that she could not 
 but forget her aches and pains when she saw her dear 
 Mary Seaton in trouble. 
 
 ]\Iost politely she then asked whether lier visitors 
 would object to listeniug to the conclusion of her day's 
 portion of reading. There was no refusing, of course, 
 though, as Susan glanced at the reader and knew him 
 to be strongly suspected of being in Holy Orders con- 
 ferred abroad, she had her fears for her child's Protestant 
 principles. The book, however, proved to be a trans- 
 lation of St. Austin on the Psalms, and, of course, she 
 could detect nothing that she disapproved, even if 
 Cis had not been far too much absorbed by the little 
 dog and its mistress to have any comprehending ears 
 for theology. Queen Mary confidentially observed as 
 much to her after the reading, having, no doubt, de- 
 tected her uneasy glance. 
 
 " You need not fear for your child, madam," she 
 said ; " St. Augustine is respected by your own Queen 
 and her Bishops. At the readings with which my good 
 Mr. Belton favours me, I take care to have nothing you 
 Protestants dispute when I know it." She added, 
 smiling, " Heaven knows that I have endeavoured to 
 understand your faith, and many a minister has argued 
 with me. I have done my best to comprehend them, but 
 they agreed in notliing but in their abuse of the Pope. 
 At least so it seemed to my poor weak mind. But 
 you are satisfied, madam, I see it in your calm eyes 
 and gentle voice. If I see much of you, I shall learn 
 to think well of your religion." 
 
 Susan made an obeisance without answering. Sh©
 
 XI.] quei:n MxVey's tresence chamber. 139 
 
 had heard Sir Gilbert Talbot say, " If she tries to per- 
 suade you that you can couvert her, l)e sure that she 
 means mischief," but she could not bear to believe it 
 any tiling but a libel while the sweet sad face was gazing 
 into hers. 
 
 Queeu Mary changed the subject by asking a few 
 questions about the Countess's sudden departure. There 
 was a sort of guarded irony suppressed in her tone — she 
 was evidently feeling her way with the stranger, and 
 when she found that Susan would only own to causes 
 Lord Shrewsbury had adduced on the spur of the 
 moment, she was much too wary to continue the 
 examination, though Susan could not help thinking 
 that she knew full well the disturbance which had 
 taken place. 
 
 A short walk on the roof above followed. The sun 
 was shining brilliantly, and lame as she was, the Queen's 
 strong craving for free air led her to climb her stairs 
 and creep to and fro on Sir Andrew Melville's arm, 
 gazing out over the noble prospect of the park close 
 below, divided by the winding vales of the three rivers, 
 which could be traced up into the woods and the moors 
 beyond, purple with spring freshness and glory. Mary 
 made her visitors point oat Bridgefield, and asked 
 questions about all that could be seen of the house 
 and pleasance, which, in truth, was little enough, 
 but she contrived to set Cis off into a girl's chatter 
 about her home occupatious, and would not let her be 
 hushed. 
 
 " You little know the good it does a captive to take 
 part, only in fancy, in a free harmless life," returned 
 ]\Iary, with the wistful look that made her eyes so 
 pathetic. " There is no rel'reshmcnt to me like a child's 
 prattle."
 
 140 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Susan's heart smote her as she thought of the true 
 relations in which tliese two stood to one anotlier, and 
 she forbore from further interference ; but she greatly 
 rejoiced when the great bell of the castle gave notice 
 of noon, and of her own release. When Queen Mary's 
 dinner was served, the Talbot ladies in attendance left 
 lier and repaired to the general family meal in 'ihe 
 halL
 
 XII. J A rUiaOUS LETIEB. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 A FUKIOUS LETTEK. 
 
 A PERIOD now began of daily penance to Mrs. Talbot, 
 of daily excitement and delight to Cis. Two hours or 
 more had to be spent in attendance on Queen Mary. 
 Even on Sundays there was no exemption, the visit 
 only took place later in the day, so as not to interfere 
 with going to church. 
 
 Nothing could be more courteous or more friendly 
 than the manner in which the elder lady was always 
 received. She was always made welcome by the 
 Queen herself, who generally entered into conversation 
 with her almost as with an equal. Or when Mary 
 herself was engaged in her privy chamber in dictating 
 to her secretaries, the ladies of the suite showed them- 
 selves equally friendly, and told her of their mistress's 
 satisfaction in having a companion free from all the 
 iTide and unaccountable humours and caprices of my 
 Lady Countess and her daughters. And if Susan was 
 favoured, Cis was petted. Queen Mary always liked to 
 have young girls about her. Their fresh, spontaneous, 
 enthusiastic homage was pleasant to one who loved 
 above all to attract, and it was a pleasure to a prisoner 
 to have a fresh face about her. 
 
 Was it only this, or was it the maternal instinct
 
 142 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cHAP. 
 
 that made her face light up when the young girl 
 entered the room and return the shy reverential kiss 
 of the hand with a tender kiss on the forehead, that 
 made her encourage the chatter, give little touches to 
 the deportment, ^nd present little keepsakes, which in- 
 creased in value till Sir Eichard began to look grave, 
 and to say there must be no more jewels of price 
 brought from the lodge ? And as his wife uttered a 
 word that soimded like remonstrance, he added, " Not 
 while she passes for my daugliter." 
 
 Cis, who had begun by putting on a pouting face, 
 burst into tears. Her adopted parents had always 
 been more tolerant and indulgent to her than if she 
 had been a child over whom they felt entire rights, 
 and instead of rewarding her petulance with such a 
 blow as would have fallen to the lot of a veritable 
 Talbot, Eichard shrugged his shoulders and left the 
 room — tlie chamber whicli had been allotted to Dame 
 Susan at the Manor-house, while Susan endeavoured 
 to cheer the girl by telling her not to grieve, for her 
 father was not angry with her. 
 
 " Why — why may not the dear good Queen give me 
 her dainty gifts ? '"' sobbed Cis. 
 
 " See, dear child," said Susan, " while she only gave 
 thee an orange stuck with cloves, or an embroidery 
 needle, or even a puppy dog, it is all very well ; but 
 when it comes to Spanish gloves and coral clasps, the 
 next time there is an outcry about a plot, some evil- 
 disposed person would be sure to say that Master Eichard 
 Talbot had been taking bribes through his daughter." 
 
 " It would be vilely false ! " cried Cis with flashing 
 eyes. 
 
 " It would not be the less believed," said Susan. 
 " My Lord would say we had betrayd our trust, and
 
 XII.] A FUmOUS LETTEi;. 14.') 
 
 there never has been one stain on my husband's 
 honour." 
 
 " You are ^\Toth with me too, mother ! " said Cis. 
 
 " Not if you are a good child, and guard the honour 
 of the name you bear." 
 
 " I will, I will ! " said Cis. " Never will I take 
 another gift from the Queen if only you and he will 
 
 call me your child, and be- — good to me " The rest 
 
 was lost in tears and in the tender caresses that Susan 
 lavished on her ; all the more as she caught the 
 broken words, " Hunifrey, too, he would never forgive 
 me." 
 
 Susan told her husband what had passed, adding, 
 " She will keep her word." 
 
 " She must, or she shall go no more to the lodge," 
 he said. 
 
 " You would not have doubted had you seen her 
 eye flash at the thought of bringing your honour into 
 question. There spoke her kingly blood." 
 
 " Well, we shall see," sighed Eichard, " if it be 
 blood that makes the nature. I fear me hers is but 
 that of a Scottish thief ! Scorn not warning, mother, 
 but watch thy stranger nestling well." 
 
 " Nay, mine husband. While we own her as our 
 child, she will do anything to be one with us. It is 
 when we seem to put her from us that we wound her 
 so that I know not what she might do, fondled as she 
 is — by — by her who — has the best right tc the dear 
 child." 
 
 Eichard uttered a certain exclamation of disgust 
 which silenced his discreet wife. 
 
 Neither of them had quite anticipated the result, 
 namely, that the next morning, Cis, after kissing the 
 Queen's hand as usual, remained kneeling, her bosom
 
 144 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP, 
 
 heaving, and a little stammering on her tongue, while 
 tears rose to her eyes. 
 
 " What is it, miguonne," said Mary, kindly ; " is the 
 whelp dead ? or is the clasp broken ? " 
 
 " No, madam ; but — but 1 pray you give me no 
 more gifts. My father says it touches his honour, and 
 I have promised him — Oh, madam, be not displeased 
 with me, but let me give you back your last beauteous 
 gift." 
 
 Mary was standing by the fire. She took the 
 ivory and coral trinket from the hand of the kneeling 
 girl, and dashed it into the hottest glow. There was 
 passion in the action, and in the kindling eye, but it 
 was but for a moment. Before Cis could speak or 
 Susan begin her excuses, the delicate baud was laid on 
 the girl's head, and a calm voice said, " Fear not, child. 
 Queens take not back their gifts. I ought to have 
 borne in mind that I am balked of the pleasure of 
 giving — the best of all the joys they have robbed me 
 of. But tremble not, sweetheart, I am not chafed 
 with thee. I will vex thy father no more. Better 
 thou shouldst go without a trinket or two than deprive 
 me of the light of that silly little face of thine, so long 
 as they will leave me that sunbeam." 
 
 She stooped and kissed the drooping brow, aud 
 Susan coidd not but feel as if the voice of nature were 
 indeed speaking. 
 
 A few words of apology in her character of mother 
 for the maiden's abrupt proceeding were met by the 
 Queen most graciously. " Spare thy words, good 
 madam. We understand and reverence Mr. Talbot's 
 point of honour. Would that all who approached us 
 had held his scruples ! " 
 
 Perliaps Mary was after this more distant and
 
 XlJ.j A FURIOUS LETTER. 145 
 
 dignified towards tlie matron, but especially tendei 
 and caressing towards tlie maiden, as if to make up by 
 kindness for the absence of little gifts. 
 
 Storms, however, were brewing without. Lady 
 Shrewsbury made open complaints of her husband 
 having become one of Mary's many victims, represent- 
 ing herself as an injured wife driven out of her house. 
 She actually in her rage carried the complaint to 
 Queen Elizabeth, who sent down two commissioners 
 to inquire into the matter. They sat in the castle 
 hall, and examined all the attendants, including Eichard 
 and his wife. The investigation was extremely painful 
 and distressing, but it was proved that nothing could 
 have been more correct and guarded than the whole 
 intercourse between the Earl and his prisoner. If he 
 had erred, it had been on the side of caution and 
 severity, though he had always preserved the courteous 
 demeanour of a gentleman, and had been rejoiced to 
 permit whatever indulgences could be granted. If 
 there had been any transgressions of the strict rules, 
 they had been made by the Countess herself and her 
 daughters in the days of their intimacy with the 
 Queen ; and the aspersions on the unfortunate Earl 
 were, it was soon evident, merely due to the violent and 
 unscrupulous tongues of the Countess and her daughter 
 Alary. No wonder that Lord Shrewsbury wrote letters 
 i .1 which he termed the lady " his wicked and malicious 
 wife," and expressed his conviction that his son Gilbert's 
 mind had been perverted by her daughter. 
 
 The indignation of the captive Queen was fully 
 equal to his, as one after another of her little court 
 returned and was made to detail the points on Avhich 
 he or she had been interrogated. Susan found her 
 pacing up and down the floor like a caged tigress, her 
 
 L
 
 146 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [OIIAP 
 
 cap and veil tlirown back, so that her hair — far whiter 
 than what was usually displayed — was hanging di- 
 shevelled, her ruff torn open, as if it choked back the 
 swelling passion in her throat. 
 
 " Never, never content witli persecuting me, they 
 must insult me ! Is it not enough that I am stripped 
 of my crown, deprived of my friends ; that I cannot 
 take a step beyond this chamber, queen as I am, with- 
 out my warder ? Must they attaint me as a woman ? 
 Oh, why, why did the doom spare me that took my 
 little brothers ? Why did I live to be the most 
 wretched, not of sovereigns alone, but of women ? " 
 
 " Madam," entreated Marie de Courcelles, " dearest 
 madam, take courage. All these horrible charges 
 refute themselves." 
 
 " Ah, Marie ! you have said so ten thousand times, 
 and what charge has ever been dropped?" 
 
 "This one is dropped!" exclaimed Susan, coming 
 forward. " Yes, your Grace, indeed it is ! The Com- 
 missioner himself told my husband that no one believed 
 it for a moment." 
 
 "Then why should these men have been sent but 
 to sting and gall me, and make me feel that I am in 
 their power?" cried the Queen. 
 
 " They came," said the Secretary Curll, " because 
 thus alone could the Countess be silenced." 
 
 " The Countess !" exclaimed Mary. " So my cousin 
 hath listeued to her tongue !" 
 
 " Backed by her daughter's," added Jean Kennedy. 
 
 " It were well that she knew wliat those two dames 
 can say of her Majesty herself, when it serves them," 
 added Marie de Courcelles. 
 
 "That shall she!" exclaimed Mary. "She shall 
 have it from mine own hand 1 Ha ! ha ! Elizabeth
 
 xil] a fueious letter. 147 
 
 sliall know the choice tales wherewith Mary Talbot 
 hath regaled us, and then shall she judge how far any- 
 thing that comes from my young lady is worth heeding 
 for a moment. Eemember you all the tales of the 
 nips and the pinches ? Ay, and of all the endear- 
 ments to Leicester and to Hatton ? She shall have it 
 ill, and try how she likes the dish of scandal of Mary 
 Talbot's cookery, sauced by Bess of Hardwicke. Here, 
 nurse, come and set this head-gear of mine in order, 
 and do you, my good Cnrll, have pen, ink, and paper 
 in readiness for me." 
 
 The Queen did little but write that morning. The 
 next day, on coming out from morning prayers, which 
 the Protestants of her suite attended, with the rest of 
 the Shrewsbury household, Barbara Mowbray con- 
 trived to draw Mrs. Talbot apart as they went towards 
 the lodge, 
 
 " Madam," she said, " they all talk of your power to 
 persuade. Now is the time you could do what would 
 be no small service to this poor Queen, ay, and it may 
 be to your own children." 
 
 " I may not meddle in any matters of the Queen's," 
 returned Susan, rather stiffly. 
 
 " Nay, but hear me, madam. It is only to hinder 
 the sending of a letter." 
 
 " That letter which her Grace was about to write 
 yesterday ?" 
 
 " Even so. 'Tis no secret, for she read fragments 
 of it aloud, and all her women applauded it with all 
 their might, and laughed over the stings that it would 
 give, but j\Ir. Ciirll, who liad to copy it, saith that there 
 is a bitterness in it that can do nothing but make her 
 Majesty of England the more inllamed, not only 
 against my Lady Shrewsbuiy, but against her who writ
 
 148 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY, [CHAP, 
 
 the letter, and all concerned. Why, she hath even 
 brought in the comedy that your children acted in the 
 woodland, and that was afterwards repeated in the 
 hall !" 
 
 " You say not so, Mistress Barbara ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do. Mr. Curll and Sir Andrew Mel- 
 ville are both of them sore vexed, and would fain 
 liave her withdraw it ; but Master JSTau and all the 
 French part of tlie household know not how to rejoice 
 enough at such an exposure of my Lady, which gives a 
 hard fling at Queen Elizabeth at the same time ! Nay^ 
 I cannot but tell you that there are things in it that 
 Dame Mary Talbot might indeed say, but I know 
 not how Queen Mary could bring herself to sit 
 down " 
 
 Barbara Mowbray ventured no more, and Susan felt 
 hopeless of her task, since how was she by any means 
 to betray knowledge of the contents of the letter ? Yet 
 much that she had heard made her feel very uneasy 
 on all accounts. She had too much strong family 
 regard for the Countess and for Gilbert Talbot and his 
 wife to hear willingly of what might imperil them, 
 and though royal indignation would probably fly over 
 the heads of the children, no one was too obscure in 
 those Tudor times to stand in danger from a sovereign 
 who might think herself insulted. Yet as a Hard- 
 wicke, and the wife of a Talbot, it was most unlikely 
 that she would have any opening for remonstrance 
 given to her. 
 
 However, it was possible that Curll wished to give 
 her an opening, for no sooner were the ladies settled at 
 work than he bowed himself forward and offered his 
 mistress his copy of the letter. 
 
 "Is it fair engrossed, good Curll?' asked Mary.
 
 xil] a fukious letter. 149 
 
 "Thanks. Then will we keep your copy, and you 
 shall fold and prepare our own for our sealing." 
 
 " Will not your Majesty hear it read over ere it 
 pass out of your hands ?" asked Curll. 
 
 " Even so," returned Mary, who really was delighted 
 with the pungency of her own composition. " Mayhap 
 we may have a point or two to add." 
 
 After what Mistress Barbara had said, Susan was 
 on thorns that Cis should hear the letter; but that 
 good young lady, hating the expressions therein her- 
 self, and hating it still more for the girl, bethought her 
 of asking permission to take Mistress Cicely to her 
 own cliamber, there to assist her in the folding of some 
 of her laces, and Mary consented. It was well, for 
 there was much that made the English-bred Susan's 
 cheeks glow and her ears tingle. 
 
 But, at least, it gave her a great opportunity. 
 Wlien the letter was finished, she advanced and knelt 
 on the step of the canopied chair, saying, "Madam, 
 pardon me, if in the name of my unfortunate children, 
 I entreat you not to accuse them to the Queen." 
 
 " Your children, lady ! How have I included them 
 in what I have told her Majesty of our sweet 
 Countess ? " 
 
 " Your Grace will remember that the foremost parts 
 in yonder farce were allotted to my son Humfrey and 
 to young Master Babington. Nay, that the whole 
 arose from the woodland sport of little Cis, wliich your 
 Grace was pleased to admire." 
 
 " Sooth enough, my good gossip, but none could 
 suspect the poor children of the malice my Lady 
 Countess contrived to put into the matter." 
 
 "All, madam ! these are times when it is convenient to 
 shift the blame on one who can be securely punished."
 
 150 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " Certes," said Mary, thoughtfully, " the Countess is 
 capable of making her escape by denouncing some one 
 else, especially those within her own reach." 
 
 " Your Grace, wlio can speak such truth of my poor 
 Lady," said Susan, " will also remember that though my 
 Lord did yield to the persuasions of the young ladies, 
 he so heedfully caused Master Sniggius to omit all 
 j)erilous matter, that no one not informed would have 
 guessed at the import of the piece, as it was played in 
 the haU." 
 
 " Most assuredly not," said Mary, laughing a little 
 at the recollection. " It might have been played in 
 Westminster Hall without putting my gracious coasin, 
 ay, or Leicester and Hatton themselves, to the blush." 
 
 " Thus, if the Queen should take the matter up and 
 trace it home, it could not but be brought to my poor 
 innocent children ! Humfrey is for the nonce out of 
 reach, but the maiden — I wis verily that your High- 
 ness would be loath to do her any hurt !" 
 
 " Thou art a good pleader, madam," said the 
 queen. " Verily I should not like to bring the bonnie 
 lassie into trouble. It will give Master Curll a little 
 more toil, ay and myself likewise, for the matter must 
 stand in mine own hand ; but we will leave out yonder 
 unlucky farce." 
 
 " Your Highness is very good," said Susan earnestly. 
 
 "Yet you look not yet content, my good lady. 
 What more would you have of me ?" 
 
 " What your Majesty will scarce grant," said Susan. 
 
 " Ha ! thou art of the same house thyself. I had 
 forgotten it ; thou art so unlike to them. I wager that 
 it is not to send this same letter at all." 
 
 " Your Highness liath guessed my mind. Nay, 
 madam, though assuredly I do desire it because the
 
 XII.] A FURIOUS LETTER. 151 
 
 Countess hath been ever my good ladj, and bred me 
 up ever since I was an orphan, it is not solely for her 
 sake that I would fain pray you, but fully as much for 
 your Majesty's own." 
 
 "Madame Talbot sees the matter as I do," said Sir 
 Andrew Melville. " The English Queen is as like to 
 be irate with the reporter of the scandal as with the 
 author of it, even as the wolf bites the barb that pierces 
 him when he cannot reach the archer." 
 
 " She is welcome to read the letter," said Mary, 
 smiling ; " thy semblance falleth short, my good friend." 
 
 " Nay, madam, that was not the whole of my pur- 
 port," said Susan, standing with folded hands, looking 
 from one to another. " Pardon me. My thought was 
 that to take ]3ait in all this repeating of thoughtless, 
 idle words, spoken foolishly indeed, but scarce so much 
 in malice as to amuse your Grace with Court news, 
 and treasured up so long, your Majesty descends from 
 being the patient and suffering princess, meek, generous, 
 and uncomplaining, to be— to be " 
 
 "No better than one of them, wouldst thou add ?" 
 asked Mary, somewhat sharply, as Susan paused. 
 
 " Your Highness has said it," answered Susan ; 
 then, as there was a moment's pause, she looked up, 
 and with clasped hands added, " Oh, madam ! would 
 it not be more worthy, more noble, more queenly, more 
 Christian, to refrain from stinging with this repetition 
 of these vain and foolish slanders?" 
 
 " Most Christian treatment have I met with," re- 
 turned Mary ; but after a pause she turned to her 
 almoner. Master Belton, saying, " Wliat say you, sir ? " 
 
 " I say that Mrs. Talbot speaks more Christian 
 words than are often heard in these parts," returned 
 he. " The thankworthincss of suffering is lost by
 
 152 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 t-hose who return tlie revilings upon those who uttei 
 them." 
 
 " Then "be it so," returned the Queen. " Elizabeth 
 shall be spared the knowledge that some ladies' tongues 
 can be as busy with her as with her poor cousin." 
 
 With her own hands Mary tore up her own letter, 
 but Curll's copy unfortunately escaped destruction, to 
 lie discovered in after times. liOrd and Lady Shrews- 
 bury never knew the service Susan had render3d them 
 by causmg it to be suppressed.
 
 xiil] beads akd bracelets. 153 
 
 CHAPTEE XIIL 
 
 BEADS AND BRACELETS. 
 
 The Countess was by no means pacified by the inves- 
 tigation, and botli she and lier family remained at 
 Court, maligning her husband and his captive. As 
 the season advanced, bringing the time for the Queen's 
 annual resort to the waters of Buxton, Lord Shrews- 
 bury was obliged to entreat Mrs. Talbot again to be 
 her companion, declaring that he had never known so 
 much peace as with that lady in the Queen's chambers. 
 
 The journey to Buxton was always the great holi- 
 day of the imprisoned Court. The place was part of 
 the Shrewsbury property, and the Earl had a great 
 house there, but there were no conveniences for exer- 
 cising so strict a watch as at Sheffield, and there was 
 altogether a relaxation of disciplme. Exercise was 
 considered an essential part of the treatment, and 
 recreations were there provided. 
 
 Cis had heard so much of the charms of the ex- 
 pedition, that she was enraptured to hear that she was 
 to share it, together with Mrs. Talbot. The only 
 drawback was that Humfrey had promised to come 
 home after this present voyage, to see whether his 
 little Cis were ready for him ; and his father was much 
 disposed to remain at home, receive him first, and
 
 154 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 communirate to liim the obstacles in the way of 
 wedding the young lady. However, my Lord refused 
 to dispense with the attendance of his most trust- 
 worthy kinsman, and leaving Ned at school under 
 charge of the learned Sniggius, the elder and the 
 younger Eichard Talbot rode forth with the retinue 
 of the Queen and her warder. 
 
 Neither Cicely nor Diccon had ever left home be- 
 fore, and they were in raptures which would have 
 made any journey delightful to them, far more a ride 
 through some of the wildest and loveliest glades that 
 England can display. Nay, it may be that they 
 would better have enjoyed something less like Shef- 
 field Park than the rocks, glens, and woods, through 
 which they rode. Their real delight was in the towns 
 and villages at which there was a halt, and every 
 traveller they saw was such a wonder to them, that at 
 the end of the first day they were almost as full of 
 exultation in their experiences, as if, with Humfrey, 
 they had been far on the way to America. 
 
 The delight of sleeping at Tideswell was in their 
 eyes extreme, though the hostel was so crowded tliat 
 Cis had to share a mattress with Mrs. Talbot, and 
 Diccon had to sleep in his cloak on the floor, which he 
 persuaded himself was high preferment. He woke, 
 however, much sooner than was his wont, and finding 
 it useless to try to fall asleep again, he made his way 
 out among the sleeping figures on the floor and hall, 
 and finding the fountain in the midst of the court, 
 produced his soap and comb from his pocket, and 
 made his morning toilet in the open air with consider- 
 able satisfaction at his own alertness. Presently there 
 was a tap at the window above, and he saw Cicely 
 making sL^nals to him to wait for her, and in a few
 
 XIII.] BEADS A.is^D BRACELETS. 155 
 
 minutes she skipped out from the door into the sun- 
 light of the early summer morning. 
 
 " No one is awake yet," she said. " Even the guard 
 before the Queen's door is fast asleep. I only heard 
 a wench or two stirring. We can have a run in the 
 fields and gather May dew before any one is afoot." 
 
 " 'Tis not May, 'tis June," said matter-of-fact 
 Diccon. " But yonder is a guard at the yard gate ; 
 will he let us past ?" 
 
 " See, here's a little wicket into a garden of pot- 
 herbs," said Cis. " No doubt we can get out that 
 way, and it will bring us the sooner into the fields. 
 I liave a cake in mf wallet that mother gave me for 
 the journey, so we shall not fast. How sweet the 
 herbs smell in the dew — and see how silvery it lies 
 on the strawberry leaves. Ah ! thou naughty lad, 
 think not whether the fruit be ripe. Mayhap we shall 
 find some wild ones beyond." 
 
 The gate of the garden was likewise guarded, but 
 by a yeoman who well knew the young Talbots, and 
 made no difficulty about letting them out into the 
 broken ground beyond the garden, sloping up into a 
 little hill. Up bounded the boy and girl, like young 
 mountaineers, through gorse and fern, and presently 
 had gained a sufficient height to look over the country, 
 marking the valleys whence still were rising " fragrant 
 clouds of dewy steam " under the influence of the sun- 
 beams, gazing up at the purple heights of the Peak, 
 where a few lines of snow still lingered in the crevices, 
 trying to track their past journey from their own 
 Sheffield, and with still more interest to guess which 
 wooded valley before them contained Buxton. 
 
 " Have you lost your way, my pretty mistress ?" 
 said a voice close to them, and turning round hastily
 
 15G UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAP. 
 
 they saw a peasant woman with a large basket on hei 
 arm. 
 
 " No," said Cicely courteously, " we have only come 
 out to take the air before breakfast." 
 
 " I crave pardon," said the woman, curtseying, "the 
 pretty lady belongs to the great folk down yonder. 
 Would she look at my poor wares ? Here are beads 
 and trinkets of the goodly stones, pins and collars, 
 bracelets and eardrops, white, yellow, and purple," she 
 said, uncovering her basket, where were arranged 
 various ornaments made of Derbyshire spar. 
 
 " We have no money, good woman," said Cicely, 
 rising to return, vaguely uncomfortable at the woman's 
 eye, which awoke some remembrance of Tibbott the 
 huckster, and the troubles connected with her. 
 
 " Yea, but if my young mistress would only bring 
 me in to the Great Lady there, I know she would 
 buy of me my beads and bracelets, or give me an alms 
 for my poor children. I have five of them, good 
 young lady, and they lie naked and hungry till I can 
 sell my few poor wares, and the yeomen are so rough 
 and hard. They would break and trample every poor 
 bead I have in pieces rather than even let my Lord 
 hear of them. But if even my basket could be carried 
 in and shown, and if the good Earl heard my sad 
 tale, I am sure he would give license." 
 
 " He never does ! " said Diccon, roughly ; " hold off, 
 woman, do not hang on us, or I'll get thee branded for 
 a vagabond." 
 
 The woman put her knuckles into her eyes, and 
 wailed out that it was all for her poor children, and 
 Cicely reproved him for his roughness, and as the 
 woman kept close behind them, wailing, moaning, and 
 persuading, the boy and girl were v/rought upon at
 
 XIII.] BEADS AND BEACELETS. 157 
 
 last to give her leave to wait outside the gate of the 
 inn garden, while they saw whether it was possible to 
 admit her or her basket. 
 
 But before they reached the gate, they saw a figure 
 beyond it, scanning the hill eagerly. They knew 
 him for their father even before he shouted to them, 
 and, as they approached, his voice was displeased : 
 " How now, children ; what manners are these ? " 
 
 " We have only been on the hillside, sweet father," 
 said Cis, " Diccon and I together. We thought no harm." 
 
 " This is not Slieffield Chace, Cis, and thou art 
 no more a child, but a maiden who needs to be dis- 
 creet, above all in these times. Whom did I see 
 following you ? " 
 
 " A poor woman, whom — Ha, where is she ? " 
 exclaimed Cis, suddenly perceiving that the woman 
 seemed to have vanished. 
 
 " A troublesome begging woman who beset us with 
 her wares," said Diccon, " and would give us no peace, 
 praying that we would get them carried in to the Queen 
 and her ladies, whining about lier children till she made 
 Cis soft-hearted. Where can she have hidden herself ? " 
 
 The man who was stationed as sentry at the gate 
 said he had seen the woman come over the brow of 
 the hill with Master Diccon and Mistress Cicely, but 
 that as they ran forward to meet Captain Talbot she 
 had disappeared amid the rocks and brushwood. 
 
 " Poor woman, she was afraid of our father," said 
 Cicely ; " I would we could see her again." 
 
 " So would not I," said Eichard. " It looks not well, 
 and heed me well, children, there must be no more of 
 these pranks, nor of wandering out of bounds, or 
 babbling with strangers. Go thou in to thy mother, 
 Cis, she hath been in much trouble for thee."
 
 158 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAR 
 
 Mistress Susan was unusually severe with the girl 
 on the indiscretion of gadding in strange places with 
 no better escort than Diccon, and of entering into con- 
 versation with unknown persons. Moreover, Cicely's 
 hair, her shoes, and camlet riding skirt were all so 
 dank with dew that she was with difficulty made pre- 
 sentable by the time the horses were brought round. 
 The Queen, who had not seen the girl that morning, 
 made her come and ride near her, asking questions on 
 the escapade, and giving one of her bewitching pathetic 
 smiles as she said how she envied the power of thus 
 dancing out on the greensward, and breathing the free 
 and fresh morning air. " My Scottish blood loves the 
 mountains, and bounds the more freely in the fresh 
 breeze," she said, gazing towards the Peak. " I love 
 the scent of the dew. Didst get into trouble, child ? 
 Methought I heard sounds of chiding ? " 
 
 " It was no fault of mine," said Cis, inclined to 
 complain when she found sympathy, " the woman 
 would speak to us." 
 
 " What woman ? " asked the Queen. 
 
 "A poor woman with a basket of wares, who 
 prayed hard to be allowed to show them to your 
 Grace or some of the ladies. She said she had five 
 sorely hungered children, and that she heard your 
 Grace was a compassionate lady." 
 
 " Woe is me, compassion is full all that I am 
 permitted to give," said the Queen, sadly; " she brought 
 trinkets to sell. What were her wares, saidst thou ? " 
 
 " I had no time to see many," said Cis, " something 
 pure and wlnte like a new-laid e^g, I saw, and a 
 necklet, clouded with beauteous purple." 
 
 " Ay, beads and bracelets, no doubt," said tho 
 cjueen.
 
 XIII.] BEADS AND BKACELETS. 159 
 
 " Yes, beads and bracelets," returned Cicely, tlie 
 soft chime of the Queen's Scottish accent bringing 
 back to her that the woman had twice pressed on her 
 beads and bracelets. 
 
 " She dwelt on them," said the Queen lightly. 
 " Ay, I know the chant of the poor folk who ever 
 hover about our outskirts in hopes to sell their country 
 gewgaws, beads and bracelets, collars and pins, little 
 guessing that she whom they seek is poorer than them- 
 selves. Mayhap, our Argus-eyed lord may yet let the 
 poor dame within his fence, and we may be able to 
 gratify thy longing for those same purple and white 
 beads and bracelets." 
 
 Meantime the party were riding on, intending to 
 dine at Buxton, which meant to reach it by noonday. 
 The tall roof of the great hall erected by the Earl 
 over the baths was already coming in sight, and by 
 and by they would look into the valley. The Wye, 
 after coming down one of those lovely deep ravines to 
 be found in all mountainous countries, here flowed 
 through a more open space, part of which had been 
 artificially levelled, but which was covered with 
 buildings, rising out amongst the rocks and trees. 
 
 Most conspicuous among them was a large freshly- 
 built erection in Tudor architecture, with a wide 
 portal arch, and five separate gables starting from one 
 central building, which bore a large clock-tower, and 
 was decorated at every corner with the Talbots' stout 
 and sturdy form. This was the great hall, built by the 
 present Earl George, and containing five baths, intended 
 to serve separately for each sex, gentle and simple, with 
 one special bath reserved for the sole use of the more 
 distinguished visitors. Besides this, at no great distance, 
 was the Earl's own mansion, " a very goodly house, four
 
 160 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHiiP. 
 
 square, four stories high," with stables, offices, and all 
 the requisites of a nobleman's establishment, and this 
 was to be the lodging of the Scottish Queen. 
 
 Farther off was another house, which had been 
 built by permission of the Earl, under the auspices of 
 Dr. Joues, probably one of the first of the long series 
 of physicians who have made it their business to 
 enhance the fame of the watering-places where they 
 have set up their staff. This was the great hostel or 
 lodging-house for the patients of condition who re- 
 sorted to the healing springs, and nestled here and 
 there among the rocks were cottages which accom- 
 modated, after a fashion, the poorer sort, who might 
 drag themselves to the spot in the hope of washing 
 away their rheumatic pains and other infirmities. In 
 a distant and magnificent way, like some of the lesser 
 German potentates, the mighty Lord of Shrewsbury 
 took toll from the visitors to his baths, and this con- 
 tributed to repair the ravages to his fortune caused by 
 the maintenance of his royal captive. 
 
 Arriving just at noontide, the Queen and her escort 
 beheld a motley crowd dispersed about the sward on 
 the banks of the river, some playing at ball, others 
 resting on benches or walking up and down in groups, 
 exercise being recommended as part of the cure. All 
 thronged together to watch the Earl and his captive 
 ride in with their suite, the household turning out to 
 meet them, while foremost stood a dapper little figure 
 with a short black cloak, a stiff round ruff, and a 
 square barrett cap, with a gold-headed cane in one 
 hand and a paper in the other. 
 
 "Prepare thy patience, Cis," whispered Barbara 
 Mowbray, " now shall we not be allowed to alight 
 from our palfreys till we have heard his full welcome
 
 Xiri.] BEADS AND BRACELETS. 161 
 
 to my Lord, and all his plans for this place, how it is 
 to be made a sanctuary for the sick during their abode 
 there, for all causes saving sacrilege, treason, murder, 
 burglary, and highway robbery, with a license to eat 
 flesh on a Friday, as long as they are drinking the 
 waters!" 
 
 It was as Mistress Mowbray said. Dr. Jones's 
 harangue on the progress of Buxton and its prospects 
 had always to be endured before any one was allowed 
 to dismount ; but royalty and nobility were inured to 
 listening with a good grace, and Mary, though wearied 
 and aching, sat patiently in the hot sunshine, and was 
 ready to declare that Buxton put her in good humour. 
 In fact the grandees and their immediate attendants 
 endured with all the grace of good breeding ; but the 
 farther from tlie scene of action, the less was the 
 patience, and the more restless and confused the 
 movements of the retinue. 
 
 Diccon Talbot, hungry and eager, had let his 
 equally restless pony convey him, he scarce knew 
 where, from his father's side, when he saw, making her 
 way among the horses, the very woman with the basket 
 whom he had encountered at Tideswell in the early 
 morning. How could she have gone such a distance 
 in tlie time? thought the boy, and he presently caught 
 the words addressed to one of the grooms of the Scot- 
 tish Queen's suite. " Let me show my poor leads and 
 bracelets." The Scotsman instantly made way for her, 
 and she advanced to a wizened thin old Frenchman, 
 Maitre Gorion, the Queen's surgeon, who jumped down 
 from his horse, and was soon bending over her basket 
 exchanging whispers in the lowest possible tones ; but 
 a surge among those iu the rear drove Dic(ion up so 
 near that he was absolutely certain that they were 
 
 M
 
 162 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP, 
 
 speaking French, as indeed he well knew that M. 
 Gorion never could succeed in making himself under- 
 stood in Enghsh. 
 
 The boy, bred up in the perpetual caution and 
 suspicion of Sheffield, was eager to denounce one who 
 he was sure was a conspirator ; but he was hemmed in 
 among horses and men, so that he could not make his 
 way out or see what was passing, till suddenly there 
 was a scattering to the right and left, and a simulta- 
 neous shriek from the ladies in front. 
 
 When Diccon could see anything, his father was 
 pressing forward to a group round some one prostrate 
 on the ground before the house, and there were ex- 
 clamations, " The poor young lady ! The chirurgeon ! 
 To the front, the Queen is asking for you, sir," and 
 Cicely's horse with loose bridle passed before his eyes. 
 
 "Let me through ! let me through !" cried the boy; 
 " it is my sister." 
 
 He threw his bridle to a groom, and, squeezing 
 between horses and under elbows, succeeded in seeing 
 Cis lying on the ground with her eyes shut and her 
 head in his mother's lap, and the French surgeon 
 bending over her. She gave a cry when he touched her 
 arm, and he said something in his mixture of French 
 and English, which Diccon could not hear. The 
 Queen stood close by, a good deal agitated, anxiously 
 asking questions, and throwing out her hands in her 
 French fashion. Diccon, much frightened, struggled 
 on, but only reached the party just as his father had 
 gathered Cicely up in his arms to carry her upstairs. 
 Diccon followed as closely as he could, but blindly in 
 the crowd in the strange house, until he found him- 
 self in a long gallery, shut out, among various others 
 of both sexes. " Come, my masters and mistresses all,"
 
 XIII.] BEADS AND BRACELETS. 163 
 
 said the voice of the seneschal, " you had best to your 
 chambers, there is naught for you to do here." 
 
 However, he allowed Diccon to remain leaning 
 against the balustrade of the stairs which led up out- 
 side the house, and in another minute his fatlier came 
 out. " Ha, Diccon, that is well," said he. " No, thou 
 canst not enter. They are about to undress poor little 
 Cis. Nay, it seemed not to me that slie was more 
 hurt than thy mother could well have dealt with, but 
 the French surgeon would thrust in, and the Queen 
 would have it so. We will walk here in the court till 
 we hear what he saith of her. How befell it, dost 
 thou ask ? Truly I can hardly tell, but I believe one 
 of the Frenchmen's horses got restless, either with a 
 fly or with standing so long to hear yonder leech's 
 discourse. He must needs cut the beast with his rod, 
 and so managed to hit White Posy, who starts aside, 
 and Cis, sitting unheedfully on that new-fangled French 
 saddle, was thrown in an instant." 
 
 " I shall laugh at her well for letting herself be 
 thrown by a Frenchman with his switch," said 
 Diccon. 
 
 " I hope the damage hath not been great," said his 
 father, anxiously looking up the stair. "Where wast 
 thou, Dick ? I had lost sight of thee." 
 
 "I was seeking you, sir, for I had seen a strange 
 sight," said Dick. " That woman who spoke with us 
 at Tideswell was here again ; yea, and she talked with 
 the little old Frenchman tliat they call Gorion, the 
 same that is with Cis now." 
 
 "She did! Folly, boy! The fellow can hardly 
 comprehend five words of plain English together, long 
 as he hath been here ! One of the Queen's women is 
 gone in even now to interpret for him."
 
 164 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 " That do I wot, sir. Therefore did I marvel, and 
 sought to tell you." 
 
 "What like was the woman?" demanded Richard. 
 
 Diccon's description was lame, and his father bade 
 him hasten out of the court, and fetch the woman if he 
 could find her displaying her trinkets to the water- 
 drinkers, instructing him not to alarm her by per- 
 emptory commands, but to give her hopes of a purchaser 
 for her spars. Proud of tlie commission entrusted to 
 him, the boy sallied forth, but though he wandered 
 through all the groups on the sward, and encountered 
 two tumblers and one puppet show, besides a bear and 
 monkey, he utterly failed in finding the vendor of the 
 beads and bracelets.
 
 XIV.] THE MONOGKAMS. 16 i 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 THE MONOGKAMS 
 
 When Cicely had been carried into a chamber 
 by Master Talbot, and laid half - conscious and 
 nloaning on the grand carved bed, Mrs. Talbot by 
 word and gesture expelled all superfluous spectators. 
 She would have preferred examming alone into the 
 injury sustained by the maiden, which she did not 
 think beyond her own management ; but there was no 
 refusing the services of Maitre Gorion, or of Mrs. 
 Kennedy, who indeed treated her authoritatively, 
 assuming the direction of the sick-room. She found 
 herself acting under their orders as she undid the 
 boddice, while Mrs. Kennedy ripped up the tight 
 sleeve of the riding dress, and laid bare the arm and 
 shoulder, which had been severely bruised and twisted, 
 but neither broken nor dislocated, as Mrs. Kennedy 
 informed her, after a few rapid words from the French- 
 man, unintelligible to the English lady, who felt some- 
 what impatient of this invasion of her privileges, and 
 was ready to say she had never supposed any such 
 thing. 
 
 The chirurgeon skipped to the door, and for a 
 moment she hoped that she was rid of him, but he had 
 only gone to bring in a neat case with which hia
 
 106 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 groom was in waiting outside, whence he extracted a 
 lotion and sponge, speaking rapidly as he did so. 
 
 " Now, madam," said Jean Kennedy, " lift the 
 lassie, there, turn back her boddice, and we will bathe 
 her shouther. So ! By my halidome !" 
 
 " Ah ! Mort de ma vie !" 
 
 The two exclamations darted simultaneously from 
 the lips of the Scottish nurse and the French doctor. 
 Susan beheld what she had at the moment forgotten, 
 the curious mark branded on her nursling's shoulder, 
 which indeed she had not seen since Cicely had been 
 of an age to have the care of her own person, and 
 which was out of the girl's own sight. No more 
 was said at the moment, for Cis was reviving fast, 
 and was so much bewildered and frightened that she 
 required all the attention and soothing that the two 
 women could give, but when they removed the rest of 
 her clothing, so that she might be laid down comfort- 
 ably to rest, Mrs. Kennedy by another dexterous move- 
 ment uncovered enough of the other shoulder to obtain 
 a glimpse of the monogram upon it. 
 
 Nothing was spoken. Those two had not been so 
 many years attendants on a suspected and imprisoned 
 queen without being prudent and cautious ; but when 
 they quitted the apartment after administering a febri- 
 fuge, Susan felt a pang of wonder, whether they were 
 about to communicate their discovery to their mistress. 
 For the next quarter of an hour, the patient needed all 
 her attention, and there was no possibility of obeying the 
 summons of a great clanging bell which announced dinner. 
 When, however, Cis had fallen asleep it became possible 
 to think over the situation. She foresaw an inquiry, 
 and would have given much for a few words with her 
 husband ; but retlection showed her that the one point
 
 XIV. J THE MONOGltAMS, 167 
 
 essential to his safety was not to betray that he and 
 she had any previous knowledge of the rank of theii 
 nursling. The existence of the scroll might have to 
 be acknowledged, but to show that Eichard had de- 
 ciphered it would put him in danger on all hands. 
 
 She had just made up her mind on this point when 
 there was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Kenuedy bore 
 in a salver with a cup of wine, and took from an 
 attendant, who remained outside, a tray with some 
 more solid food, which she placed on the broad edge 
 of the deep-set window, and coming to the bedside, 
 invited Mrs. Talbot to eat, while she watched the girl. 
 Susan complied, though with little appetite, and Mrs. 
 Kennedy, after standing for a few minutes in contem- 
 plation, came to the window. She was a tall woman, 
 her yellow hair softened by an admixture of gray, her 
 eyes keen and shrewd, yet capable of great tenderness 
 at times, her features certainly not youthful, but not 
 a whit more aged than they had been when Susan had 
 first seen her fourteen years ago. It was a quiet mouth, 
 and one that gave a sense of trust both in its firmness, 
 secrecy, and kindness. 
 
 "Madam," said she, in her soft Scotch voice, 
 lowered considerably, but not whispering, and with 
 her keen eyes fixed on Susan — " Madam, what garred 
 ye gie your bit lassie yonder marks ? Ye need not 
 fear, that draught of Maister Gorion's will keep her 
 sleeping fast for a good hour or two longer, and it 
 behoves me to ken how she cam by yonder brands." 
 
 " She had them when she came to us," said Susan. 
 
 " Ye'll no persuade me that they are birth marks," 
 returned Mistress Jean. " Such a thing would be a 
 miracle in a loyal Scottish Catholic's wean, let alone an 
 English heretic's."
 
 168 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " !N"o," said Susan, who had iu fact only made the 
 answer to give herself time to thiuk whether it were 
 possible to summon her husband. "They never seemed 
 to me birth marks." 
 
 " Woman," said Jean Kennedy, laying a strong, 
 though soft hand, on her wrist, " this is not gear for 
 trifling. Is the lass your ain bairn ? Ha ! I always 
 thought she had mair of the kindly Scot than of the 
 Southron about her. Hech ! so they made the puir 
 wean captive ! Wha gave her till you to keep ? Your 
 lord, I trow." 
 
 " The Lord of heaven and earth," replied Susan. 
 "My husband took her, the only Living thing left on a 
 wreck off the Spurn Head." 
 
 " Hech, sirs !" exclaimed Mrs. Kennedy, evidently 
 much struck, but stdl exercising great self-command. 
 "And when fell this out ?" 
 
 " Two days after Low Sunday, in the year of grace 
 -1568," returned Susan. 
 
 " My halidome !" again ejaculated Jean, in a low 
 voice, crossing herself. " And what became of honest 
 Ailie — I mean," catching herself up, " what befell those 
 that went with her ? " 
 
 " Not one lived," said Susan, gravely. " The mate 
 of my husband's ship took the little one from the arms 
 of her nurse, who seemed to have been left aloue with 
 her by the crew, lashed to the wreck, and to have had 
 her life freshly beaten out by the winds and waves, for 
 she was still warm. I was then lying at Hull, and 
 they brought the babe to me, while there was still time 
 to save her life, with God's blessing." 
 
 "And the vessel ?" asked Jean. 
 
 " My husband held it to be the Bride of Dunbar, 
 plying between Dumbarton and Harfleur."
 
 XIV.] THE MONOGKAMS. 169 
 
 "Ay! ay! Blessed St. Bride!" muttered Jean 
 Kennedy, with an awe-stricken look ; then, collecting 
 herself, she added, " Were there no tokens, save these, 
 about the little one, by which she could be known ? " 
 
 " There was a gold chain with a cross, and what 
 you call a reliquary about her little neck, and a scroll 
 written in cipher among her swaddling bauds ; but they 
 are laid up at home, at Bridgefield." 
 
 It was a perplexing situation for this simple-hearted 
 and truthful woman, and, on the other hand, Jean 
 Kennedy was no less devoted and loyal in her own 
 line, a good and conscientious woman, but shrewder, 
 and, by nature and breeding, far less scrupulous as to 
 absolute truth. 
 
 The one idea that Susan, in her confusion, could 
 keep hold of was that any admission of knowledge as 
 to who her Cis really was, would be a betrayal of her 
 husband's secret ; and on the other hand she saw that 
 Mrs. Kennedy, though most keen to discover every- 
 thing, and no doubt convinced that the maiden was her 
 Queen's child, was bent on not disclosing that fact to 
 the foster-mother. 
 
 She asked anxiously whether Mistress Cicely knew 
 of her being only an adopted child, and Susan replied 
 that they had intended that she never should learn 
 1 hat she was of alien birth ; but that it had been 
 revealed by the old sailor who had brought her on 
 board the Mastiff, though no one had heard him save 
 young Humfrey and the girl herself, and they had been, 
 so far as she knew, perfectly reserved on the subject. 
 
 Jean Kennedy then inquired how the name of Cicely 
 ha: bisn given, and whether the child had been so 
 baptized by Protestant rites. 
 
 " Wot you who the maid may be, madam ? " Susan
 
 170 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [UHAIV 
 
 took courage to ask ; but the Scotswoman M'ould not 
 be disconcerted, and replied, 
 
 " How suld I ken without a sight of the tokens ? 
 Gin I had them, maybe I might give a guess, but there 
 was mony a leal Scot sairly bestead, wife and wean 
 and all, in her Majesty's cause that wearie spring." 
 
 Here Cis stirred in her sleep, and both women were 
 at her side in a moment, but she did not wake. 
 
 Jean Kennedy stood gazing at the girl with eager- 
 ness that she did not attempt to conceal, studying each 
 feature in detail ; but Cis showed in her sleep very 
 little of her royal lineage, which betrayed itself far 
 more in her gait and bearing than in her features. 
 Susan could not help demandiug of the nurse whether 
 she saw any resemblance that could show the maiden's 
 parentage. 
 
 The old lady gave a kind of Scotch guttural sound 
 expressive of disappointment, and said, "I'll no say 
 but I've seen the like beetle-broo. But we'll waken 
 the bairn with our clavers, I'll away the noo. Maistcr 
 Gorion will see her again ere night, but it w^ere ill to 
 break her sleep, the puir lassie !" 
 
 Nevertheless, she could not resist bending over and 
 kissing the sleeper, so gently that there was no move- 
 ment. Then she left the room, and Susan stood with 
 clasped hands. 
 
 " My child ! my child ! Oh, is it coming on thee ? 
 Wilt thou be taken from me ! Oh, and to what a fate ! 
 And to what hands ! They will never never love thee as 
 we have done ! God, protect her, and be her Father." 
 
 And Susan knelt by the bed in such a paroxysm of 
 grief that her husband, coming in unshod that he might 
 not disturb the girl, apprehended that she had become 
 seriously worse.
 
 XIV.] THE MONOGRAMS. l7l 
 
 However, his entrance awoke her, and she found 
 herself much better, and was inclined to talk, so he sat 
 down on a chest by the bed, and related what Diccon 
 had told him of the reappearance of the woman with 
 the basket of spar trinkets. 
 
 " Beads and bracelets," said Cicely. 
 
 " Ay ?" said he. " What knowest thou of them ?" 
 
 " Only that she spake the words so often ; and the 
 Queen, just ere that doctor began his speech, asked of 
 me whether she did not sell beads and bracelets." 
 
 " 'Tis a password, no doubt, and we must be on our 
 guard," said Richard, while his wife demanded with 
 whom Diccon had seen her speaking. 
 
 " With Gorion," returned he. " That was what 
 made the lad suspect something, knowing that the 
 chirurgeon can barely speak three sentences in any 
 tongue but his own, and those are in their barbarous 
 Scotch. I took the boy with me and iiiquired here, 
 there, and everywhere this afternoon, but could find no 
 one who had ever seen or heard of any one like her." 
 
 " Tell me, Cis," exclaimed Susan, with a sudden 
 conviction, " was she like in any fashion to Tibbott the 
 huckster- woman who brought young Babington into 
 trouble three years agone ?" 
 
 "Women's heads all run on one notion," said 
 Richard. " Can there be no secret agents save poor 
 Cuthbert, whom I believe to be beyond seas ?" 
 
 " Nay, but hear what saith the child ? " asked 
 Susan. 
 
 " This woman was not nearly so old as Tibbott," 
 said Cis, " nor did she walk with a staff, nor had she 
 those grizzled black brows that were wont to frighten 
 nie." 
 
 "But was she tall ?" asked Susan.
 
 172 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 " Oh yes, mother. She was very tall — she came 
 after Diccon and me with loug strides — yet it could 
 never have been Tibbott!" 
 
 Susan had reasons for thinking otherwise, but 'she 
 could not pursue the subject at that time, as she had 
 to go down to supper with her husband, and privacy 
 was impossible. Even at night, nobody enjoyed exten- 
 sive quarters, and but for Cicely's accident she would 
 have slept with Dyot, the tirewoman, who had arrived 
 with the baggage, which included a pallet bed for them. 
 However, the young lady had been carried to a chamber 
 intended for one of Queen Mary's suite ; and there it 
 was decreed that she should remain for the night, the 
 mother sleeping with her, while the father and son 
 betook themselves to the room previously allotted to 
 the family. Only on the excuse of going to take out 
 her husband's gear from the mails was Susan able to 
 secure a few words with him, and then by ordering 
 out Diccon, Dyot, and the serving-man. Then she 
 could succeed in saying, " Mine husband, all will soon 
 out — Mistress Kennedy and Master Gorion have seen 
 the brands on the child's shoulders. It is my belief 
 that she of the ' beads and bracelets ' bade the chirur- 
 geon look for them. Else, why should he have thrust 
 himself in for a hurt that women-folli: had far better 
 have tended ? Now, that kinsman of yours knew that 
 poor Cis was none of ours, and gave her a hint of it 
 long ago — that is, if Tibbott were he, and not some- 
 tliing worse." 
 
 Eichard shook his head. " Give a woman a hint of 
 a seminary priest in disguise, and she would take a 
 new-born baby for one. I tell tliee I heard that 
 Cuthbert was safe in Paris. But, be that as it may, I 
 trust thou hast been discreet."
 
 XIV.] THE MONOGRAMS. 173 
 
 " S( I strove to be," said Susan. " Mrs. Kennedy 
 questioned me. and I told her." 
 
 " Wliat ?" sharply demanded her husband. 
 
 "Nought but truth," she answered, "save that I 
 showed no knowledge who the maid really is, nor 
 le*: i-3r guess that you had read the scroll." 
 
 ■■■ That is well. Frank Talbot was scarce within 
 his duty when he gave me the key, and it were as 
 much as my head were worth to be known to have 
 been aware of the matter." To this Susan could only 
 assent, as they were interrupted by the serving-man 
 coming to ask directions about the bestowal of the 
 goods. 
 
 She was relieved by this short colloquy, but it was 
 a sad and wakeful night for her as Cicely slept by her 
 side. Her love was too truly motherly not to be 
 deeply troubled at the claim of one of differing religion 
 and nation, and who had so uncertain and perilous 
 a lot in which to place her child. There was also 
 the sense that all her dearest, including her eldest 
 son, were involved in the web of intrigue with per- 
 sons far mightier and more unscrupulous than them- 
 selves ; and that, however they might strive to preserve 
 their integrity, it would be very hard to avoid suspicion 
 and danger. 
 
 In tliis temporary abode, the household of the 
 Queen and of the Earl ate together, in the great aall, 
 and thus while breaking their fast in the morning Jean 
 Kennedy found opportunity to examine Eichard Talbot 
 on all the circumstances of the wreck of the Bride of 
 JDunlar, and the finding of the babe. She was much 
 more on her guard than the day before, and said that 
 she had a shrewd suspicion as to who the babe's parents 
 mifdit be, but that she could not be certain without
 
 174 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 seeing the reliquary and the scroll. Eichard replied 
 that they were at home, but made no offer of sending 
 for them. " Nor will I do so," said he to his wife, 
 " unless I am dealt plainly with, and the lady herself 
 asks for them. Then should I have no right to detain 
 them." 
 
 M. Gorion would not allow his patient to leave 
 her room that day, and she had to remain there while 
 Susan was in attendance on the Queen, who did not 
 appear to her yet to have heard of the discovery, and 
 who was entering with zest into the routine of the 
 place, where Dr. Jones might be regarded as the 
 supreme legislator. 
 
 Each division of the great batli hall was fitted with 
 drying and dressing room, arranged commodiously accord- 
 ing to the degree of those who were to use them. Royalty, 
 of course, enjoyed a monopoly, and after the hot bath, 
 which the Queen took immediately after rising, she 
 breakfasted in her own apartments, and then came 
 forth, according to the regimen of the place, by playing 
 at Trowle Madame. A board with arches cut in, just 
 big enough to permit the entrance of the balls used in 
 playing at bowls was placed on the turf at a convenient 
 distance from the player. Each arch was numbered, 
 from one to thirteen, but the numbers were irregularly 
 arranged, and the game consisted in rolling bowls into 
 the holes in succession, each player taking a single 
 turn, and the winner reaching the highest number 
 first, — being, in fact, a sort of lawn bagatelle. Dr. 
 Jones recommended it as good to stretch the rheumatic 
 joints of his patients, and Queen Mary, an adept at all 
 uut-of-door games, delighted in it, though she .had refused 
 an offer to have the lawn arranged for it at Sheffield, 
 saying that it would only spoil a Buxton delight. She
 
 XIV.] THE MONOGRAMS. 175 
 
 was still too stiff to play herself, but found infinite 
 amusement in teaching the new-comers the game, and 
 poor Susan, with her thoughts far away, was scarcely 
 so apt a pupil as befitted a royal mistress, especially 
 as she missed Mrs. Kennedy. 
 
 When she came back, she found that the dame had 
 been sitting with the patient, and had made herself 
 very agreeable to the girl by drawing out from her all 
 she knew of her own story from beginning to end, 
 having first shown that she knew of the wreck of the 
 Bride of Dunhar. 
 
 "And, mother," said Cis, "she says she is nearly 
 certain that she knows who my true parents were, and 
 that she could be certain if she saw the swaddling 
 clothes and tokens you had with me. Have you, 
 mother ? I never knew of them." 
 
 "Yes, child, I have. We did not wish to trouble 
 and perturb your mind, little one, while you were con- 
 tent to be our daughter." 
 
 "Ah, mother, I would fain be yours and father's 
 still. They must not take me from you. But sup- 
 pose I was some great and noble lord's daughter, and 
 had a great inheritance and lordship to give Humfrey !" 
 
 " Alas, child ! Scottish inheritances are wont to 
 bring more strife tlian wealth." 
 
 Nevertheless, Gis went on supposing and building 
 castles that were pain and grief to her foreboding- 
 auditor. That evening, however, Eichard called his 
 wife. It was late, but the northern sunset was only 
 just over, and Susan could wander out with him on 
 the greensward in front of the Earl's house. 
 
 " So this is the tale we are to be put off with," he 
 said, " from the Queen herself, ay, herself, and told 
 with such an air of truth that it would almost make
 
 176 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 me diocredit the scroll. She told me with one of her 
 sweetest smiles how a favourite kinswoman of hers 
 wedded in secret with a faithful follower of hers, of the 
 clan Hepburn. Oh, I assure you it might have been 
 a ballad sung by a harper for its sadness. Well, this 
 fellow ventured too far in her service, and had to flee 
 to France to become an archer of the guard, while the 
 wife remained and died at Lochleven Castle, having 
 given birth to our Cis, whom the Queen in due time 
 despatched to her father, he being minded to have her 
 bred up in a French nunnery, sending her to Dum- 
 baiton to be there embarked in the Bride of Dunbar." 
 
 "And the father?" 
 
 " Oh, forsooth, the father ! It cost her as little to 
 dispose of him as of the mother. He was killed in 
 some brawl with the Huguenots ; so that the poor child 
 is altogether an orphan, beholden to oiu' care, for which 
 she thanked mo with tears in her eyes, that were more 
 true than mayhap the poor woman could help." 
 
 " Poor lady," said Susan. " Yet can it not be sooth 
 indeed ?" 
 
 " Nay, dame, that may not be. The cipher is not 
 one that would be used in simply sending a letter to 
 the father." 
 
 " Might not the occasion have been used for cor- 
 responding in secret with French friends ? " 
 
 " I tell thee, wife, if I read one word of that letter, 
 I read that the child was her own, and confided to the 
 Abbess of Soissons ! I will read it to thee once more 
 ere I yield it up, that is if I ever do. Wherefore 
 cannot the woman speak truth to me ? I would be 
 true and faithful were I trusted, but to be thus put 
 off with lies makes a man ready at once to ride off 
 with the whole to the Queen in council."
 
 XIV.] THE MONOGRAMS. 177 
 
 " Think, but think, dear sir," pleaded Susan, " how 
 the poor lady is pressed, and how much she has to 
 fear on all sides." 
 
 "Ay, because lies have been meat and drink to 
 her, till she cannot speak a soothfast word nor know 
 an honest man when she sees him." 
 
 " What would she have ?" 
 
 "That Cis should remain with us as before, and 
 still pass for our daughter, till such time as these 
 negotiations are over, and she recover her kingdom. 
 That is — so far as I see — like not to be till latter 
 Lammas — but meantime what sayest thou, Susan ? 
 Ah ! I knew, anything to keep the child with thee ! 
 Well, be it so — though if I had known the web we 
 were to be wound into, I'd have sailed for the Indies 
 with Humfrey long ago !"
 
 178 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTEE XY. 
 
 MOTHER AND CHILD. 
 
 Cicely was well enough the next day to leave her 
 room and come out on the summer's evening to enjoy 
 the novel spectacle of Trowle Madame, in which she 
 burned to participate, so soon as her shoulder should 
 be weU. It was with a foreboding heart that her 
 adopted mother fell with her into the rear of the suite 
 who were attending Queen Mary, as she went down- 
 stairs to walk on the lawn, and sit under a canopy 
 whence she could watch either that game, or the 
 shooting at the butts whicli was being carried on a 
 little farther off. 
 
 " So, our bonnie maiden," said Mary, brightening as 
 she caught sight of the young girl, " thou art come 
 forth once more to rejoice mine eyes, a sight for sair 
 een, as they say in Scotland," and she kissed the fresh 
 cheeks with a tenderness that gave Susan a strange 
 pang. Then she asked kindly after the hurt, and bade 
 Cis sit at her feet, while she watched a match in 
 archery between some of the younger attendants, now 
 and then laying a caressing hand upon the slender 
 figure. 
 
 " Little one," she said, " I would fain have thee to 
 share my pillow. I have had no young bed-fellow
 
 XV.] MOTHER AND CHILD. 179 
 
 since Bess Pierrepoint left us. Wilt thou stoop to 
 come and cheer the poor old caged bird ?" 
 
 " Oh, madam, how gladly will I do so if I may !" 
 cried Cicely, delighted. 
 
 " We will take good care of her. Mistress Talbot," 
 said Mary, " and deliver her up to you whole and sain 
 in the morning," and there was a quivering playfulness 
 in her voice. 
 
 " Your Grace is the mistress," answered Susan, with 
 a sadness not quite controlled. 
 
 " All ! you mock me, madam. Would that I were !" 
 returned the Queen. " It is my Lord's consent that 
 we must ask. How say you, my Lord, may I have 
 this maiden for my warder at night ?" 
 
 Lord Shrewsbury was far from seeing any objection, 
 and the promise was given that Cis should repair to 
 the Queen's chamber for at least that night. She was 
 full of excitement at the prospect. 
 
 " Why look you so sadly at me, sweet mother ?" she 
 cried, as Susan made ready her hair, and assisted her in 
 all the arrangements for which her shoulder was still 
 too stiff; " you do not fear that they will hurt my arm ?" 
 
 " No, truly, my child. They have tender and skil- 
 ful hands." 
 
 " May be they will tell me the story of my parents," 
 ■oaid Cis ; " but you need never doubt me, mother. 
 Though I were to prove to be ever so great a lady, no 
 one could ever be mine own mother like you !" 
 
 " Scarcely in love, my child," said Susan, as sho 
 wrapped the little figure in a loose gown, and gave her 
 such a kiss as parents seldom permitted themselves, in 
 the fear of "cockering" their children, which was con- 
 sidered to be a most reprehensible practice. Nor could 
 she refrain from closely pressing Cicely's hand as they
 
 180 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAP. 
 
 passed througli the corridor to the Queen's apartments, 
 gave the word to the two yeomen who were on guard 
 for the night at the head of the stairs, and tapped at 
 the outmost door of the royal suite of rooms. It was 
 opened by a French valet ; but Mrs. Kennedy in- 
 stantly advanced, took the maiden by the hand, and 
 with a significant smile said : " Gramercy, madam, we 
 v^ill take unco gude tent of the lassie. A fair gude 
 nicht to ye." And Mrs. Talbot felt, as she put the little 
 hand into that of the nurse, and saw the door shut on 
 them, as if she had virtually given up her daughter, 
 and, oh ! was it for her good ? 
 
 Cis was led into the bedchamber, bright with 
 wax tapers, though the sky was not yet dark. She 
 heard a sound as of closing and locking double 
 doors, while some one drew back a crimson, gold-edged 
 velvet curtain, which she had seen several times, and 
 which it was whispered concealed the shrine where 
 Queen Mary performed her devotions. She had just 
 risen from before it, at the sound of Cis's entrance, 
 and two of her ladies, Mary Seaton and Marie de 
 Courcelles, seemed to have been kueeliug with her. 
 She was made ready for bed, with a dark-blue velvet 
 gown corded round her, and her hair, now very gray, 
 braided beneath a little round cap, but a square of soft 
 cambric drapery had been thrown over her head, so as 
 to form a perfectly graceful veil, and shelter the features 
 that were aging. Indeed, when Queen Mary wore the 
 exquisite smile that now lit up her face as she held out 
 her arms, no one ever paused to think what those 
 lineaments really M^ere. She held out her arms as 
 Cis advanced bashfully, and said : " Welcome, my 
 sweet bed-fellow, my little Scot — one more loyal sub- 
 ject come to me in my bondage."
 
 XV.] MOTHER AND CHILD. 181 
 
 Cis's impulse was to put a knee to the ground and kiss 
 the hands that received her. " Thou art our patient," 
 continued Mary. " I will see thee in bed ere I settle 
 myself there." The bed was a tall, large, carved erec- 
 tion, with sweeping green and silver curtains, and a 
 huge bank of lace-bordered pillows. A flight of low 
 steps facilitated the asceut ; and Cis, passive in this 
 new scene, was made to throw off her dressing-gown 
 and climb up. 
 
 " And now," said the Queen, " let me see the poor 
 little shoulder that hath suffered so much." 
 
 " My arm is still bound, madam," said Cis. But 
 she was not listened to ; and Mrs. Kennedy, much to 
 her discomfiture, turned back her under-garment. The 
 marks were, in fact, so placed as to be entirely out of 
 her own view, and Mrs. Susan had kept them from the 
 knowledge or remark of any one. They were also high 
 enough up to be quite clear from the bandages, and 
 thus she was amazed to hear the exclamation, " There ! 
 sooth enough." 
 
 " Monsieur Gorion could swear to them instantly." 
 
 " What is it ? Oh, what is it, madam ? " cried Cis, 
 affrighted ; " is there anything on my back ? No 
 plague spot, I hope ;" and her eyes grew round with 
 terror. 
 
 The Queen laughed. " No plague spot, sweet one, 
 save, perhaps, in the eyes of you Protestants, but to me 
 they are a gladsome sight — a token I never hoped 
 to see." 
 
 And the bewildered girl felt a pair of soft lips kiss 
 each mark in turn, and then the covering was quickly 
 and caressingly restored, and Mary added, " Lie down, 
 my child, and now to bed, to bed, my maids. Put out 
 the lights." Then, making the sign of the cross, as
 
 182 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Cis had seen poor Antony Babington do, the Queen, 
 just as all the lights save one were extinguished, was 
 divested of her wrapper and veil, and took her place 
 heside Cis on the pillows. The two Maries left the 
 chamber, and Jean Kennedy disposed herself on a pallet 
 at the foot of the bed. 
 
 " And so," said the Queen, in a low voice, tender, 
 but with a sort of banter, " she thought she had the 
 plague spot on her little white shoulders. Didst thou 
 really not know what marks thou bearest, little one ?" 
 
 " No, madam," said Cis. " Is it what I have felt 
 with my fingers ?" 
 
 "Listen, child," said Mary. "Art thou at thine 
 ease ; thy poor shoulder resting well ? There, then, 
 give me thine hand, and I will tell thee a tale. There 
 was a lonely castle in a lake, grim, cold, and northerly ; 
 and thither there was brought by angry men a captive 
 woman. They had dealt with her strangely and sub- 
 tilly ; they had laid on her the guilt of the crimes them- 
 selves had wrought; and when she clung to the one 
 man whom at least she thought honest, they had forced 
 and driven her into wedding him, only that all the 
 world might cry out upon her, forsake her, and deliver 
 her up into those cruel hands." 
 
 There was something irresistibly pathetic in Mary's 
 voice, and the maiden lay gazing at her with swimming 
 eyes. 
 
 " Thou dost pity that poor lady, sweet one ? There 
 was little pity for her tlien ! She had looked her last 
 on her lad -bairn; ay, and they had said she had 
 striven to poison him, and they were breeding him up 
 to loathe the very name of his mother ; yea, and to hate 
 and persecute the Church of his father and his mother 
 hoth. And so it was, that the lady vowed that ii
 
 XV.] MOTHEK AJS^D CHIIJ). 183 
 
 another babe was granted to her, sprung of that last 
 strange miserable wedlock, these foes of hers should 
 have no part in it, nor knowledge of its very existence, 
 but that it should be bred up beyond their ken — safe 
 out of their reach. Ah ! child ; good Nurse Kennedy 
 can best tell thee how the jealous eyes and ears were 
 disconcerted, and in secrecy and sorrow that birth took 
 place. 
 
 Cis's heart was beating too fast for speech, but 
 there was a tight close pressure of the hand that Mary 
 had placed within hers. 
 
 " The poor mother," went on the Queen in a low 
 trembling voice, " durst have scarce one hour s joy of her 
 first and only daughter, ere the trusty Gorion took the 
 little one from her, to be nursed in a hut on the other 
 side of the lake. There," continued Mary, forgetting 
 the third person, " I hoped to have joined her, so soon 
 as I was afoot again. The faithful lavender lent me 
 her garments, and I was already in the boat, but the 
 men-at-arms were rude and would have pulled down 
 my muffler ; I raised my hand to protect myself, and 
 it was all too white. They had not let me stain it, 
 because the dye would not befit a washerwoman. So 
 there was I dragged back to ward again, and all our 
 plans overthrown. And it seemed safer and meeter to 
 put my little one out of reach of all my foes, even if 
 it were far away from her mother's aching heart. Not 
 one more embrace could I be granted, but my good 
 chaplain Eoss — whom the saints rest — baptized her in 
 secret, and Gorion had set two marks on the soft flesh, 
 which he said could never be blotted out in after 
 years, and then her father's clanswoman, Alison Hep- 
 burn, undertook to carry her to France, with a letter 
 of mine bound up in her swathing clothes, committing
 
 184 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 her to the charge of my good aunt, the Abbess of 
 Soissons, in utter secrecy, until better days should 
 come. Alas ! I thought them not so far off. I 
 deemed that were I once beyond the clutches of 
 Morton, Euthven, and the rest, the loyal would rally 
 once more round my standard, and my crown would 
 be mine own, mine enemies and those of my Church 
 beneath my feet. Little did I guess that my escape 
 would only be to see them slain and routed, and that 
 when I threw myself on the hospitality of my cousin, 
 he"r tender mercies would prove such as I have found 
 them. 'Libera me, Domine, libera mey 
 
 Cis began dimly to understand, but she was still 
 too much awed to make any demonstration, save a 
 convulsive pressure of the Queen's hand, and the 
 murmuring of the Latin prayer distressed her. 
 
 Presently Mary resumed. " Long, long did I hope 
 my little one was safely sheltered from all my troubles 
 in the dear old cloisters of Soissons, and that it was 
 caution in my good aunt the abbess that prevented ray 
 hearing of her ; but through my faithful servants, my 
 Lord Fletnyng, who had been charged to speed her from 
 Dumbarton, at length let me know that the ship in which 
 she sailed, the Bride of Dunbar, had been never heard 
 of more, and was thought to have been cast away in a 
 tempest that raged two days after she quitted Dum- 
 barton. And I — I slied some tears, but I could well 
 believe that the innocent babe had been safely wel- 
 comed among the saints, and I could not grieve that 
 she was, as I thought, spared from the doom that 
 rests upon the race of Stewart. Till one week back, I 
 gave thanks for that child of sorrow as cradled in 
 Paradise." 
 
 Then followed a pause, and then Cis said in a low
 
 XV.] MOTHER AND CHILD. 185 
 
 brembliug voice, "And it was from the wreck of the 
 Bride of Danhar that I was taken ? " 
 
 " Thou hast said it, child ! ]\Iy bairn, my bonnie 
 bairn ! " and the girl was absorbed in a passionate 
 embrace and strained convulsively to a bosom which 
 Leaved with th3 sobs of tempestuous emotion, and the 
 caresses were redoubled upon her again and again with 
 increasing fervour that almost frightened her. 
 
 " Speak to me ! Speak to me ! Let me hear my 
 child's voice." 
 
 " Oh, madam " 
 
 " Call me mother ! Never have T heard that sound 
 from my child's lips. I have borne two children, two 
 living children, only to be stripped of both. Speak, 
 child — let me hear thee." 
 
 Cis contrived to say " Mother, my mother," but 
 scarcely with effusion. It was all so strange, and she 
 could not help feeling as if Susan were the mother 
 she knew and was at ease witli. All this was much 
 too like a dream, from which she longed to awake. 
 And there was Mrs. Kennedy too, rising up and 
 crying quite indignantly — " ]\Iother indeed ! Is that all 
 thou hast to say, as though it were a task under tlie 
 rod, when thou art owned for her own bairn by the 
 fairest and most ill-used queen in Christendom ? Out 
 on thee ! Have the Southron loons chilled thine heart 
 and made thee no leal to thine ain mother that hatli 
 hungered for thee ?" 
 
 The angry tones, and her sense of her own short- 
 comings, could only make Cis burst into tears. 
 
 " Husli, hush, nurse ! thou shalt not chide my new- 
 found bairn. She will learn to ken us betJ^er in 
 time if they will leave her with us," said Mary. 
 " There, there ; greet not so sair, mine ain. I ask
 
 186 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 thee not to share my sorrows and my woes. That 
 Heaven forefend. I ask thee but to come froiQ time 
 to time and cheer my nights, and lie on my weary 
 bosom to still its ache and yearning, and let me feel 
 that I have indeed a child." 
 
 " Oh, mother, motlier !" Cis cried again in a stifled 
 voice, as one who could not utter her feelings, but not 
 in the cold dry tone that had called forth Mrs. 
 Kennedy's wrath. "Pardon me, I know not — I 
 cannot say what I would. But oh ! I would do any- 
 thing for — for your Grace." 
 
 " All that I would ask of thee is to hold thy peace 
 and keep our counsel. Be Cicely Talbot by day as 
 ever. Only at night be mine — my child, my Bride, 
 for so wast thou named after our Scottish patroness. 
 It was a relic of her sandals that was hung about thy 
 neck, and her ship in which thou didst sail ; and lo, she 
 heard and guarded thee, and not merely saved thee from 
 death, but provided thee a happy joyous home and 
 well -nurtured childliood. We must render her our 
 thanks, my chUd. Bcata Brigitia, ora fro nobis." 
 
 " It was the good God Almighty who saved me, 
 madam," said Cis bluntly. 
 
 " Alack ! I forgot that yonder good lady could 
 not fail to rear thee in the outer darkness of her 
 heresy ; but thou wilt come back to us, my ain wee 
 thing ! Heaven forbid that I should deny Whose Hand 
 it was that saved thee, but it was at the blessed 
 Bride's intercession. No doubt she reserved for me, 
 who had turned to her in my distress, this precious 
 consolation ! But I will not vex thy little heart with 
 debate this first night. To be mother and child is 
 enough for us. What art thou pondering?" 
 
 " Only, madam, who was it that told your Grace 
 that I was a stranger ?"
 
 XV,] MOTHER AND CHILD. 187 
 
 "The marks, bairnie, the marks," said Mary. 
 " They told their own tale to good Nurse Jeaiiie ; ay, 
 and to Gorion, whom we blamed lor his cruelty in 
 branding my poor little lamniie." 
 
 " Ah ! but," said Cicely, " did not yonder woman 
 with the beads and bracelets bid him look ? " 
 
 If it had been lighter, Cicely would have seen that 
 the Queen was not pleased at the inquiry, but she 
 only heard the answer from Jean's bed, " Hout no, I 
 wad she knew nought of thae brands. How should 
 she?" 
 
 " Nay," said Cicely, " she — no, it was Tibbott the 
 huckster-woman told me long ago that I was not what 
 I seemed, and that I came from the north — I cannot 
 understand ! Were they the same ?" 
 
 " The bairn kens too much," said Jean. " Dinna 
 ye deave her Grace with your speirings, my lammic. 
 Ye'll haA^e to learn to keep a quiet sough, and to see 
 mickle ye canna understand here." 
 
 " Silence her not, good nurse," said the Queen, " it 
 imports us to know this matter. What saidst thou of 
 Tibbott?" 
 
 " She was the woman who got Antony Babington 
 into trouble," exj)lained Cicely. " I deemed her a 
 witch, for she would hint strange things concerning me, 
 but my father always believed she was a kinsman of 
 his, who was concerned in the Eising of the North, 
 and who, he said, had seen me brought in to Hull 
 from the wreck." 
 
 " Ay ? " said the Queen, as a sign to her to con- 
 tinue. 
 
 " And meseemed," added Cicely timidly, " that the 
 strange woman at Tideswell wlio talked of beads and 
 bracelets minded me of Tibbott, though she was
 
 188 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 younger, and had not her grizzled brows ; but father 
 says that cannot be, for Master Cuthbert Langston is 
 beyond seas at Paris." 
 
 " Soh ! that is well," returned ]\Iary, in a tone of 
 relief. " See, child. That Langston of whom you 
 speak was a true friend of mine. He has done much 
 for me under many disguises, and at the time of thy 
 birth he lived as a merchant at Hull, trading with 
 Scotland. Thus it may have become known to him 
 that the babe he had seen rescued from the wreck was 
 one who had been embarked at Dumbarton. But no 
 more doth he know. The secret of thy birth, my poor 
 ,bairn, was entrusted to none save a few of those about 
 me, and all of those who are still living thou hast 
 already seen. Lord Elemyng, who put thee on board, 
 believed thee the child of James Hepburn of Lillie- 
 burn, the archer, and of my poor Mary Stewart, a 
 kinswoman of mine ain ; and it was in that belief 
 doubtless that he, or Tibbott, as thou call'st him, would 
 have spoken with thee." 
 
 " But the woman at Tideswell," said Cis, who was 
 getting bewildered — " Diccon said that she spake to 
 Master Gorion." 
 
 " That did she, and pointed thee out to him. It is 
 true. She is another faithful friend of mine, and no 
 doubt she liad the secret from him. But no more ques- 
 tions, child. Enough that we sleep in each other's arms." 
 
 It was a strange night. Cis was more conscious of 
 wonder, excitement, and a certain exultation, than of 
 actual affection. She had not been bred up so as to 
 hunger and crave for love. Indeed she had been 
 treated with more tenderness and indulgence than was 
 usual with people's own daughters, and her adopted 
 parents had absorbed her undoubting love and respect.
 
 XV.] M(frHEK AND CHILD, 18ft 
 
 Queen Mary's fervent caresses were at least as em- 
 barrassing as they ^vere gratifying, because she did not 
 know what response to make, and the novelty and 
 wonder of the situation were absolutely distressing. 
 
 They would have been more so but for the Queen's 
 tact. She soon saw that she was overwhelming the 
 girl, and that time must be given for her to become 
 accustomed to the idea. So, saying tenderly something 
 about rest, she lay quietly, leaving Cis, as she supposed, 
 to sleep. This, however, was impossible to the girl, 
 except in snatches which made her have to prove to 
 herself again and again that it was not all a dream. 
 The last of these wakenings was by daylight, as full as 
 the heavy curtains would admit, and she looked up into 
 a face that was watching her with such tender wistful- 
 ness that it drew from her perforce the word " ]\Iother." 
 
 " Ah ! that is the tone with the true ring in it. I 
 thank thee and I bless thee, my bairn," said Mary, 
 making over her the sign of the cross, at which tlie 
 maiden vanced as at an incantation. Then she added, 
 " My little maid, we must be up and stirring. Mind, 
 no word of all this. Thou art Cicely Talbot by day, 
 as ever, and only my child, my Bride, mine ain wee 
 thing, my princess by night. Canst keep counsel ?" 
 
 " Surely, madam," said Cis, " I have known for 
 five years that I was a foundling on the wreck, and 
 i never uttered a word." 
 
 Mary smiled. " This is either a very simple child 
 or a very canny one," she said to Jean Kennedy, 
 " Eitlier she sees no boast in being of royal blood, or 
 she deems tliat to have the mother she has found is 
 worse than the being the nameless foundling." 
 
 " Oh ! madam, mother, not so ! I meant but that 
 1 had lield my tongue when I had something to tell !"
 
 190 UNKNOWN TO HISfORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " Let thy secrecy stand tliee iu good stead, child," 
 said the Queen. " Eemember that did the bruit once 
 get abroad, thou wouldest assuredly be torn from 
 me, to be mewed up where the English Queen could 
 hinder thee from ever wedding living man. Ay, and 
 it might bring the head of thy foster-father to the 
 block, if he were thought to have concealed the matter. 
 I fear me thou art too young for such a weighty secret." 
 
 " I am seventeen years old, madam," returned Cis, 
 with dignity ; " I have kept the other secret since I 
 was twelve." 
 
 " Then thou wilt, I trust, have the wisdom not to 
 take the princess on thee, nor to give any suspicion that 
 we are more to one another than the caged bird and 
 the bright linnet that comes to sing on the bars of 
 her cage. Only, child, thou must get from Master 
 Talbot these tokens that I hear of. Hast seen them ? " 
 
 " Never, madam ; indeed I knew not of them." 
 
 " I need them not to know thee for mine own, but 
 it is not well that they should be in stranger hands. 
 Thou canst say — But hush, we must be mum for the 
 present." 
 
 For it became necessary to admit the Queen's 
 morning draught of spiced milk, borne in by one of 
 her suite who had to remain uninitiated ; and from 
 that moment no more confidences could be exchanged, 
 until the time that Cis had to leave the Queen's 
 chamber to join the rest of the household in tlie daily 
 prayers offered in the chapel. Her dress and hair had, 
 according to promise, been carefully attended to, but 
 she was only finished and completed just in time to 
 join her adopted parents on the way down the stairs. 
 She knelt in the hall for their blessing — an action a? 
 residar and as mechanical as the morning kiss and
 
 XV.] MOTHER AND CHILD. 191 
 
 greeting now are between pcarent and child ; Lut there 
 was something in her face tliat made Susan say to 
 herself, " She knows all." 
 
 They could not speak to one another till not only 
 matins but' breakfast were ended, and then — after the 
 somewhat solid meal — the ladies had to put on their 
 out-of-door gear to attend Queen Mary in her daily 
 exercise. The dress was not much, high summer as it 
 was, only a loose veil over the stiff cap, and a fan in 
 the gloved hand to act as parasol. However the 
 retirement gave Cicely an interval in which to say, 
 " mother, she has told me," and as Susan sat holding 
 out her arms, the adopted child threw herself on her 
 knees, hiding her face on that bosom where she had 
 found comfort all her life, and where, her emotion at 
 last finding full outlet, she sobbed without knowing 
 why for some moments, till she started nervously at 
 the entrance of Kichard, saying, '■ The Queen is asking 
 for you both. But how now ? Is all told ?" 
 
 " Ay," whispered his wife. 
 
 " So ! And why these tears ? Tell me, my maid, 
 was not she good to thee ? Doth she seek to take thee 
 into her own keeping ?" 
 
 " Oh no, sir, no," said Cis, still kneeling against the 
 motherly knee and struggling with her sobs. " JSTo one 
 is to guess. I am to be Cicely Talbot all the same, 
 till better days come to her." 
 
 " The safer and the happier for thee, child. Here 
 are two honest hearts tliat will not cast thee off, even 
 if, as I suspect, yonder lady would fain be quit of thee." 
 
 " Oh no !" burst from Cicely, then, shocked at 
 having committed the offence of interrupting liim, she 
 added, " Dear sir, I crave your pardon, but, indeed, she 
 is all fondness and love."
 
 192 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " Then what means this passion ?" he asked, looking 
 from one to the other. 
 
 " It means only that the child's senses and spirits 
 are overcome," said Susan, " and that she scarce knows 
 how to take this discovery. Is it not so, sweetheart ?" 
 
 " Oh, sweet mother, yes in sooth. You will ever 
 be mother to me indeed !" 
 
 " Well said, little maid !" said Pdchard. " Thou 
 mightest search the world over and never hap upon 
 such another." 
 
 " But she oweth duty to the true mother," said 
 Susan, with her hand on the girl's neck. 
 
 " We wot well of that," answered her husband, " and 
 I trow the first is to be secret." 
 
 " Yea, sir," said Cis, recovering herself, " none save 
 the very few who tended her, the Queen at Lochleven, 
 know who I verily am. Such as were aware of the 
 babe being put on board ship at Dumbarton, thought 
 me the daughter of a Scottish archer, a Hepburn, and 
 she, the Queen my mother, would have me pass as 
 such to those who needs must know I am not myself" 
 
 " Trust her for making a double web when a single 
 one would do," muttered Kichard, but so tliat the girl 
 could not hear. 
 
 " There is no need for any to know at present/' said 
 Susan hastily, moved perhaps by the same dislike to 
 deception ; " but ah, there's that fortune-telling woman." 
 
 Cis, proud of her secret information, here explained 
 that Tibbott was indeed Cuthbert Laugston, but not 
 the person whose password was " beads and bracelets," 
 and that both alike could know no more than the story 
 of the Scottish archer and his young wife ; but they 
 were here interrupted by the appearance of Diccon, 
 who had been sent by my Lord himself to hasten tliem,
 
 XV.] MOTHER AND CHILD. 193 
 
 at the instance of the Queeu. Master Eichard sent the 
 boy on with his mother, saying he would wait and 
 bring Cis, as she had still to compose her hair and coif, 
 which had become somewhat disordered, 
 
 " My maiden," he said, gravely, " I have somewhat 
 to say unto thee. Thou art in a stranger case than 
 any woman of thy years between the four seas ; nay, 
 it may be in Christendom. It is woeful hard for thee 
 not to be a traitor through mere lapse of tongue to 
 thine own mother, or else to thy Queen. So I tell 
 thee this once for all. See as little, hear as little, and, 
 above all, say as little as thou canst." 
 
 " Not to mother ?" asked Cis. 
 
 " No, not to her, above all not to me ; and, my girl, 
 pray God daily to keep thee true and loyal, and guard 
 thee and the rest of us from snares. Now have with 
 thee. We may tarry no longer!" 
 
 All went as usual for the rest of the day, so that 
 the last night was like a dream, until it became plain 
 that Cicely was again to share the royal apartment. 
 
 " Ah, I have thirsted for this hour !" said Mary, 
 holding out her arms and drawing her daughter to her 
 bosom. " Thou art a canny lassie, mine ain wee thing. 
 None could have guessed from thy bearing that there 
 was aught betwixt us." 
 
 " In sooth, madam," said the girl, " it seems that I 
 am two maidens in one — Cis Talbot by day, and Bride 
 of Scotland by night." 
 
 " That is well ! Be all C:^ Talbot by day. When 
 there is need to dissemble, believe in thine own feign- 
 ing. 'Tis for want of that art that these clumsy 
 Southrons make themselves but a laughing-stock when- 
 ever they have a secret." 
 
 Cis did not understand the maxim, and submitted 
 o
 
 194 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 in silence to some caresses before she said, " My father 
 will give your Grace the tokens when we return." 
 
 "Thy father, child?" 
 
 " I crave your pardon, madam, it comes too trip- 
 pingly to my tongue thus to term JMaster Talbot." 
 
 " So much the better. Thy tongue must not lose 
 the trick. 1 did but feel a moment's fear lest thou 
 hadst not been guarded enough with yonder sailor 
 man, and had let him infer over much." 
 
 " 0, surely, madam, you never meant me to with- 
 hold the truth from father and mother," cried Cis, in 
 astonishment and dismay. 
 
 " Tush ! silly maid !" said the Queen, really angered. 
 " Father and mother, forsooth ! Now shall we have a 
 fresh coil ! I should have known better than to have 
 trusted thy word." 
 
 " Never would I have given my word to deceive 
 them," cried Cis, hotly. 
 
 " Lassie !" exclaimed Jean Kennedy, " ye forget to 
 whom ye speak." 
 
 " Nay," said Mary, recovering herself, or rather see- 
 ing how best to punish, " 'tis the poor bairn who will 
 be the sufferer. Our state cannot be worse than it is 
 already, save that I shall lose her presence, but it 
 pities me to think of her." 
 
 " The secret is safe with them," repeated Cis. " 
 madam, none are to be trusted like them." 
 
 " Tell me not," said the Queen. " The sailor's 
 blundering loyalty will not suffer him to hold his 
 tongue. I would lay my two lost crowns that he is 
 down on his honest knees before my Lord craviug par- 
 don for having unwittingly fostered one of the viper 
 brood. Then, via ! off goes a post — boots and spurs are 
 no doubt already on — and by and by comes KnoUys,
 
 XV.] MOTHEK AND CHILD. 1911 
 
 or Carey, or Walsingham, to bear off the perilous 
 maiden to walk in Queen Bess's train, and have her 
 ears boxed when her Majesty is out of humour, or 
 when she gets weary of dressing St. Katherine's hair, 
 and weds the man of her choice, she begins to taste 
 of prison walls, and is a captive for the rest of her 
 days." 
 
 Cis was reduced to tears, and assurances that if 
 the Queen would only broach the subject to Master 
 Eichard, she would perceive that he regarded as sacred, 
 secrets that were not his own ; and to show that he 
 meant no betrayal, she repeated his advice as to seeing, 
 hearing, and saying as little as possible. 
 
 " Wholesome counsel !" said Mary. " Cheer thee, 
 lassie mine, I will credit whatever thou wilt of this 
 foster-father of thine until I see it disproved ; and for 
 the good lady his wife, she hath more inward, if less 
 outward, grace than any dame of the mastiff brood 
 which guards our prison court ! I should have 
 warned thee that they were not excepted from those 
 who may deem thee my poor Mary's child." 
 
 Cicely did not bethink herself that, in point of fact, 
 she had not communicated her royal birth to her 
 adopted parents, but that it had been assumed hetween 
 them, as, indeed, they had not mentioned their previous 
 knowledge. Mary presently proceeded — " After all, 
 we may not have to lay too heavy a burden on their 
 discretion. Better days are coming. One day shall 
 our faithful lieges open the way to freedom and royalty, 
 and thou shalt have wliatever boon thou wouldst ask, 
 even were it pardon for my Lady Shrewsbury." 
 
 " There is one question I would fain ask, Madam 
 mother : Doth my real father yet live ? The Earl 
 of "
 
 196 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Jeau Kennedy made a sound of indignant warning 
 and consternation, cutting her short in dismay ; but 
 the Queen gripped her hand tightly for some moments, 
 and then said : " 'Tis not a thing to speir of me, child, 
 of me, the most woefully deceived and forlorn of ladies. 
 Never have I seen nor heard from him since the part- 
 ing at Carbery Hill, when he left me to bear the 
 brunt ! Folk say that he took ship for the north. 
 Believe him dead, child. So were it best for us both ; 
 but never name him to me more." 
 
 Jean Kennedy knew, though the girl did not, what 
 these words conveyed. If Bothwell no longer lived, 
 there would be no need to declare the marriage null 
 and void, and thus sacrifice his daughter's position ; 
 but supposing him to be in existence, Mary had 
 already shown herself resolved to cancel the very 
 irregular bonds which had united them, — a most 
 easy matter for a member of her Church, since they 
 had been married by a Reformed minister, and Both- 
 w^ell had a living wife at the time. Of all this Cicely 
 was absolutely ignorant, and was soon eagerly listening 
 as the Queen spoke of her hopes of speedy deliverance. 
 " ]\Iy son, my Jamie, is working for me !" she said. 
 " Nay, dost not ken what is in view for me ?" 
 
 " No, madam, my good father. Master Eichard, I 
 mean, never tells aught that he hears in my Lord's 
 closet." 
 
 " That is to assure me of his discretion, T trow ! 
 But this is no secret ! No treason against our well- 
 beloved cousin Bess ! Oh no ! But thy brother, mine 
 ain lad -bairn, hath come to years of manhood, and 
 hath shaken himself free of the fetters of Knox and 
 Morton and Buchanan, and all their clamjamfrie. 
 The Stewart lion hath been too strong for them. The
 
 XV.] MOTHER AND CHILD. 197 
 
 piiir laddie hath true men about him, at last, — the 
 Master of Gray, as they call him, and Esme Stewart of 
 Aubigny, a Scot polished as tlie French know how 
 to brighten Scottish steel. Nor will the lad bide 
 that his mother should pine longer in durance. He 
 yearns for her, and hath writ to her and to Elizabeth 
 ofiferiug her a share in his throne. Poor laddie, what 
 would be oiitrecuidance in another is but duteousness 
 in him. What will he say when we bring him a 
 sister as well as a mother ? They tell me that he is 
 an unco scholar, but uncouth in his speech and man- 
 ners, and how should it be otherwise with no woman 
 near him save my old Lady Mar ? We shall have to 
 take him in hand to teach him fair courtesy." 
 
 " Sure he will be an old pupil !" said Cis, " if he be 
 more than two years my elder." 
 
 " Never fear, if we can find a winsome young bride 
 for him, trust mother, wife, and sister for moulding 
 him to kingly bearing. We will make our home in 
 Stirling or Linlithgow, we two, and leave Holyrood to 
 him. I have seen too much there ever to thole the 
 sight of those chambers, far less of the High Street of 
 Edinburgh ; but Stirling, bonnie Stirling, ay, I would 
 fain ride a hawking there once more. Methiuks a 
 Highland breeze would put life and youth into me 
 again. There's a little chamber opening into miue, 
 wdiere I will bestow thee, my Lady Bride of Scot- 
 land, for so long as I may keep thee. Ah ! it will not 
 be for long. They will be seeking thee, my brave 
 courtly faithful kindred of Lorraine, and Scottish 
 nobles and English lords will vie for this little hand 
 of thine, where courses the royal blood of both reabns." 
 
 " So please you, madam, my mother " 
 
 " Eh ? What is it ? Who is it ? I deemed that
 
 198 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP 
 
 yonder honourable dame had kept thee from all the 
 frolics and foibles of the poor old profession. Fear 
 not to tell me, little one. Eemember thine own 
 mother hath a heart for such matters. I guess 
 .'liready. G'etait un heau gargon, ce pauvre Antoine." 
 
 " Oh no, madam," exclaimed Cicely. " When the 
 sailor Goatley disclosed that I was no child of my 
 father's, of Master Eichard I mean, and was a nameless 
 creature belonging to no one, Humfrey Talbot stood 
 forth and pledged himself to wed me so soon as we 
 were old enough." 
 
 "And what said the squire and dame ?" 
 
 " That I should then be indeed their daughter." 
 
 "And hath the contract gone no farther ?" 
 
 "No, madam. He hath been to the North with 
 Captain Frobisher, and since that to the Western Main, 
 and we look for his return even now," 
 
 " How long is it since this pledge, as thou callest 
 it, was given ?" 
 
 " Five years next Lammas tide, madam," 
 
 " Was it by ring or token ?" 
 
 " No, madam. Our mother said we were too young, 
 but Humfrey meant it with all his heart." 
 
 " Humfrey ! That was the urchin who must 
 needs traverse the correspondence through tlie seeming 
 Tibbott, and so got Antony removed from about us. 
 A stout lubberly Yorkshire lad, fed on beef and pud- 
 ding, a true Talbot, a mere English bull-dog who will 
 have lost all the little breeding he had, while commit- 
 ting spulzie and piracy at sea on his Catholic Majesty's 
 ships. Bah, mon enfant, I am glad of it. Had he 
 been a graceful young courtly page like the poor 
 Antony, it might have been a little difficult, but a 
 great English carle like that, whom thou hast not seen
 
 XV.] MOTHER AND CHILD. 199 
 
 for five years — " She made a gesture with her grace- 
 ful hands as if casting away a piece of thistledown. 
 
 " Humfrey is my very good — my very good brother 
 madam," cried Cicely, casting about for words to 
 defend him, and not seizing the most appropriate. 
 
 " Brother, quotha ? Yea, and as good brother he shall 
 be to thee, and welcome, so long as thou art Cis Talbot 
 by day — but no more, child. Princesses mate not with 
 Yorkshire esquires. When the Lady Bride takes her 
 place in the halls of her forefathers, she will be the 
 property of Scotland, and her hand will be sought by 
 princes. Ah, lassie ! let it not grieve thee. One thing 
 thy mother can tell thee from her own experience. 
 There is more bliss in mating with our equals, by the 
 choice of others, than in following our own wild will. 
 Thou gazest at me in wonder, but verily my happy 
 days were with my gentle young king — and so will 
 thine be, I pray the saints happier and more endur- 
 ing than ever were mine. Nothing has ever lasted 
 with me but captivity, libera me." 
 
 And in the murmured repetition the mother fell 
 asleep, and the daughter, who had slumbered little the 
 night before, could not but likewise drop into the 
 world of soothing oblivion, though with a dull feeling 
 of aching and yearning towards the friendly kindly 
 Humfrey, yet with a certain exultation in the fate 
 that seemed to be carrying her on inevitably beyond 
 his reach.
 
 200 UNKNOWN TO HISTOfiY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVL 
 
 THE PEAK CAVEEN. 
 
 Tt was quite true that at this period Queen Mary had 
 good hope of liberation in the most satisfactory 
 manner possible — short of being hailed as English 
 Queen. Negotiations were actually on foot with James 
 VI. and Elizabeth for her release. James had written 
 to her with his own hand, and she had for the first 
 time consented to give him the title of King of Scot- 
 land. The project of her reigning jointly with him 
 had been mooted, and each party was showing how 
 enormous a condescension it would be in his or her 
 eyes ! Thus there was no great unlikelihood that 
 there would be a recognition of the Lady Bride, and 
 that she would take her position as the daughter of a 
 queen. Therefore, when ]\Iary contrived to speak to 
 Master Eichard Talbot and his wife in j)rivate, she 
 was able to thank them with gracious condescension 
 for the care they had bestowed in rearing her daughter, 
 much as if she had voluntarily entrusted the maiden to 
 them, saying she trusted to be in condition to reward 
 them. 
 
 Mistress Susan's heart swelled high with pain, as 
 though she had been thanked for her care of Hum- 
 frey or Diccon, and her husband answered, " We seek
 
 XVI.] THE PEAK CAVERN. 201 
 
 no reward, madam. The damsel herself, while she 
 was ours, was reward enough." 
 
 " And I must still entreat, that of your goodness 
 you will let her remain yours for a little longer," said 
 Mary, with a touch of imperious grace, " until this 
 treaty is over, and I am free, it is better that she con- 
 tinues to pass for your daughter. The child herself 
 has sworn to me by lier great gods," said Mary, smil- 
 ing witli complimentary grace, " that you will pre- 
 serve her secret — nay, she becomes a little fury when 
 I express my fears lest you should have scruples." 
 
 " No, madam, this is no state secret ; such as I 
 might not with honour conceal," returned Eichard. 
 
 " There is true English sense ! " exclaimed Mary. 
 " I may then count on your giving my daughter the 
 protection of your name and your home until I can 
 reclaim her and place her in her true position. Yea, 
 and if your concealment should give offence, and bring 
 you under any displeasure of my good sister, those who 
 have so saved and tended my daughter will have the 
 first claim to whatever I can give when restored to 
 my kingdom." 
 
 " We are much beholden for your Grace's favour," 
 said Richard, somewhat stiffly, " but I trust never tc 
 serve any land save mine own." 
 
 " Ah ! there is your fitreU^' cried Mary. " Happy 
 is my sister to have subjects with such a point of 
 honour. Happy is my child to have been bred up by 
 such parents ! " 
 
 Richard bowed. It was all a man could do at such 
 a speech, and Mary further added, " She has told me 
 to what bounds went your goodness to her. It is well 
 that you acted so prudently that the children's hearts 
 were not engaged ; for, as we all know but too well, 
 royal blood should have no heart."
 
 202 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAF 
 
 " I am quite aware of it, madam," returned Eich- 
 ard, and there for the time the' conversation ended. 
 Tlie Queen had been most charming, full of gratitude, 
 and perfectly reasonable in her requests, and yet there 
 was some flaw in the gratification of both, even while 
 neither thought the disappointment would go very 
 hard with their son. Eichard could never divest him- 
 self of the instinctive prejudice with which soft words 
 inspire men of his nature, and Susan's maternal heart 
 was all in revolt against the inevitable, not merely 
 grieving over the wrench to her affections, but full of 
 forebodings and misgivings as to the future welfare of 
 her adopted child. Even if the brightest hopes should 
 be fulfilled ; the destiny of a Scottish princess did not 
 seem to Southern eyes very brilliant at the best, and 
 whether poor Bride Hepburn might be owned as a 
 princess at all was a doubtful matter, since, if her 
 father lived (and he had certainly been living in 1577 
 in Norway), both the Queen and the Scottish people 
 would be agreed in repudiating the marriage. Any 
 way, Susan saw every reason to fear for the happi- 
 ness and the religion alike of the child to whom she 
 had given a mother's love. Under her grave, self- 
 contained placid demeanour, perhaps Dame Susan was 
 the most dejected of those at Buxton. The captive 
 Queen had her hopes of freedom and her newly found 
 daughter, who was as yet only a pleasure, and not an 
 encumbrance to her, the Earl had been assured that 
 his wife's slanders had been forgotten. He was 
 secure of his sovereign's favour, and permitted to see 
 the term of his weary jailorship, and thus there was 
 an unusual liveliness and cheerfulness about the whole 
 sojourn at Buxton, where, indeed, there was always 
 more or less of a holiday time.
 
 XVI.] THE PEAK CAVERN. 203 
 
 To Cis herself, her nights ware like a perpetual 
 fairy tale, and so indeed were all times when she was 
 alone with the initiated, who were indeed all those 
 orifjinal members of her mother's suite who had known 
 of her birth at Lochleven, people who had kept tco 
 many perilous secrets not to be safely entrusted with 
 this one, and whose finished habits of caution, in a 
 moment, on the approach of a stranger, would change 
 their manner from the deferential courtesy due to their 
 princess, to the good-natured civility of court ladies to 
 little Cicely Talbot. 
 
 Dame Susan had been gratified at first by the young 
 girl's sincere assurances of unchanging affection and 
 allegiance, and, in truth, Cis had clung the most to her 
 with the confidence of a whole life's daughterhood, but 
 as the days went on, and every caress and token of 
 affection imaginable was lavished upon the maiden, 
 every splendid augury held out to her of the future, 
 and every story of the past detailed the charms of 
 Mary's court life in France, seen through the vista of 
 nearly twenty sadly contrasted years, it was in the 
 very nature of things that Cis should regard the time 
 spent perforce with Mistress Talbot much as a petted 
 child views its return to the strict nurse or governess 
 from the delights of the drawing-room. She liked to 
 dazzle the homely housewife with the wonderful tales 
 of French gaieties, or the splendid castles in the air she 
 liad heard in the Queen's rooms, but she resented the 
 doubt and disapproval they sometimes excited ; she was 
 petulant and fractious at any exercise of authority 
 from her foster-mother, and once or twice went near 
 to betray herself by lapsing into a tone towards her 
 which would have brought down severe personal 
 chastisement on any real daughter even of seventeen.
 
 204 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAF. 
 
 It was well that the Countess and her sharp-ej'ed 
 daughter Mary were out of sight, as the sight of such 
 " cockering of a malapert maiden " would have led to 
 interference that might have brought matters to ex- 
 tremity. Yet, with all the forbearance thus exercised, 
 Susan could not but feel that the girl's love was being 
 weaned from her ; and, after all, how could she com- 
 plain, since it was by the true mother ? If only she 
 could have hoped it was for the dear child's good, it 
 would not have been so hard ! But the trial was a 
 bitter one, and not even her husband guessed how 
 bitter it was. 
 
 The Queen meantime improved daily in health and 
 vigour in the splendid summer weather. The rheu- 
 matism had quitted her, and she daily rode and played 
 at Trowle Madame for hours after supper in the long 
 bright July evenings. Cis, whose shoulder was quite 
 well, played with great delight on the greensward, 
 where one evening she made acquaintance with a young 
 esquire and his sisters from the neighbourhood, who 
 had come with their father to pay their respects to my 
 Lord Earl, as the head of all Hallamshire. The Earl, 
 though it was not quite according to the recent stricter 
 rules, ventured to invite them to stay to sup with the 
 household, and afterwards they came out with the rest 
 upon the lawn. 
 
 Cis was walking between the young lad and his 
 sister, laughing and talking with much animation, for 
 she had not for some time enjoyed the pleasure of free 
 intercourse with any of her fellow-denizens in the 
 happy land of youth. 
 
 Dame Susan watched her with some uneasiness, and 
 presently saw her taking them where she herself was 
 privilegefl to go, but strangers were never permitted
 
 XVI.] THE PEAK CAVEKN. 205 
 
 to approach, on the Trowle Madame sward reserved 
 for the Queen, on which she was even now entering. 
 
 " Cicely !" she called, but the young lady either 
 did not or would not hear, and she was obliged to walk 
 hastily forw^ard, meet the party, and with courteous 
 excuses turn them back from the forbidden ground. 
 They submitted at once, apologising, but Cis, -with a 
 red spot on her cheek, cried, " The Queen would take 
 no offence." 
 
 " That is not the matter in point, Cicely," said 
 Dame Susan gravely. " Master and IMistress Eyre 
 understand that we are bound to obedience to the Earl." 
 
 Master Eyre, a well-bred young gentleman, made 
 reply tliat he well knew that no discourtesy was 
 intended, but Cis pouted and mutt§red, evidently to 
 the extreme amazement of Mistress Alice Eyre ; and 
 Dame Susan, to divert her attention, began to ask 
 about the length of their ride, and the way to their 
 liome. 
 
 Cis's ill humour never lasted long, and she suddenly 
 broke in, " mother. Master Eyre saith there is a 
 marvellous cavern near his father's house, all full of 
 pendants from the roof like a minster, and great 
 sheeted tables and statues standing up, all grand and 
 ghostly on the floor, far better than in this Pool's Hole. 
 He says his father will have it lighted up if we will 
 ride over and see it." 
 
 " We are much beholden to Master Eyre," said 
 Susan, but Cis read refusal in her tone, and began to 
 urge her to consent. 
 
 " It must be as my husband wills," was the grave 
 answer, and at the same time, courteously, but very 
 decidedly, she bade the strangers farewell, and made 
 her daughter do the same, though Cis was inclined to
 
 206 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 resistance, and in a somewhat defiant tone added, " I 
 shall not forget your promise, sir. I long to see the 
 cave." 
 
 " Child, child," entreated Susan, as soon as they 
 were out of hearing, " be on thy guard. Thou wilt 
 betray thyself by such conduct towards me." 
 
 " But, mother, they did so long to see the Queen, 
 and there would have been no harm in it. They are 
 well affected, and the young gentleman is a friend of 
 poor Master Babington." 
 
 " Nay, Cis, that is further cause that I should not 
 let them pass onward. I marvel not at thee, my maid, 
 but thou and thy mother queen must bear in mind 
 that while thou passest for our daughter, and hast 
 trust placed in tli^e, thou must do nothing to forfeit it 
 
 or bring thy fa , Master Eichard I mean, into 
 
 trouble." 
 
 " I meant no harm," said Cis, rather crossly. 
 
 " Thou didst not, but harm may be done by such as 
 mean it the least." 
 
 " Only, mother, sweet mother," cried the girl, child- 
 like, set upon her pleasure, " I will be as good as can 
 be. I will transgress in nought if only thou wilt get 
 my father to take me to see ]\Iaster Eyre's cavern." 
 
 She was altogether the home daughter again in her 
 eagerness, entreating and promising by turns with the 
 eager curiosity of a young girl bent on an expedition, 
 but Eichard was not to be prevailed on. He had 
 little or no acquaintance with the Eyre family, and to 
 let them go to the cost and trouble of lighting up the 
 cavern for the young lady's amusement would be like 
 the encouragement of a possible suit, which would 
 have been a most inconvenient matter. Eichard did 
 .not believe the young gentleman had warrant from hia
 
 XVI.] THE PEAK CAVERN. 207 
 
 father in giving this invitation, and if he had, that was 
 the moi:e reason for declining it. The Eyres, then hold- 
 ing the royal castle of the Peak, were suspected of being 
 secretly Eoman Catholics, and though the Earl could 
 not avoid hospitably bidding them to supper, the less 
 any Talbot had to do with them the better, and for the 
 present Cis must be contented to be reckoned as one. 
 
 So she had to put up with her disappointment, and 
 she did not do so with as good a grace as she would 
 have shown a year ago. Nay, she carried it to Queen 
 Mary, who at night heard her gorgeous description of 
 the wonders of the cavern, which grew in her estima- 
 tion in proportion to the difficulty of seeing them, and 
 sympathised with her disappointment at the denial. 
 
 " Nay, thou shalt not be balked," said Mary, with 
 the old queenly habit of having her own way. 
 " Prisoner as I am, I will accomplish this. My 
 daughter shall have her wish." 
 
 So on the ensuing morning, when the Earl came to 
 pay his respects, Mary assailed him with, " There is a 
 marvellous cavern in these parts, my Lord, of which I 
 hear great wonders." 
 
 " Does your grace mean Pool's Hole ?" 
 
 " Nay, nay, my Lord. Have I not been conducted 
 through it by Dr. Jones, and there writ my name for 
 his delectation ? This is, I hear, as a palace compared 
 therewith." 
 
 " The Peak Cavern, Madam !" said Lord Shrewsbury, 
 with the distaste of middle age for underground expedi- 
 tions, " is four leagues hence, and a dark, damp, doleful 
 den, most noxious for your Grace's rheumatism." 
 
 " Rave you ever seen it, my Lord ?" 
 
 " No, verily," returned his lordship with a shudder. 
 
 ** Then you will be edified yourself, my Lord, if you
 
 208 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 will do me the grace to escort me thither," said Mary, 
 with the imperious suavity she well knew how to 
 adopt. 
 
 " Madam, madam," cried the unfortunate Earl, " do 
 but consult your physicians. They will tell you that all 
 the benefits of the Buxton waters will be annulled by 
 an hour in yonder subterranean hole." 
 
 " I have h,eard of it from several of my suite," re- 
 plied Mary, " and they tell me that the work of nature 
 on the lime-droppings is so marvellous that I shall not 
 rest without a sight of it. Many have been instant 
 with me to go and behold the wondrous place." 
 
 This was not untrue, but she had never thought of 
 gratifying them in her many previous visits to Buxton. 
 The Earl found himself obliged either to utter a harsh 
 and uureasonable refusal, or to organise an expedition 
 which he personally disliked extremely, and moreover 
 distrusted, for he did not in the least believe that 
 Queen Mary would be so set upon gratifying her curi- 
 osity about stalactites without some ulterior motive. 
 He tried to set on Dr. Jones to persuade Messieurs 
 Gorion and Bourgoin, her medical attendants, that 
 the cave would be fatal to her rheumatism, but it so 
 happened that the Peak Cavern was Dr. Jones's 
 favourite lion, the very pride of his heart. Pool's Hole 
 was dear to him, but the Peak Cave was far more 
 precious, and the very idea of the Queen of Scots 
 honouring it with her presence, and leaving behind her 
 the flavour of her name, was so exhilarating to the 
 little man that if the place had been ten times more 
 damp he would have vouched for its salubrity. More- 
 over, he undertook that fumigations of fragrant woods 
 should remove all peril of noxious exhalations, so that 
 the Earl was obliged to give liis orders that Mr.
 
 xvl] the peak cavern. 209 
 
 Eyre should be requested to light up the cave, and 
 heartily did he grumble and pour forth his suspicions 
 and annoyance to his cousin Eichard. 
 
 " And 1," said tlie good sailor, " felt it hard not to 
 be able to tell him that all was for the freak of a silly 
 damsel." 
 
 Mistress Cicely laughed a little triumphantly. It 
 was something like being a Queen's daughter to have 
 been the cause of making my Lord himself bestir him- 
 self against his will. She had her own way, and 
 miglit well be good - humoured. " Come, dear sir 
 father," she said, coming up to him in a coaxing, 
 patronising way, which once would have been quite 
 alien to them both, " be not angered. You know no- 
 body means treason ! And, after all, 'tis not I but 
 you that are the cause of all the turmoil. If you 
 would but have ridden soberly out with your poor 
 little Cis, there would have been no coil, but my Lord 
 might have paced stately and slow up and down the 
 terrace-walk undisturbed." 
 
 " Ah, child, child ! " said Susan, vexed, though her 
 husband could not help smiling at the arch drollery of 
 the girl's tone and manner, " do not thou learn light 
 mockery of all that should be honoured." 
 
 " I am not bound to honour the Earl," said Cis, 
 proudly. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said Eichard. " I have allowed 
 thee unche-ksd too long, maiden. Wert thou ten 
 times what thou art, it would not give thee the right 
 to mock at the gray-haired, highly-trusted noble, the 
 head of the neftne thou dost bear," 
 
 " And the torment of her whom I am most bound 
 lo love," broke from Cicely petulantly. 
 
 Eichard's response to this sally was to rise up, 
 p
 
 210 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY [CHAF 
 
 make the young lady the lowest possible reverence, 
 with extreme and displeased gravity, and then to quit 
 the room. It brought the girl to her bearings at once. 
 " Oil, mother, mother, how have I displeased him ?" 
 
 " I trow thou canst not help it, child," said Susan, 
 sadly ; '"' but it is hard that thou shouldst bring home 
 to us how thine heart and thine obedience are parted 
 from us." 
 
 The maiden was in a passion of tears at once, 
 vowing that she meant no such thing, that she loved 
 and obeyed them as much as ever, and that if only 
 her father would forgive her she would never wish to 
 go near the cavern. She would beg the Queen to give 
 up the plan at once, if only Sir Eichard would be her 
 good father as before. 
 
 Susan looked at her sadly and tenderly, but smiled, 
 and said that what had been lightly begun could not 
 now be dropped, and that she trusted Cis would be 
 happy in the day's enjoyment, and remember to be- 
 have herself as a discreet maiden. " For truly," said 
 she, " so far from discretion being to be despised by 
 Queen's daughters, the higher the estate the greater the 
 need thereof." 
 
 This little breeze did not prevent Cicely from setting 
 off in high spirits, as she rode near the Queen, who 
 declared that she wanted to enjoy through the merry 
 maiden, and who was herself in a gay and joyous mood, 
 believing that the term of her captivity was in sight, 
 delighted with her daughter, exhilarated by the fresh 
 breezes and rapid motion, and so mirthful that she 
 could not help teasing and bantering thfi Earl a little, 
 though all in the way of good-humoured grace. 
 
 The ride was long, about eight miles ; but though the 
 Peak Castle was a royal one, the Earl preferred not tc
 
 XVI.] THE PEAK CAVEEN. 211 
 
 euter it, but, according to previous arrangement, caused 
 the company to dismount in the valley, or rather ravine, 
 which terminates in the cavern, where a repast was 
 spread on the grass. It was a wonderful place, cool and 
 refreshing, for the huge rocks on either side cast a deep 
 shadow, seldom pierced by the rays of the sun. Lofty, 
 solemn, and rich in dark reds and purples, rose the walls 
 of rock, here and there softened by tapestry of ivy or 
 projecting bushes of sycamore, mountain ash, or with 
 fruit already assuming its brilliant tints, and jack- 
 daws Hying in and out of their holes above. Deep 
 beds of rich ferns clothed the lower slopes, and sheets 
 of that delicate llower, the enchanter's nightshade, 
 reared its white blossoms down to the bank of a little 
 clear stream that came flowing from out of the mighty 
 yawning arch of tlie cavern, while above the precipice 
 rose sheer the keep of Peak Castle. 
 
 The banquet was gracefully arranged to suit the 
 scene, and comprised, besides more solid viands, large 
 bowls of milk, with strawberries or cranberries floating 
 in them. Mr. Eyre, the keeper of the castle, and his 
 daughter did the honours, while his son superintended 
 tlie lighting and fumigation of the cavern, assisted, if 
 not directed by Dr. Jones, whose short black cloak and 
 gold-headed cane were to be seen almost everywhere 
 at once. 
 
 Presently clouds of smoke began to issue from the 
 vast archway that closed the ravine. " Beware, my 
 maidens," said the Queen, merrily, " we have roused 
 the dragon in his den, and we shall see him come forth 
 anon, curling his tail and belching ilame." 
 
 " With a marvellous stomach for a dainty maiden 
 or two," added Gilbert Curll, falling into her humour. 
 
 " Hark ! Good lack ! " cried the Queen, with an
 
 212 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 affectation of terror, as a most extraordinary noise pro- 
 ceeded from the bowels of the cavern, making Cis start 
 and Marie de Courcelles give a genuine shriek. 
 
 " Your Majesty is pleased to be merry," said the 
 Earl, ponderously. " The sound is only the coughing 
 of the torchbearers from the damp whereof I warned 
 your Majesty." 
 
 " By my faith," said Mary, " I believe my Lord 
 Earl himself fears the monster of the cavern, to whom 
 he gives the name of Damp. Dread nothing, my 
 Lord ; the valorous knight Sir Jones is even now in 
 conflict with the foul worm, as those cries assure me, 
 being in fact caused by his fumigations." 
 
 The jest was duly received, and in the midst of the 
 laughter, young Eyre came forward, bowing low, and 
 holding his jewelled hat in his hand, while his eyes 
 betrayed that he had recently been sneezing violently. 
 
 " So please your Majesty," he said, " the odour hath 
 rolled away, and all is ready if you will vouchsafe to 
 accept my poor guidance." 
 
 " How say you, my Lord ?" said ]\Iary. " Will you 
 dare the lair of the conquered foe, or fear you to be 
 pinched with aches and pains by his lurking hob- 
 goblins ? If so, we dispense with your attendance." 
 
 " Your Majesty knows that where she goes thither 
 I am bound to attend her," said the rueful Earl. 
 
 " Even into the abyss ! " said Mary. " Valiantly 
 spoken, for have not Ariosto and his fellows sung of 
 captive princesses for whom every cave held an enchanter 
 who could spirit them away into vapour thin as air, and 
 leave their guardians questing in vain for them ? " 
 
 " Your Majesty jests with edged tools," siglied the 
 Earl. 
 
 Old Mr. Eyre was too feeble to act as exhibitor of
 
 XVI.] THE PEAK CAVERN. 213 
 
 the cave, and his son was deputed to lead the Queen 
 forward. This was, of course. Lord Shrewsbury's privi- 
 lege, but he was in truth beiioklen to her fingers for 
 aid, as she walked eagerly forward, now and then 
 accepting a little help from John Eyre, but in general 
 sure-footed and exploring eagerly by the light of the 
 numerous torches held by yeomen in the Eyre livery, 
 one of whom was stationed wherever there was a 
 dangerous pass or a freak of nature worth studying. 
 
 The magnificent vaulted roof grew lower, and pre- 
 sently it became necessary to descend a staircase, which 
 led to a deep hollow chamber, shaped like a bell, and 
 echoing like one. A pool of intensely black water 
 filled it, reflecting the lights on its surface, that only 
 enhanced its darkness, while there moved on a mys- 
 terious flat-bottomed boat, breaking them into shim- 
 mering sparks, and John Eyre intimated that the 
 visitors must lie down flat in it to be ferried one by 
 one over a space of about fourteen yards. 
 
 " Your Majesty will surely not attempt it," said the 
 Earl, with a shudder. 
 
 " Wherefore not ? It is but a foretaste of Charon's 
 boat ! " said Mary, who was one of those people whose 
 spirit of enterprise rises with the occasion, and she 
 murmured to Mary Seaton the line of Dante — 
 
 " Qiiando noi fermerem li nostri passi 
 Su la triste riviera a' Acheronte." 
 
 ^ " Will your Majesty enter ? " asked John Eyre. 
 " Dr. Jones and some gentlemen wait on the other side 
 to receive you." 
 
 " Some gentlemen ?" repeated Mary. ''' You are sure 
 they are not Minos and Rhadamanthus, sir? My 
 obolus is ready ; shall I put it in my mouth ? " 
 
 " Xay, madam, pardon me," said the Earl, spuired
 
 214 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [OHAP. 
 
 by a miserable sense of his duties ; " since you will 
 thus venture, far be it from me to let you pass over 
 until I have reached tlie other side to see that it is fit 
 for your Majesty ! " 
 
 "Even as you will, most devoted cavalier," said 
 Mary, drawing back ; " we will be content to play the 
 part of the pale ghosts of the unburied dead a little 
 longer. See, Mary, the boat sinks down with him and 
 his mortal flesh ! We shall have Charon complaining 
 of him anon." 
 
 " Your Highness gars my flesh grue," was the 
 answer of her faithful Mary. 
 
 " Ah, ma mie I we have not left all hope behind. 
 We can aftbrd to smile at the doleful knight, ferried 
 o'er on his back, in duteous and loyal submission to 
 his task mistress. Child, Cicely, where art thou ? 
 Art afraid to dare the black river ? " 
 
 " No, madam, not with you on the other side, and 
 my father to follow me." 
 
 " Well said. Let the maiden follow next after me. 
 Or mayhap Master Eyre should come next, then the 
 young lady. For you, my ladies, and you, good sirs, 
 you are free to follow or not, as the fancy stiikes you. 
 So — here is Charon once more — must I lie down ? " 
 
 "Ay, madam," said Eyre, "if you would not strike 
 your head against yonder projecting rock." 
 
 Mary lay down, her cloak drawn about her, and 
 saying, " Now then, for Acheron. Ah ! would that it 
 were Lethe ! " 
 
 " Het Grace saith well," muttered faithful Jean 
 Kennedy, unversed in classic lore, " would that we 
 were once more at bonuie Leith. Soft there udw, 'tis 
 you that follow her next, my fair mistress." 
 
 Cicely, not without trepidation, obeyed, laid herself
 
 XVI. J THE PEAK CAVERN. 215 
 
 flat, and was soon midway, feeling the passage so grim 
 and awful, that she could tliink of nothing but the 
 dark passages of the grave, and was shuddering all 
 over, when she was helped out on the other side by the 
 Queen's own hand. 
 
 Some of those in the rear did not seem to be simi- 
 larly affected, or else braved their feelings of awe by 
 shouts and songs, which echoed fearfully through the 
 subterranean vaults. Indeed Diccon, following the 
 example of one or two young pages and grooms of 
 the Earl's, began to get so daring and wild in the 
 strange scene, that his father became anxious, and 
 tarried for him on the other side, in the dread of his 
 wandering away and getting lost, or falling into some 
 of the fearful dark rivers that could be heard — not seen 
 — rushing along. By this means, Master Richard was 
 entirely separated from Cicely, to whom, before crossing 
 the water, he had been watchfully attending, but ho 
 knew her to be with the Queen and her ladies, and con- 
 sidered her natural timidity the best safeguard against 
 the chief peril of the cave, namely, wandering away. 
 
 Cicely did, however, miss his care, for the Queen 
 could not but be engrossed by her various cicerones 
 and attendants, and it was no one's especial business 
 to look after the young girl over the rough descent to 
 the dripping well called Eoger Rain's House, and the 
 grand cathedral-like gallery, with splendid pillars of 
 stalagmite, and pendants above. By the time the 
 steps beyond were reached, a toilsome descent, the 
 Queen had had enough of the expedition, and declined 
 to go any farther, but she good-naturedly yielded to. 
 the wish of Master John Eyre and Dr. Jones, that 
 she would inscribe her name on the farthest column 
 that she had reached.
 
 216 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 There was a little confusion while this was being 
 done, as some of the more enterprising wished to 
 penetrate as far as possible into the recesses of the 
 cave, and these were allowed to pass forward — Diccon 
 and his father among them. In the passing and re- 
 passing, Cicely entirely lost sight of all who had any 
 special care of her, and went stumbling on alone, 
 weary, frightened, and repenting of the wilfulness with 
 which she had urged on the expedition. Each of 
 the other ladies had some cavalier to help her, but 
 none had fallen to Cicely's lot, and though, to an 
 active girl, there was no real danger where the torch- 
 bearers lined the way, still there was so much diffi- 
 culty that she was a laggard in reaching the likeness 
 of Acheron, and could see no father near as she laid 
 herself down in Charon's dismal boat, dimly rejoicing 
 that this time it was to return to the realms of day, 
 and yet feeling as if she should never reach them. A 
 hand was given to assist her from the boat by one of 
 the torchbearers, a voice strangely familiar was in her 
 ears, saying, " Mistress Cicely ! " and she knew the 
 eager eyes, and exclaimed under her breath, " Anton y, 
 you here ? In hiding? What liave you done?'' 
 
 " Nothing," he answered, smiling, and holding her 
 hand, as he helped her forward. " I only put on this 
 garb that I might gaze once more on the most divine 
 and persecuted of queens, and with some hope likewise 
 that I might win a word with her who deigned once 
 to be my playmate. Lady, I know the truth respecting 
 you." 
 
 " Do you in very deed ?" demanded Cicely, consider- 
 ably startled. 
 
 " I know your true name, and that you are none of 
 the mastiff race," said Antony.
 
 %vl] the peak uavekn. 217 
 
 "Did — did Tibbott tell yon, sir ?" asked Cicely. 
 
 " You are one of us," said Antony ; " bound by 
 uatural allegiance in the land of your birth to this 
 lady." 
 
 " Even so," said Cis, here becoming secure of what 
 she had before doubted, that Babington only knew half 
 the truth he referred to, 
 
 " And you see and speak with her privily," he 
 added. 
 
 " As Bess Pierrepoint did," said she. 
 
 These words passed during the ascent, and were 
 much interrupted by the difficulties of the way, in 
 which Antony rendered such aid that she was each 
 moment more impelled to trust to him, and relieved to 
 find herself in such familiar hands. On reaching the 
 summit the light of day could be seen glimmering in 
 the extreme distance, and the maiden's heart bounded 
 at the sight of it ; but she found herself led some- 
 what aside, where in a sort of side aisle of the great 
 bell chamber were standing together four more of the 
 torch-bearers. 
 
 One of them, a slight man, made a step forward 
 and said, " The •Queen hath dropped her kerchief. 
 Mayhap the young gentlewoman will restore it?" 
 
 "She will do more than that!" said Antony, draw- 
 ing her into the midst of them. " Dost not know her, 
 Langston ? She is her sacred Majesty's own born, true, 
 and faithful subject, the Lady " 
 
 " Hush, my friend ; thou art ever over outspoken 
 with thy names," returned the other, evidently annoyed 
 at Babington's imprudence. 
 
 " I tell thee, she is one of us," replied Antony 
 impatiently. " How is the Queen to know of her 
 friends if we name them not to her ?"
 
 218 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 "Are these her friends?" asked Cicely, looking 
 round on the five figures in the leathern coats and 
 yeomen's heavy buskins and shoes, and especially at 
 the narrow face and keen pale eyes of Langston. 
 
 " Ay, verily," said one, whom Cicely could see even 
 under his disguise to be a slender, graceful youth. " By 
 John Eyre's favour have we come together here to 
 gaze on the true and lawful mistress of our hearts, the 
 champion of our faith, in her martyrdom." Then 
 taking the kerchief from Langston's hand, Babington 
 kissed it reverently, and tore it into five pieces, which 
 he divided amoug himself and his fellows, saying, 
 " This fair mistress shall bear witness to her sacred 
 Majesty that we — Antony Babington, Cliidiock Tich- 
 borne, Cuthbert Langston, John Charnock, John Savage 
 — regard her as the sole and lawful Queen of England 
 and Scotland, and that as we have gone for her sake 
 into the likeness of the valley of the shadow of death, 
 so will we meet death itself and stain this linen with 
 our best heart's blood rather than not bring her again 
 to freedom and the throne !" 
 
 Then with the most solemn oath each enthusiastic- 
 ally kissed the white token, and pul» it in his breast, 
 but Langston looked with some alarm at the girl, and 
 said to Babington, " Doth this young lady understand 
 that you have put our lives into her hands ?" 
 
 " She knows ! she knows ! I answer for her with 
 my life," said Antony. 
 
 " Let her then swear to utter no word of what she 
 has seen save to the Queen," said Langston, and Cicely 
 detected a glitter in that pale eye, and with a horrified 
 leap of thought, recollected how easy it would be to drag 
 her away into one of those black pools, beyond all ken. 
 
 " Oh save me, Antony !" she cried, clinging to his arm.
 
 XVI.] THE PEAK CAVERN. 219 
 
 " No one shall touch you. I will guard you with 
 ray life !" exclaimed the impulsive young man, feeling 
 for the sword that was not there. 
 
 " Who spoke of hurting the foolish wench ?" growled 
 Savage ; but Tichborne said, " No one would hurt 
 you, madam ; but it is due to us all that you should 
 give us your word of honour not to disclose what has 
 passed, save to our only true mistress." 
 
 " Oh yes ! yes !" cried Cicely hastily, scarcely know- 
 ing what passed her lips, and only anxious to escape 
 from that gleaming eye of Langston, which had twice 
 before filled her with a nameless sense of the necessity 
 of terrified obedience. " Oh ! let me go. I hear my 
 father's voice." 
 
 She sprang forward with a cry between joy and 
 terror, and darted up to Eichard Talbot, while Savage, 
 the man who looked most entirely unlike a disguised 
 gentleman, stepped forward, and in a rough, north 
 country dialect, averred that the young gentlewoman 
 had lost her way. 
 
 " Poor maid," said kind Eichard, gathering the two 
 trembling little hands into one of his own broad ones. 
 " How was it ? Thanks, good fellow," and he dropped 
 a broad piece into Savage's palm ; " thou hast done 
 good service. What, Cis, child, art quaking?" 
 
 " Hast seen any hobgoblins, Cis ?" said Diccon, at 
 her other side. " I'm sure I heard them laugh." 
 
 " Whist, Dick," said his father, putting a strong arm 
 round the girl's waist. " See, my wench, yonder is tlie 
 goodly liglit of day. We shall soon be there." 
 
 W^ith all his fatherly kindness, he helped the agi- 
 tated girl up the remaining ascent, as the lovely piece 
 of blue sky between the retreating rocks grew wider, 
 and the archway higher above them. Cis felt that
 
 220 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 infinite repose and reliance that none else could give, 
 yet the repose was disturbed by the pang of recol- 
 lection that the secret laid on her was their first 
 severance. It was unjust to his kindness ; strange, 
 doubtful, nay grisly, to her foreboding mind, and she 
 shivered alike from that and the chill of the damp 
 cavern, and tiien he drew her cloak more closely about 
 her, and halted to ask for the flask of wine which one 
 of the adventurous spirits had brought, that Queen 
 Elizabeth's health might be drunk by her true subjects 
 in the bowels of the earth. The wine M'as, of course, 
 exhausted ; but Dr. Jones bustled forward with some 
 cordial waters which he had provided in case of any- 
 one being struck with the cliill of the cave, and Cicely 
 was made to swallow some. 
 
 By this time she had been missed, and the little 
 party were met by some servants sent by the Earl at 
 the instance of the much-alarmed Queen to inquire for 
 her. A little farther on came Mistress Talbot, in much 
 anxiety and distress, though as Diccon ran forward to 
 meet her, and slie saw Cicely on her husband's arm, 
 she resumed her calm and staid demeanour, and when 
 assured that the maiden had suffered no damage, she 
 made no special demonstrations of joy or affection. 
 Indeed, such would have been deemed unbecoming in 
 the presence of strangers, and disrespectful to the 
 Queen and the Earl, who were not far off. 
 
 Mary, on the other hand, started up, held out her 
 arms, received the truant with such vehement kisses, 
 as miglit almost have betrayed their real relationship, 
 and then reproached her, with all sorts of endearing 
 terms, for having so terrified them all; nor would she let 
 the girl go from her side, and kept her hand in her own. 
 
 Diccon meanwhile had succeeded in securing his
 
 XVI.] THE PEAK CAVERN. 221 
 
 father's attention, which had been wholly given to 
 Cicely till she was placed in the women's hands. 
 " Father," he said, " I wis that one of the knaves with 
 the torches who found our Cis was the woman with the 
 beads and bracelets, ay, and Tibbott, too." 
 
 * Belike, belike, my son," said Eichard. " There 
 are fol^ who can take as many forms as a barnacle 
 goos3. Keep thou a sharp eye as the fellows pass 
 out, and pull me by the cloak if thou seest him." 
 
 Of course he was not seen, and Eichard, who was 
 growing more and more cautious about bringing vague 
 or half-proved suspicions before his Lord, decided to 
 be silent and to watch, though he sighed to his wife 
 that the poor child would soon be in the web. 
 
 Cis had not failed to recognise that same identity, 
 and to feel a half-realised conviction that the Queen 
 had not chosen to confide to her that the two female 
 disguises both belonged to Langston. Yet the con- 
 trast between Mary's endea,rments and the restrained 
 manner of Susan so impelled her towards the veritable 
 mother, that the compunction as to the concealment 
 she had at first experienced passed away, and her heart 
 felt that its obligations were towards her veritable and 
 most loving parent. She told the Queen the whole 
 story at night, to Mary's great delight. She said she 
 was sure her little one had something on her mind, she 
 had so little to say of her adventure, and the next day 
 a little privy council was contrived, in which Cicely was 
 summoned again to tell lier tale. The ladies declared 
 they had always hoped much from their dailing page, in 
 whom they had kept up the true faith, but Sir Andrew 
 Melville shook his head and said : " I'd misdoot ony 
 plot where the little finger of him was. What garred 
 the silly loon call in the young leddy ere he kenned 
 whether she wad keep counsel ?"
 
 222 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE EBBING WELL. 
 
 Cicely's thirst for adventures had re3eived a Check, 
 but the Queen, being particularly well and in good 
 spirits, and trusting that this would be her last visit 
 to Buxton, was inclined to enterprise, and there were 
 long rides and hawking expeditions on the moors. 
 
 The last of these, ere leaving Buxton, brought the 
 party to the hamlet of Barton Clough, where a loose 
 horseshoe of the Earl's caused a halt at a little wayside 
 smithy. Mary, always friendly and free-spoken, asked 
 for a draught of water, and entered into conversation 
 with the smith's rosy-cheeked wile who brought it to 
 her, and said it was sure to be good and pure for the 
 stream came from the Ebbing and Flowing Well, and 
 she pointed up a steep path. Then, on a further 
 question, she proceeded, " Has her ladyship never 
 heard of the Ebbing Well that shows whether true 
 love is soothfast ? " 
 
 " How so ? " asked the Queen. " How precious 
 such a test might be. It would save many a maiden 
 a broken heart, only that the poor fools would ne'er 
 trust it." 
 
 " I have heard of it," said the Earl, " and Dr. Jones 
 would demonstrate to your Grace that it is but a
 
 xvil] the ebbing well. 223 
 
 superstition of tlie vulgar regarding a natur?*.! pheno- 
 menon." 
 
 " Yea, my Lord," said the smith, looking up from 
 the horse's lout ; " 'tis the trade of yonder philosopliers 
 to gainsay whatever honest folk believed before them. 
 They'll deny next that hens lay eggs, or blight rots 
 wheat. My good wife speaks but plain truth, and we 
 have seen it o'er and o'er again." 
 
 "What have you seen, good man?" asked Mary 
 eagerly, and ready answer was made by the couple, 
 who had acquired some cultivation of speech and 
 manners by their wayside occupation, and likewise as 
 cicerones to the spring. 
 
 " Seen, quoth the lady ?" said the smith, " Why, 
 he that is a true man and hath a true maid can quaff 
 a draught as deep as his gullet can hold — or she that 
 is true and hath a true love — but let one who hath a 
 flaw in the metal, on the one side or t'other, stoop to 
 drink, and the water shrinks away so as there's not 
 the moistening of a lip." 
 
 " Ay : the ladies may laugh/' added his wife, " but 
 'tis soothfast for all that." 
 
 "Hast proved it, good dame?" asked the Queen 
 archly, for the pair were still young and well-looking 
 enough to be jested with. 
 
 "Ay! have we not, madam?" said the dame. 
 " Was not my man yonder, Eob, the tinker's son, whom 
 my father and brethren, the smiths down yonder at 
 Buxton, thought but scorn of, but we'd taken a sup 
 together at the Eb1)ing Well, and it played neither (f us 
 false, so we held out against 'em all, and when they saw 
 there was no help for it, they gave Eob the second 
 best anvil and bellows for my portion, and here we 
 be."
 
 224 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAP. 
 
 " Living witnesses to the Well," said the Queen 
 merrily. " How say you, my Lord ? I would fain see 
 this marvel. Master Cuill, will you try the venture ?" 
 
 "I fear it not, madam," said the secretary, looking 
 at the blushing Barbara. 
 
 Objections did not fail to arise from the Earl as to 
 the difiiculties of the path and the lateness of the hour, 
 but Eob Smith, perhaps wilfully, discovered another 
 of my Lord's horseshoes to be in a perilous state, 
 and his good wife. Dame Emmott, offered to conduct 
 the ladies by so good a path that they might think 
 themselves on the Queen's Walk at Buxton itself. 
 
 Lord Shrewsbury, finding himself a prisoner, was 
 obliged to yield compliance, and leaving Sir Andrew 
 Melville, with the grooms and falconers, in charge of 
 the horses, the Queen, the Earl, Cicely, Mary Seaton, 
 Barbara Mowbray, the two secretaries, and Bichard 
 Talbot and young Diccon, started on the walk, to- 
 gether with Dr. Bourgoin, her physician, who was 
 eager to investigate the curiosity, and make it a sub- 
 ject of debate with Dr. Jones. 
 
 The path was a beautiful one, through rocks and 
 brushwood, mountain ash bushes showing their coral 
 berries amid their feathery leaves, golden and white 
 stars of stonecrop studding every coign of vantage, 
 and in more level spots the waxy bell-heather begin- 
 ning to come into blossom. Still it was rather over 
 praise to call it as smooth as the carefully-levelled 
 and much-trodden Queen's path at Buxton, considering 
 that it ascended steeply all the way, and made the 
 solemn, nmch-enduring Earl pant for breath ; but the 
 Queen, her rheumatics ibr the time entirely in abey- 
 ance, bounded on with the mountain step learned in 
 early childhood, and closely followed the brisk Em-
 
 XVII.] THE EBBING WELL. 225 
 
 mott. The last ascent was a steep pull, taking away 
 the disposition to speak, and at its summit Mary stood 
 still holding out one hand, with a finger of the other 
 on her lips as a sign of silence to the rest of the 
 suite and to Emmott, who stood flushed and angered ; 
 for what she esteemed her lawful province seemed to 
 have been invaded from the other side of the country. 
 
 They were on the side of the descent from the 
 moorlands connected with the Peak, on a small 
 esplanade in the midst of which lay a deep clear 
 pool, with nine small springs or fountains discharging 
 themselves, under fern and wild rose or honeysuckle, 
 into its basin. Steps had been cut in the rock lead- 
 ing to the verge of the pool, and on the lowest of 
 these, with his back to the new-comers, was kneeling 
 a young man, his brown head bare, his shoit cloak laid 
 aside, so that his well-knit form could be seen ; the 
 sword and spurs that clanked against the rock, as well 
 as the whole fashion and texture of his riding-dress, 
 showing him to be a gentleman. 
 
 " We shall see the venture made," whispered Mary 
 to her daughter, who, in virtue of youth and lightness 
 of foot, had kept close behind her. Grasping the girl's 
 arm and smiling, she heard the young man's voice cry 
 aloud to the echoes of the rock, " Cis !" then stoop 
 forward and plunge face and head into the clear trans- 
 lucent water. 
 
 "Good luck to a true lover!" smiled the Queen. 
 " What ! starting, silly maid ? Cisses are plenty in these 
 parts as rowan berries." 
 
 " Nay, but " gasped Cicely, for at that moment 
 
 the young man, rising from his knees, his face still 
 shining with the water, looked up at his unsuspected 
 spectators. An expression of astonishment and ecstasy 
 
 Q
 
 226 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 lighted lip his honest sunburnt countenance as Master 
 Eichard, who had just succeeded in dragging the portly 
 Earl up the steep path, met his gaze. He threw up 
 his arms, made apparently but one bound, and was 
 kneeling at the captain's feet, embracing his knees. 
 
 " My son ! Humfrey ! Thyself ! " cried Eichard. 
 " See ! see what presence we are in." 
 
 " Your blessing, father, first," cried Humfrey, " ere 
 I can see aught else." 
 
 And as Eichard quickly and thankfully laid his 
 hand on the brow, so much fairer than the face, and 
 then held his son for one moment in a close embrace, 
 with an exchange of the kiss that was not then only 
 a foreign fashion. Queen and Earl said to one another 
 with a sigh, that happy was the household where the 
 son had no eyes for any save his father. 
 
 Mary, however, must have found it hard to con- 
 tinue her smiles when, after due but hurried obeisance 
 to her and to his feudal chief, Humfrey turned to the 
 little figure beside her, all smiling with startled shyness, 
 and in one moment seemed to swallow it up in a huge 
 overpowering embrace, fraternal in the eyes of almost 
 all the spectators, but not by any means so to those 
 of Mary, especially after the name she had heard. 
 Diccon's greeting was the next, and was not quite so 
 visibly rapturous on the part of the elder brother, who 
 explained that he had arrived at Sheffield yesterday, 
 and finding no one to welcome him but little Edward, 
 had set forth for Buxton almost with daylight, and 
 having found himself obliged to rest his horse, he had 
 
 turned aside to . And here he recollected just iu 
 
 time that Cis was in every one's eyes save his father's, 
 his own sister, and lamely concluded "to take a 
 draught of water," blushing under his brown skin as
 
 xvil] the ebbing well. 227 
 
 he spoke. Poor fellow ! the Queen, even while she 
 wished him in the farthest West Indian isle, could not 
 help understanding that strange doubt and dread tliat 
 come over the mind at the last moment before a 
 longed-for meeting, and which had made even the bold 
 young sailor glad to rally his hopes by this divination. 
 Fortunately she thought only herself and one or two 
 of the foremost had heard the name he gave, as was 
 proved by the Earl's good-humoured laugh, as he said, 
 
 " A draught, quotha ? We understand that, young 
 sir. And who may this your true love be ?" 
 
 " That I hope soon to make known to your Lord- 
 ship," returned Humfrey, with a readiness which he 
 certainly did not possess before his voyage. 
 
 The ceremony was still to be fulfilled, and the 
 smith's wife called them to order by saying, • Good 
 luck to the young gentleman. He is a stranger here, 
 or he would have known he should have come up by 
 our path ! Will you try the well, your Grace ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, good woman, my time for such .toys is 
 over !" said the Queen smiling, " but moved by such 
 an example, here are others to make the venture. 
 Master Curll is burning for it, I see." 
 
 " I fear no such trial, an't please your Grace," said 
 Curll, bowing, with a bright defiance of the water, and 
 exchanging a confident smile with the blushing Mistress 
 Barbara — then kneeling by the well, and uttering her 
 name aloud ere stooping to drink. He too succeeded 
 in obtaining a full drauglit, and came up triumpliantly. 
 
 " The water is a flatterer !" said the Earl. " It 
 favours all." 
 
 The French secretary, Monsieur Nan, here came for- 
 ward and took his place on the steps. No one heard, 
 but every one knew the word he spoke was " Bessie," for
 
 228 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAF 
 
 Elizabetli Pierrepoint had long been the oliject of his 
 affections. No doubt he hoped that he should obtain 
 some encouragement from the water, even while he 
 gave a little laugh of affected incredulity as tliough 
 only complying with a form to amuse the Queen. 
 Down he went on his knees, bending over the pool, 
 when behold he could not reach it ! The streams that 
 fed it were no longer issuing from the rock, the water 
 was subsiding rapidly. The farther he stooped, the 
 more it retreated, till he had almost fallen over, and 
 the guide screamed out a note of warning, " Have a 
 care, sir ! If the water flees you, flee it will, and ye'll 
 not mend matters by drowning yourself." 
 
 How he was to be drowned by water that fled from 
 him was not clear, but with a muttered malediction he 
 arose and glanced round as if he thought the mortifi- 
 cation a trick on the part of the higher powers, since 
 the Earl did not think him a match for the Countess's 
 grandchild, and the Queen had made it known to him 
 that she considered Bess Pierrepoint to have too much 
 of her grandmother's conditions to be likely to be a 
 good wife. There was a laugh too, scarce controlled 
 by some of the less well-mannered of the suite, especi- 
 ally as the Earl, wishing to punish his presumption, 
 loudly set the example. 
 
 There was a pause, as the discomfited secretary 
 came back, and the guide exclaimed, "Come, my masters, 
 be not daunted ! Will none of you come on ? Hath none 
 of you faith in your love ? Oh, fie !" 
 
 " We are married men, good women," said Pti chard, 
 hoping to put an end to the scene, " and thus can 
 laugh at your well" 
 
 " But will not these pretty ladies tiy it ? It speaka 
 as sooth to lass as to lad."
 
 XVII.] THE EBBING WELL. 229 
 
 " I am ready," said Barbara Mowbray, as Cuiil 
 gave her his hand to bound lightly down the steps. 
 And to the general amazement, no sooner had " Gilbert " 
 echoed from her lips than the fountains again burst 
 forth, the water rose, and she had no difficulty in 
 reaching it, while no one could help bursting forth in 
 applause. Her Gilbert fervently kissed the hand she 
 gave him to aid her steps up the slope, and Dame 
 Emmott, in triumphant congratulation, scanned them 
 over and exclaimed, " Ay, trust the well for knowing 
 true sweetheart and true maid. Come you next, fair 
 mistress ?" Poor Mary Seaton shook her head, with 
 a look that the kindly woman understood, and she 
 turned towards Cicely, who had a girl's unthinking 
 impulse of curiosity, and had already put her hand 
 into Humfrey's, when his father exclaimed, " Nay, nay, 
 the maid is yet too young !" and the Queen added, 
 " Come back, thou silly little one, these tests be not 
 for babes like thee." 
 
 She was forced to be obedient, but she pouted a 
 little as she was absolutely held fast by Eicllard 
 Talbot's strong hand. Humfrey was disappointed too ; 
 but all was bright with him just then, and as the party 
 turned to make the descent, he said to her, •' It matters 
 not, little Cis ! I'm sure of thee with the water or 
 without, and after all, thou couldst but have whispered 
 my name, till my father lets us speak all out !" 
 
 They were too much hemmed in by other people 
 for a private word, and a little mischievous banter was 
 going on with Sir Andrew Melville, who was supposed 
 to have a grave elderly courtship with Mistress Ken- 
 nedy. Humfrey was left in the absolute bliss of 
 ignorance, while the old habit and instinct of joy and 
 gladness in his presence reafiserted itself in Cis, so
 
 230 UNKNOWN TO K2ST0RY. [CHAP. 
 
 that, as he handed her down the rocks, she answered 
 in the old tone all his inquiries about his mother, 
 and all else that concerned them at home, Diccon 
 meantime risking his limbs by scrambling outside 
 the path, to keep abreast of his brother, and to put in 
 his word whenever he could. 
 
 On reaching the smithy, Humfrey had to go round 
 another way to fetch his horse, and could hardly hope 
 to come up with the rest before they reached Buxton. 
 His brother was spared to go with him, but his father 
 was too important a part of the escort to be spared. 
 So Cicely rode near the Queen, and heard no more 
 except the Earl's version of Dr. Jones's explanation of 
 the intermitting spring. They reached home only just 
 in time to prepare for supper, anil the two youths 
 appeared almost simultaneously, so that Mistress Tal- 
 bot, sitting at her needle on the broad terrace in front 
 of the Earl's lodge, beheld to her amazement and 
 delight the figure that, grown and altered as it was, 
 she recognised in an instant. In another second 
 Humfrey had sprung from his horse, rushed up the 
 steps, he knew not how, and the Queen, with tears 
 trembling in her eyes was saying, " iVh, JMelville ! see 
 how sons meet their mothers !" 
 
 The great clock was striking seven, a preposterously 
 late hour for supper, and etiquette ^\■as stronger than 
 sentiment or perplexity. Every one hastened to as- 
 sume an evening toilette, for a riding-dress would have 
 been an insult to the Earl, and the bell soon clanged 
 to call them down to their places in the hall. Even 
 Humfrey had brought in his cloak-hag wherewithal 
 to make himself presentable, ai/d soon appeared, a well- 
 knit and active figure, in a plain dark blue jerkin, with 
 white slashes, and long hose knitted by his motlier's
 
 XVII.] THE EBBING WELL. 231 
 
 dainty fingers, and well-preserved shoes with blue 
 rosettes, and a flat blue velvet cap, with an exquisite 
 black and sapphire feather in it fastened by a curious 
 brooch. His hair was so short that its naturally strong 
 curl could hardly be seen, his ruddy sunburnt face 
 . could hardly be called handsome, but it was full of 
 frankness and intelligence, and beaming with honest 
 joy, and close to him moved little Diccon, hardly able 
 to repress his ecstasy within company bounds, and let- 
 ting it find vent in odd little gestures, wriggling with 
 his body, playing tunes on his knee, or making dancing- 
 steps with his feet. 
 
 Lord Shrewsbury welcomed his young kinsman as 
 one who had grown from a mere boy into a sturdy and 
 effective supporter. He made the new-comer sit near 
 him, and asked many questions, so that Humfrey was 
 the chief speaker all supper time, with here and there 
 a note from his father, the only person who had made 
 the same voyage. All heard with eager interest of the 
 voyage, the weeds in the Gulf Stream, the stiange 
 birds and fishes, of Walter Ealeigh's Virginian colony 
 and its ill success, of the half-starved men whom Sir 
 Richard Grenville had found only too ready to leave 
 Roanoake, of dark-skinned Indians, of chases of Spanish 
 ships, of the Peak of Teneriffe rising white from the 
 waves, of phosphorescent seas, of storms, and of shark- 
 catching. 
 
 Supper over, the audience again gathered round the 
 young traveller, a perfect fountain of various and won- 
 derful information to those who had for the most part 
 never seen a book of travels. He narrated simply and 
 well, without his boyish shy embarrassment and awk- 
 wardness, and likewise, as his lather alone could judge, 
 without boasting, though, if to no one else, to Diccon
 
 232 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 and Cis, listening with wide open eyes, he seemed a 
 hero of heroes. In the midst of his narration a message 
 came that the Queen of Scots requested the presence of 
 Mistress Cicely. Humfrey stared in discomfiture, and 
 asked when she would return. 
 
 " Not to-night," faltered the girl, and the mother 
 added, for the benefit of the bystanders, " For lack of 
 other ladies of the household, much service hath of late 
 fallen to Cicely and myself, and she shares the Queen's 
 chamber." 
 
 Humfrey had to submit to exchange good-nights 
 with Cicely, and she made her way less willingly than 
 usual to the apartments of the Queen, who was being 
 made ready for her bed. " Here comes our truant," 
 she exclaimed as the maiden entered. " I sent to rescue 
 thee from the western seafarer who had clawed thee 
 in his tarry clutch. Thou didst act the sister's part 
 passing well. I hear my Lord and all his meind have 
 been sitting, open-mouthed, hearkening to his tales of 
 savages and cannibals." 
 
 " madam, he told us of such lovely isles," said 
 Cis. " The sea, he said, is blue, bluer than we can 
 conceive, with white waves of dazzling surf, breaking 
 on islands fringed with white shells and coral, and 
 with palms, their tops like the biggest ferns in the 
 brake, and laden with red golden fruit as big as 
 goose eggs. And the birds ! madam, my mother, 
 the birds ! They are small, small as our butterflies 
 and beetles, and they hang hovering and quivering 
 over a flower so that Humfrey thought they were 
 moths, for he saw nothing but a whizzing and a wliirr- 
 ing till he smote the pretty thing dead, and then he 
 said that I should have wept for pity, for it was a 
 little bird with a long bill, and a breast that shines
 
 xvil] the ebbing well. 233 
 
 red in one light, purple in another, and flame-coloured 
 in a third. He has brought home the little skin and 
 feathers of it for me." 
 
 " Thou hast supped full of travellers' tales, my 
 simple child." 
 
 " Yea, madam, but my Lord listened, and made 
 Humfrey sit beside him, and made much of him — my 
 Lord himself ! I would fain bring him to you, madam. 
 It is so wondrous to hear him tell of the Eed Men 
 with crowns of feathers and belts of beads. Such 
 gentle savages they be, and their chiefs as courteous 
 and stately as any of our princes, and yet those cruel 
 Spaniards make them slaves and force them to dig in 
 mines, so that they die and perish under their hands." 
 
 " And better so than that they should not come to 
 the knowledge of the faith," said Mary. 
 
 "I forgot that your Grace loves the Spaniards/ 
 said Cis, much in the tone in which she might have 
 spoken of a taste in her Grace for spiders, adders, or 
 any other noxious animal. 
 
 " One day my child will grow out of her little 
 heretic prejudices, and learn to love her mother's staunch 
 friends, the champions of Holy Church, and the repre- 
 sentatives of true knighthood in tliese degenerate days. 
 Ah, child ! couldst thou but see a true Spanish cabal- 
 lero, or again, could I but show thee my noble cousin of 
 Guise, then wouldst thou know how to rate these gross 
 clownish English mastiffs who now turn thy silly little 
 brain. Ah, that thou couldst once meet a true prince !" 
 
 " The well," murmured Cicely. 
 
 " Tush, child," said the Queen, amused. " What 
 of that ? Thy name is not Cis, is it ? 'Tis only the 
 slough that serves thee for the nonce. The good youth 
 will find himself linked to some homely, housewifely
 
 234 UNKNOWN TO HlSTOIiY. [CHAP. 
 
 Cis in clue time, when the Princess; Bride is queening 
 it in France or Austria, and will own that the well was 
 wiser than he." 
 
 Poor Cis ! If her inmost heart declared Humfrey 
 Talbot to be prince enough for her, she durst not enter- 
 tain the sentiment, not knowing whether it were un- 
 worthy, and while Marie de Courcelles read aloud a 
 French legend of a saint to soothe the Queen to sleep, 
 she lay longing after the more sympathetic mother, and 
 wondering what was passing in the hall. 
 
 Eichard Talbot had communed with his wife's eyes, 
 and made up his mind that Humfrey should know the 
 full truth before the Queen should enjoin his being put 
 off with the story of the parentage she had invented 
 for Bride Hepburn ; and while some of the gentlemen 
 followed their habit of sitting late over the wine cup, 
 he craved their leave to have his son to himself a little 
 while, and took him out in the summer twilight on the 
 greensward, going through the guards, for whom he, as 
 the gentleman warder, had the password of the night. 
 In compliment to the expedition of the day it had been 
 made " True love and the Flowing Well." It sounded 
 agreeable in Humfrey's ears; he repeated it again, and 
 then added " Little Cis ! she hath come to woman's 
 estate, and she hath caught some of the captive lady's 
 pretty tricks of the head and hands. How long hath 
 she been so thick with her?" 
 
 " Since this journey. I have to speak wdtli thee, my 
 son." 
 
 " I wait your pleasure, sir," said Humfrey, and as 
 his father paused a moment ere communicating his 
 strange tidings, he rendered the matter less easy by 
 saying, " I guess your purpose. If I may at once wed 
 my little Cis I will send word to Sir John Norreys that
 
 XVII.] THE EBBING WELL. 235 
 
 I am not for this expedition to the Low Coiintrieo, 
 though there is good and manly work to be done there, 
 and I have the offer of a command, but I gave not 
 my word till I knew your will, and whether we might 
 wed at once." 
 
 " Thou hast much to hear, my son." 
 
 " Nay, surely no one has come between ! " ex- 
 claimed Humfrey. " Methought she was less frank 
 and more coy than of old. If that sneaking traitor 
 Babington hath been making up to her I will slit his 
 false gullet for him." 
 
 " Hush, hush, Humfrey ! thy seafaring boasts skill 
 not here. No 7nan hath come between thee and 
 yonder poor maid." 
 
 " Poor ! You mean not that she is sickly. Were 
 she so, I would so tend her that she should be well for 
 mere tenderness. But no, she was the very image of 
 health. No man, said you, father ? Then it is a 
 woman. Ah ! my Lady Countess is it, bent on making 
 her match her own way ? Sir, you are too good and 
 upright to let a tyrannous dame like that sever 
 between us, though she be near of kin to us. My 
 mother might scruple to cross her, but you have seen 
 the world, sir." 
 
 " My lad, you are right in that it is a woman who 
 stands between you and Cis, but it is not the Countess. 
 None would have the right to do so, save the maiden's 
 own mother." 
 
 " Her mother ! You have discovered her lineage ! 
 Can she have ought against me ? — I, your son, sir, of 
 the Talbot blood, and not ill endowed ?" 
 
 " Alack, son, the Talbot may be a good dog, but the 
 lioness will scarce esteem him her mate, Eiddlea 
 apart, it is proved beyond question that our little maid
 
 236 UNKNOVO TO HISTORY. [rHAP. 
 
 is of Lii'th as high as it is unhappy. Thou canst be 
 secret, I know, Humfrey, and thou must be silent as 
 tlie grave, f jr it touches my honour and the poor child's 
 liberty." 
 
 " Who is she, tlien ?" demanded Humfrey sharply. 
 
 His father pointed to the Queen's window. Hum- 
 frey stared at him, and muttered an ejaculation, then 
 exclaimed, "How and when was this known?" 
 
 Eichard went over the facts, giving as few names 
 as possible, while his son stood looking down and 
 drawing lines with the point of his sword. 
 
 " I hoped," ended the father, " that these five years' 
 absence might have made thee forget thy childish 
 inclination ;" and as Humfrey, without raising his face, 
 emphatically shook his head, he went on to add — " So, 
 my dear son, meseemeth that there is no remedy, but 
 that, for her peace and thine own, thou shouldest accept': 
 this offer of brave Norreys, and by the time the 
 campaign is ended, they may be both safe in Scotland, 
 out of reach of vexing thy heart, my poor boy." 
 
 " Is it so sure that her royal lineage will be 
 owned ?" muttered Humfrey. " Out on me for saying 
 so ! But sure this lady hath made light enough of her 
 wedlock with yonder villain." 
 
 " Even so, but that was when she c(eemed its 
 olfspring safe beneath the waves. I fear me that, how- 
 ever our poor damsel be regarded, she will be treated 
 as a mere bait and tool. If not bestowed on some 
 foi'eign prince (and there hath been talk of dukes and 
 archdukes), she may serve to tickle the pride of some 
 Scottish thief, such as was her father." 
 
 " Sir ! sir ! how can you speak patiently of such 
 profanation and cruelty ? Papist butchers and Scottish 
 thieves, for the child of your hearth ! Were it not
 
 XVII.] THE EBBING WELL. 237 
 
 better that I stole her safely away and wedded her in 
 secret, so that at least she might have an honest 
 husband ?" 
 
 " Nay, his honesty would scarce be thus manifest," 
 said Eichard, " even if the maid would consent, which 
 I think she would not. Her head is too full of her 
 new greatness to have room for thee, my poor lad. 
 Ik'st that thou shouldest face the truth. And, verily, 
 what is it but her duty to obey her mother, her true 
 and veritable mother, Humfrey? It is but making her 
 case harder, and adding to her griefs, to strive to 
 awaken any inclination she may have had for thee ; 
 and therefore it is that I counsel thee, nay, I 
 might command thee, to absent thyself while it is still 
 needful that she remain with us, passing for our 
 daughter." 
 
 Humfrey still traced lines with his sword in the 
 dust. He had always been a strong-willed though an 
 obedient and honourable boy, and his father felt that 
 these five years had made a man of him, whom, in 
 spite of mediaeval obedience, it was not easy to dispose 
 of arbitrarily. 
 
 " There's no haste," he muttered. " Norreys will 
 not go till my Lord of Leicester's commission be made 
 out. It is five years since I was at home." 
 
 " My son, thou knowest that I would not send thee 
 from me willingly. I had not done so ere now, but 
 that it was well for thee to know the world and men, 
 and Sheffield is a mere nest of intrigue and falsehood, 
 where even if one keeps one's integrity, it is hard to be 
 believed. But for my Lord, thy mother, and my poor 
 folk, I would gladly go with thee to strike honest 
 downright blows at a foe I could see and feel, rather 
 than be notliing better than a warder, and be driven
 
 a38 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 distracted with women's tongues. Why, they have 
 even set division between my Lord and his son Gilbert, 
 who was ever the dearest to him. Young as he is, 
 methinks Diccon would be better away with thee than 
 where the very air smells of plots and lies." 
 
 " 1 trow the Queen of Scots will not be here mucli 
 longer," said Humfrey. " Men say in London that Sir 
 Half Sadler is even now settiug forth to take charge of 
 her, and send my Lord to London." 
 
 " We have had such hopes too often, my son," said 
 Eichard. " Nay, she hath left us more than once, but 
 always to fall back upon Sheffield like a weight to the 
 ground. .But she is full of hope in her son, now that 
 he is come of age, and hath put to death her great foe 
 the Earl of ]\Iorton." 
 
 " The poor lady might as well put her faith in — 
 in a jelly-tish," said Humfrey, falling on a comparison 
 perfectly appreciated by the old sailor. 
 
 " Hell ? She will get naught but stings. How 
 knowest thou V 
 
 " Why, do none know here that King James is in 
 the hands of him they call the Master of Gray?" 
 
 " Queen ]\Iary puts in him lier chief hope." 
 
 " Then she hath indeed grasped a jelly-iish. Know 
 you not, father, those proud and gay ones, witli rose- 
 coloured bladders and long blue beards — blue as the 
 azure of a herald's coat ? " 
 
 " Ay, marry I do. I remendDer when I was a lad, 
 in my first voyage, laying hold on one. I warrant 
 you I danced about till I was nearly overboard, and 
 my arm was as big as two for three days later. Is 
 the fellow of that sort ? The false Scot." 
 
 " Look you, father, I met in London that same 
 Johnstone who was one of this lady's gentlemen at
 
 XVII. j THE EBBING WELL. 239 
 
 one time. You remember him. He breakfasted at 
 Bridgefield once or twice ere the watch became more 
 strict." 
 
 " Yea, I remember him. He was an honest fellow 
 for a Scot." 
 
 " When he made out that I was the little lad lie 
 remembered, he was very courteous, and desired his 
 commendations to you and to my mother. He had 
 been in Scotland, and had come south in the train of 
 this rogue. Gray. I took him to see the old Pelican, 
 and we had a breakfast aboard there. He asked much 
 after his poor Queen, whom he loves a,s much as ever, 
 and when he saw I was a man he could trust, your 
 true son, he said that he saw less hope for her than 
 ever in Scotland — her friends have been slain or 
 exUed, and the young generation that has grown up 
 have learned to dread her like an incarnation of the 
 scarlet one of Babylon. Their preachers would hail her 
 as Satan loosed on them, and the nobles dread nothing 
 so much as being made to disgorge the lands of the 
 Crown and the Church, on which they are battening. 
 As to her son, he was fain enough to break forth from 
 one set of tutors, and the messages of France and Spain 
 tickled his fancy — but he is nought. He is crammed 
 with scholarship, and not witliout a shrewd apprehen- 
 sion ; but, with respect be it spoken, more the stuff 
 that court fools are made of than kings. It may be, 
 as a learned man told Johnstone, that the shock the 
 Queen suffered when the brutes put Davy to deatli 
 before her eyes, three months ere liis birtli, hath dam- 
 aged his constitution, for he is at the mercy of wdioso- 
 ever chooses to lead him, and hatli no will of his own. 
 This Master of Gray ■ was at first inclined to the 
 Queen's party, thinking more might be got by a reversal
 
 240 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 of all things, but now he finds the king's men so strong 
 in the saddle, and the Queen's French kindred like to 
 be too busy at home to aid her, what doth he do, but 
 list to our Queen's offers, and this ambassage of his, 
 which hath a colour of being for Queen Mary's release, 
 h verily to make terms with my Lord Treasurer and 
 Sir Francis Walsingham for the pension he is to have 
 for keeping his king in the same mind." 
 
 " Turnin" a son against a mother ! I marvel that 
 honourable counsellors can bring themselves to the 
 like." 
 
 " Policy, sir, policy," said Humfrey. " And this 
 Gray maketh a fine show of chivalry and honour, in- 
 somuch that Sir Philip Sidney himself hath desired his 
 friendship ; but, you see, the poor lady is as far from 
 freedom as she was when first she came to Sheffield." 
 
 " She is very far from believing it, poor dame. I 
 am sorry for her, Humfrey, more sorry than I ever 
 thought I could be, now I have seen more of her. 
 My Lord himself says he never knew her brealc a 
 promise. How gracious she is there is no telling." 
 
 " That we always knew," said Humfrey, looking 
 somewhat amazed, that his honoured father should 
 have fallen under the spell of the " siren between the 
 cold earth and moon." 
 
 " Yes, gracious, and of a wondrous constancy of 
 mind, and evenness of temper," said Kichard. " Now 
 that thy mother and I have watched her more closely, 
 we can testify that, weary, worn, and sick of body and 
 of heart as she is, she never letteth a bitter or a chid- 
 ing word pass her lips towards her servants. She hath 
 nothing to lose by it. Their fidelity is proven. They 
 would stand by her to the last, use tliem as she would, 
 but assuredly their love must be doubly bound up in
 
 XVII,] THE EBBING WELI<. 241 
 
 ]ier when they see h(jw she regardeth them before her- 
 self. Let what will be said of her, son Humfrey, I 
 shall always maintain that I never saw woman, savo 
 thine own good motlier, of such evenness of condition, 
 and sweetness of consideration for all about her, ay, 
 and patience in adversity, such as, Heaven forbid, 
 thy mother should ever know." 
 
 " Amen, and verily amen," said Humfrey. " Deem 
 you then that she hath not worked her own woe V 
 
 " Nay, lad, what saith the Scripture, ' Judge not, 
 and ye shall not be judged ' ? How should I know 
 what hath passed seventeen years back in Scotland ?" 
 
 " Ay, but for present plots and intrigues, judge 
 you her a true woman ?" 
 
 " Humfrey, thou hadst once a fox in a cage. When 
 it found it vain to dash against the bars, rememberest 
 thou how it scratched away the earth in the rear, and 
 then sat over the hole it had made, lest we should see 
 it?" 
 
 " The fox, say you, sir ? Then you cannot call her 
 ought but false." 
 
 " They tell me," said Sir Eichard, " that ever since an 
 Italian named Machiavel wrote his Book of the Prince, 
 statecraft hath been craft indeed, and princes suck in 
 deceit with the very air they breathe. Ay, boy, it is 
 who.t chiefly vexes me in the whole. I cannot doubt 
 that she is never so happy as when there is a plot or 
 scheme toward, not merely for her own freedom, but 
 the utter overthrow of our own gracious Sovereign, 
 who, if she hath kept this lady in durance, hath 
 shielded her from her own bloodthirsty subjects. Ai.d 
 for dissembling, I never saw her equal. Yet she, as 
 thy mother tells me, is a pious and devout woman, who 
 bears her troubles thus cheerfully and patiently, be-
 
 242 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY, [CKXi: 
 
 cause she deems tliem a martyrdom for her religion. 
 Ay, all women are riddles, they say, hut this one the 
 most of all !" 
 
 " Thinkest thou that she hath tampered with — 
 with that poor maiden's faith ? " asked Humfi (»y 
 huskily. 
 
 " I trow not yet, my son/' replied Richard ; " Cis is 
 as open as ever to thy mother, for I cannot believe she 
 hath yet learnt to dissemble, and I greatly suspect that 
 the Queen, hoping to return to Scotland, may be will-" 
 ing to keep her a Protestant, the better to win favour 
 with her brother and the lords of his council ; but if 
 he be such a cur as thou sayest, all hope of honourable 
 release is at an end. So thou seest, Humfrey, how it 
 lies, and how, in my judgment, to remain here is but 
 to wring thine own heart, and bring the wench and 
 thyself to sore straits. I lay not my commands on 
 thee, a man grown, but such is my opinion on the 
 matter." 
 
 "I will not disobey you, father," said Humfrey, 
 '* but suffer me to consider the matter."
 
 XVIIL] CIS Oii SISTEK. 243 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 CIS OK SISTER. 
 
 Buxtona, qu86 calicloe celebraris nomine lymphse 
 Forte milii post hac non adeunda, Vale.^ 
 
 Thus wrote Queen Mary with a diamond upon her 
 window pane, smiling as she said, " There, we will 
 leave a memento over which the admirable Dr. Jones 
 will gloat his philosophical soul. Never may I see 
 tliee more, Buxton, yet never thought I to be so happy 
 as I have here been." 
 
 She spoke with the tenderness of farewell to the 
 spot, which had always been the pleasantest abode of 
 the various places of durance which had been hers in 
 England. Each year she had hoped would be her last 
 of such visits, but on this occasion everything- seemed 
 to point to a close to the present state of things, since 
 not only were the negotiations with Scotland appa- 
 renlly prosperous, but Lord Shrewsbury had obtained 
 an absolute promise from Elizabeth that she would at 
 all events relieve him from his onerous and expensive 
 charge. Thus there was general cheerfulness, as the 
 baggage was bestowed in carts and on beasts of burthen, 
 and Mary, as she stood finishing her inscription on 
 
 * Buxton, of whose waini waters all men tell, 
 Perchance I ne'er shall see thee more, Farewell.
 
 244 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 the window, smiled sweetly and graciously on Mistress 
 Talbot, and gave her joy of the arrival of her towardly 
 and hopeful son, adding, " We surprised him at the 
 well ! May his Cis, who is yet to be found, I trow, 
 reward his lealty ! " 
 
 That was all the notice Mary deigned to take of 
 the fcunner relations between her daughter and young 
 Talbot. She did not choose again to beg for secrecy 
 when she was sure to hear tliat .'jhe had been fore- 
 stalled, and she was too consummate a judge of 
 character not to have learnt that, though she might 
 despise the dogged, simple straightforwardness of 
 Richard and Susan Talbot, their honour was perfectly 
 trustworthy. She was able for the present to keep 
 her daughter almost entirely to herself, since, on the 
 return to Sheffield, the former state of things was 
 resumed. The Bridgefield family was still quartered 
 in the Manor-house, and Mistress Talbot continued to 
 be, as it were. Lady Warder to the captive in the 
 place of the Countess, who obstinately refused to 
 return while Mary was still in her husband's keeping. 
 Cicely, as Mary's acknowledged favourite, was almost 
 always in her apartments, except at the meals of the 
 whole company of Shrewsbury kinsfolk and retainers, 
 when her place was always far removed from that of 
 Humfrey. In truth, if ever an effort might have 
 obtained a few seconds of private conversation, a 
 strong sense of embarrassment and perplexity made 
 the two young people fly apart rather than come 
 together. They knew not what they wished. Ham- 
 frey might in his secret soul long for a token that Cis 
 remembered his faithful affection, and yet he knew 
 that to elicit one might do her life-long ^njury. So, 
 however he might crave for word or look when o'lt of
 
 XVIII.] CIS OR SISTER. 245 
 
 sight of her, an honourable reluctance always withheld 
 him from seeking any such sign in the short intervals 
 when he covild have tried to go beneath the surface. 
 On the other hand, this apparent indifference piqued 
 ]ier pride, and made her stiff, cold, and almost dis- 
 drinfu] whenever there was any approach between 
 thtm. Her vanity might be flattered by the know- 
 ledge that she was beyond his reach ; but it would 
 have been still more gratified could she have dis- 
 covered any symptoms of pining and languishing after 
 her. She might peep at him from under her eye- 
 lashes in chapel and in hall; but in the former place 
 his gaze always seemed to be on the minister, in the 
 latter he showed no signs of flagging as a trencher 
 companion. Both mothers thought her marvellously 
 discreet ; but neither beheld the strange tumult in her 
 heart, where were surging pride, vanity, ambition, and 
 wounded affection. 
 
 In a few days. Sir Ealf Sadler and liis son-in-law Mr. 
 Somer arrived at Sheffield in order to take the charge 
 of the prisoner whilst Shrewsbury went to London. 
 The conferences and consultations were endless and 
 harassing, and it was finally decided that the Earl 
 should escort her to Wingfield, and, leaving her there 
 under charge of Sadler, should proceed to London. 
 She made formal application for Mistress Cicely Talbot 
 to accompany lier as one of her suite, and her sup- 
 posed parents could not but give their consent, but 
 six gentlewomen had been already enumerated, and 
 the authorities would not consent to her taking my 
 UiOie ladies with her, and decreed that Mistress Cicely 
 must remain at home. 
 
 " This unkindness has made the parting from this 
 place less joyous than I looked for," said Mary, " but
 
 246 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 courage, ma mignonne. Soon shall I send for thee to 
 Scotland, and there shalt thou burst thine husk, and 
 show thyself in thy true colours ; " and turning to 
 Susan, " Madam, I must commit my treasure to her 
 who has so long watched over her." 
 
 " Your Grace knows that she is no less my treasure," 
 said Susan. 
 
 " I should have known it well," returned the 
 Queen, "from the innocence and guilelessness of the 
 damsel. None save such a mother as Mistress Talbot 
 could have made her what she is. Credit me, madam, 
 I have looked well into her heart, and found nought 
 to undo there. You have bred her up better than her 
 poor mother could have done, and I gladly entrust her 
 once more to your care, assured that your well-tried 
 honour will keep her in mind of what she is, and to 
 what she may be called." 
 
 " She shall remember it, madam," said Susan. 
 
 " When I am a Queen once more," said Mary, " all 
 I can give will seem too poor a meed for what you 
 have been to my child. Even as Queen of Scotland 
 or England itself, my power would be small in com- 
 parison with my will. My gratitude, however, no 
 bounds can limit out to me." 
 
 And with tears of tenderness and thankfulness she 
 kissed the cheeks and lips of good Mistress Talbot, 
 who could not but likewise weep for the mother thus 
 compelled to part with her child. 
 
 The night was partly spent in caresses and promises 
 of the brilliant reception preparing in Scotland, with 
 auguries of the splendid marriage in store, with a 
 Prince of Lorraine, or even with an Archduke. 
 
 Cis was still young enough to dream of such a lot 
 as an opening to a fairy laud of princely glories. If
 
 XVIIL] CIS OE SISTER. 247 
 
 her mother knew better, she still hioked tenderly back 
 on her beaio pays de France with that halo of brightness 
 which is formed only in childhood and youth. Moreover, 
 it might be desirable to enhance such aspiration as might 
 best secure the young princess from anything derogatory 
 to her real rank, while she was strongly warned against 
 betraying it, and especially against any assumption of 
 dignity should she ever hear of her mother's release, 
 reception, and recognition in Scotland. For whatever 
 might be the maternal longings, it would be needful to 
 feel the way and prepare the ground for the acknow- 
 ledgment of Bothwell's daughter in Scotland, while 
 the knowledge of her existence in England .would 
 almost surely lead to her being detained as a hostage. 
 She likewise warned the maiden never to regard any 
 letter or billet from her as fully read till it had been 
 held — without witnesses — to the fire. 
 
 Of Humfrey Talbot, Queen Mary scorned to say 
 anything, or to utter a syllable that she thought a 
 daughter of Scotland needed a warning against a 
 petty English sailor. Indeed, she had confidence that 
 the youth's parents would view the attachment as 
 quite as undesirable for him as for the young princess, 
 and would guard against it for his sake as much as for 
 hers. 
 
 The true parting took place ere the household was 
 astir. Afterwards, Mary, fully equipped for travelling, 
 in a dark cloth riding-dress and hood, came across to the 
 great hall of the Manor-house, and there sat while each 
 one of the attendants filed in procession, as it were, before 
 her. To each lady she presented some small token 
 wrcught by her own hands. To each gentleman she 
 also gave some trinket, such as the elaborate dress of 
 the time permitted, and to each serving man or maid a
 
 248 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 piece of money. Of each one she gravely but geutly 
 besought pardon for all the displeasures or offences she 
 might have caused them, and as they repHed, kissing 
 her hand, many of them with tears, she returned a kiss 
 on the brow to each woman and an entreaty to be re- 
 membered in their prayers, and a like request, with a 
 pressure of the hand, to each man or boy. 
 
 It must have been a tedious ceremony, and yet to 
 every one it seemed as if Mary put her whole heart 
 into it, and to any to whom she owed special thanks 
 they were freely paid. 
 
 The whole was only over by an hour before noon. 
 Then she partook of a manchet and a cup of wine, 
 drinking, with liquid eyes, to the health and prosperity 
 of her good host, and to the restoration of his family 
 peace, Mdiich she had so sorely, though unwittingly, 
 disturbed. 
 
 Then she let him hand her out, once more kissing 
 Susan Talbot and Cis, who was weeping bitterly, and 
 whispering to the latter, " Not over much grief, ma 
 petite ; not more than may befit, ma mignonne." 
 
 Lord Shrewsbury lifted her on her horse, and, with 
 him on one side and Sir Ealf Sadler on the other, she 
 rode down the long avenue on her way to Wingfield. 
 
 The Bridgefield family had already made their 
 arrangements, and their horses were waiting for them 
 amid the jubilations of Diccon and Ned. The Queen 
 had given each of them a fair jewel, with special 
 thanks to them for being good brothers to her dear 
 Cis. " As if one wanted thanks for being good to 
 one's own sister," said Ned, thrusting the delicate little 
 ruby brooch on his mother to be taken care of till his 
 days of foppery should set in, and he would need it 
 for cap and phmie.
 
 XVIII.] CIS OR SISTER. 249 
 
 " Come, Cis, we are going home at last," said 
 Diccon. " What ! thou art not breaking thine heart 
 over yonder Scottisli Lady — when we are going home, 
 home, I say, and have got rid of watch and ward for 
 ever ? Hurrah !" and he threw up his cap, and was 
 jrined in the shout by more than one of the youngsters 
 around, for Eicliard and most of the eklers were 
 escorting the Queen out of the park, and Mistress Susan 
 had been summoned on some question of household 
 stuff. Cis, however, stood leaning against the balus- 
 trade, over which she had leant for the last glance 
 exchanged with her mother, her face hidden in her 
 hands and kerchief, weeping bitterly, feeling as if all 
 the glory and excitement of the last few weeks had 
 vanished as a dream and left her to the dreary dul- 
 ness of common life, as little insignificant Cis Talbot 
 again. 
 
 It was Humfrey who first came near, almost timidly 
 touched her hand, and said, " Cheer up. It is but for 
 a little while, mayhap. Slie will send for thee. 
 Come, here is thine old palfrey — poor old Dapple. 
 Let me put thee on him, and for this brief time let us 
 feign that all is as it was, and thou art my little sister 
 once more." 
 
 " I know not which is truth and which is dreaming," 
 said Cis, waking up through her tears, but resigning 
 her hand to him, and letting him lift her to her seat 
 on the old pony which had been the playfellow of both. 
 
 If it had been an effort to Humfrey to prolong the 
 word Cis into sister, he was rewarded for it. It gave 
 the key-note to their intercourse, and set her at ease 
 with him ; and the idea that her present rustication 
 wns but a comedy instead of a reality was consoling in 
 her present frame of mind. Mistress Susan, surrounded
 
 250 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 with importunate inquirers as to houseliold matters, 
 and unable to escape from them, could only see that 
 Humfrey had taken charge of the maiden, and trusted 
 to his honour and his tact. This was, however, only 
 the beginning of a weary and perplexing time. Nothing 
 could restore Cis to her old place in the Bridgefield 
 household, or make her look upon its tasks, cares, and 
 joys as she had done only a few short months ago. 
 Her share in them could only be acting, and she was too 
 artless and simple to play a part. Most frequently she 
 was listless, dull, and pining, so much inclined to despise 
 and neglect the ordinary household occupations which 
 befitted the daughter of the family, that her adopted 
 mother was forced, for the sake of her incognito, to 
 rouse, and often to scold her when any witnesses were 
 present who would have thought Mrs. Talbot's toleration 
 of such conduct in a daughter suspicious and unnatural. 
 
 Such reproofs were dangerous in another way, for 
 Humfrey could not bear to hear them, and was driven 
 nearly to the verge of disrespect and perilous approaches 
 to implying that Cis was no ordinary person to be 
 sharply reproved when she sat musing and sighing 
 instead of sewing Diccon's shirts. 
 
 Even the father himself could not well brook to 
 hear the girl blamed, and both he and Humfrey could 
 not help treating her with a kind of deference that 
 made the younger brothers gape and wonder what had 
 come to Humfrey on his travels " to make him treat 
 our Cis as a born princess." 
 
 " You irreverent varlets," said Humfrey, " you have 
 yet to learn that every woman ought to be treated as 
 a born princess." 
 
 " By cock and pie," said spoilt Ned, " that beats 
 all! One's own sister!"
 
 XVIII.] CIS OK SISTER. 251 
 
 Whereupon Humfrey had the opportunity of vent. 
 ing a little of his vexation by thrashing his brotlier for 
 his oath, while sharp Diccon innocently asked if men 
 never swore by anything when at sea, and thereby 
 nearly got another castigation for irreverent mocking 
 of his elder brother's discipline. 
 
 At other times the girl's natural activity and high 
 spirits gained the upper hand, and she would abandon 
 lierself without reserve to the old homely delights of 
 Bridgefield. At the apple gathering, she was running 
 about, screaming with joy, and pelting the boys with 
 apples, more as she had done at thirteen than at 
 seventeen, and when called to order she inconsistently 
 pleaded, " Ah, mother ! it is for the last time. Do but 
 let me have my swing !" putting on a wistful and 
 caressing look, wliich Susan did not withstand when 
 the only companions were the three brothers, since 
 Humfrey had much of her own unselfishness and self- 
 command, resulting in a discretion that was seldom 
 at fault. 
 
 And that discretion made him decide at a fortnight's 
 end that his father had been right, and that it would 
 be better for him to absent himself from where he 
 could do no good, but only added to the general per- 
 plexity, and involved himself in the temptation of 
 betraying the affection he knew to be hopeless. 
 
 Before, liowever, it was possible to fit out either 
 Diccon or the four men who were anxious to go under 
 the leadership of Master Humfrey of Bridgefield, the 
 Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury were returning fully 
 reconciled. Queen Elizabeth had made the Caven- 
 dishes ask pardon on their knees of the Earl for their 
 slanders ; and he, in his joy, had freely foigiven all. 
 Gilbert Talbot and his wife had shared in the general
 
 252 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAP, 
 
 reconciliation. His elder brother's death had made 
 him the heir apparent, and all were commg home 
 again, including the little Lady Arbell, once more to fill 
 the Castle and the Manor-house, and to renew the free 
 hosj)itable life of a great feudal chief, or of the Queen's 
 old courtier, with doors wide open, and no ward or 
 suspicion. 
 
 Eichard rejoiced that his sons, before going abroad, 
 should witness the return to the old times which had 
 been at an end before they could remember Sheffield 
 distinctly. The whole family were drawn up as usual 
 to receive them, when the Earl and Countess arrived 
 first of all at the Manor-house. 
 
 The Countess looked smaller, thinner, older, per- 
 haps a trifle more shrewish, but she had evidently 
 suffered much, and was very glad to have recovered 
 her husband and her home. 
 
 " So, Susan Talbot," was her salutation, " you have 
 thriven, it seems. You have been playing the part of 
 hostess, I hear." 
 
 " Only so far as might serve his Lordship, madam." 
 
 " And the wench, there, what call you her ? Ay, 
 Cicely. I hear the Scottish Queen hath been cocker- 
 ing her up and making her her bedfellow, till she hath 
 spoilt her for a reasonable maiden. Is it so ? She 
 looks it." 
 
 " I trust not, madam," said Susan. 
 
 " She grows a strapping wench, and we must find 
 her a good husband to curb her pride. I have a young 
 man already in my eye for her." 
 
 " So please your Ladyship, we do not think of 
 marrying her as yet," returned Susan, in consternation. 
 
 " Tilly vally, Susan Talbot, tell me not such folly 
 as that. Why, the maid is over s(5venteen at the very
 
 XVIII.] CIS OR SISTER. 253 
 
 least ! Save for all tlie coil this Scottish woman aud 
 her crew have made, I should have seen her well 
 mated a year ago." 
 
 Here was a satisfactory prospect for Mistress Susan, 
 bred as she had been to unquestioning submission to 
 the Countess. There was no more to be said on that 
 occasion, as the great lady passed on to bestow her 
 notice on others of her little court. 
 
 Humfrey meantime had been warmly greeted by 
 the younger men of tlie suite, and one of them 
 handed him a letter which filled him with eagerness. 
 It was from an old shipmate, who wrote, not without 
 sanction, to inform him that Sir Francis Drake was 
 fitting out an expedition, with the full consent of the 
 Queen, to make a descent upon the Spaniards, and that 
 there was no doubt that if he presented himself at 
 Plymouth, lie would obtain either the command, or at 
 any rate the lieutenancy, of one of the numerous ships 
 which were to be commissioned. Humfrey was before 
 all else a sailor. He had made no engagement to Sir 
 John Norreys, and many of the persons engaged on 
 this expedition were already known to him. It was 
 believed that the attack was to be upon Spain itself, 
 and the notion filled him with ardour and excitement 
 that almost drove Cicely out of his mind, as he laid 
 the proposal before his father. 
 
 Eichard was scarcely less excited. " You young 
 lads are in luclc," he said. " I sailed for years and 
 never had more than a chance brush with the Don ; 
 never the chance of bearding him on his own shores !" 
 
 " Come with us, then, father," entreated Humfrey. 
 "Sir Francis would be overjoyed to see you. You 
 would get the choicest ship to your share." 
 
 " Nay, nay, my boy, tempt me not ; I cannot leave
 
 254 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 your mother to meet all tlie coils that may fall in her 
 way ! No ; I'm too old. I've lost my sea legs. I 
 leave thee to win the fame, son Humfrey!" 
 
 The decision was thus made, and Humfrey and 
 Diccon were to start together for London first, and then 
 for Plymouth, the second day after a great festival for 
 the wedding of the little Alethea, daughtei- of Gilbert, 
 Lord Talbot — still of very tender age — to the young 
 heir of Arundel. The Talbot family had been pre- 
 cluded from holding festival for full fourteen years, 
 or indeed from entertaining any guests, save the Com- 
 missioners sent down to confer from time to time with 
 the captive Queen, so that it was no wonder that they 
 were in the highest possible spirits at their release, and 
 determined to take the first opportunity of exercising 
 the gorgeous hospitality of the Tudor times. 
 
 Posts went out, riding round all the neighbourhood 
 with invitations. The halls were swept and adorned 
 with the best suit of hangings. All the gentlemen, 
 young and old, all the keepers and verdurers, were put 
 in requisition to slaughter all the game, quadruped and 
 biped, that fell in their way, the village women and 
 children were turned loose on the blackberries, cran- 
 berries, and bilberries, and all the ladies and serving- 
 women were called on to concoct pasties of many stories 
 high, subtilties of wonderful curiosity, sweetmeats and 
 comfits, cakes and marchpanes worthy of Camacho's 
 wedding, or to deck tlie lialls with green boughs, and 
 weave garlands of heather and red berries. 
 
 Cis absolutely insisted, so that the heads of the 
 household gave way, on riding out with Eichard and 
 Humfrey when they had a buck to mark down in 
 Eivelin Chase. And she set her heart on going out to 
 /rather cranberries in the park, flinging herself about
 
 y.YlU.] CIS OR SISTER. 255 
 
 witli petulant irritation when Dame Susan showed 
 herself unwilling to permit a proceeding which was 
 thought scarcely becoming in any well-born damsel of 
 the period. " Ah, child, child ! thou wilt have to 
 bear worse restraints than tliese," she said, " if ever 
 thou comest to thy greatness." 
 
 Cis made no answer, but threw herself into a chair 
 and pouted. 
 
 The next morning she did not present herself at the 
 usual hour ; but just as the good mother was about to 
 go in quest of her to her chamber, a clear voice came 
 singing up the valley — 
 
 " Berries to sell ! berries to sell ! 
 Berries fresli from moorland fell!" 
 
 And there stood a girl in peasant dress, with short 
 petticoats, stout shoes soaked in dew," a round face 
 under black brows, and cheeks glowing in morning 
 freshness ; and a boy swung the other handle of the 
 basket overflowing with purple berries. 
 
 It was but a shallow disguise betrayed by the two 
 roguish faces, and the good mother was so pleased to 
 see Cis smile merrily again, that she did not scold over 
 the escapade. 
 
 Yet the inconsistent girl hotly refused to go up to 
 the castle and help to make pastry for her motlier's 
 bitter and malicious foe, and Sir Eichard shook his head 
 and said she was in the right on't, and should not be 
 compelled. So Susan found herself making lame 
 excuses, which did not avert a sharp lecture from the 
 Countess on the cockering of her daughter.
 
 256 UJSKNOWN TO IllSTOIiY. [rHAT. 
 
 CHArXER XIX. 
 
 THE CLASH OF SWORDS. 
 
 Festivals in the middle ages were conducted by day 
 rather than by night, and it was a bright noonday sun 
 that shone upon the great hall at Sheflfield, bedecked 
 with rich tapestry around the dais, where the floor was 
 further spread with Eastern carpets. Below, the 
 garniture of the walls was of green boughs, interspersed 
 between stag's antlers, and the floor was strewn, in 
 ancient fashion, with the fragrant rush. 
 
 All the tables, however, were spread with pure 
 white napery, the difference being only in texture, but 
 the higher table rejoiced in the wonderful extravagance 
 of silver plates, whde the lower had only trenchers. 
 As to knives, each guest brought his or her own, and 
 forks were not yet, but bread, in long fingers of crust, 
 was provided to a large amount to supply the want. 
 Splendid salt-cellars, towering as landmarks to tlie 
 various degrees of guests, tankards, gilt and parcel gilt 
 or shining with silver, perfectly swarmed along the 
 board, and the meanest of tlie guests present drank 
 from silver-rimmed cups of horn, while for the very 
 greatest were reserved the tall, slender, opal Venice 
 glasses, recently purcliased by the Countess in London. 
 
 The pies, the glory of Yorkshire, surpassed them-
 
 XIX.] THE CLASH OF SWORDS. 257 
 
 selves. The young bride and bridegroom had the 
 felicity of contemplating one whose crust was elevated 
 into the altar of Hymen, with their own selves united 
 thereat, attended by numerous Cupids, made chiefly in 
 paste and sugar, and with little wings from the 
 feathers of the many slaughtered fowl within. As to 
 the jellies, the devices and the subtilties, the pen re- 
 fuses to describe them ! It will be enough to say that 
 the wedding itself was the least part of the entertain- 
 ment. It was gone through with very few spectators 
 in the early morning, and the guests only assembled 
 afterwards to this mighty dinner at a somewhat earlier 
 hour than they would now to a wedding breakfast. 
 The sewer marshalled all the guests in pairs according 
 to their rank, having gone through the roll with his 
 mistress, just as the lady of the house or her aide-de- 
 camp pairs the guests and puts cards in their plates in 
 modern times. Every one was there who had any 
 connection with the Earl ; and Cis, though flaslies of 
 recollection of her true claims would come across her 
 now and then, was unable to keep from being eager 
 about her first gaiety. Perhaps the strange life she 
 had led at Buxton, as it receded in the distance, 
 became more and more unreal and shadowy, and 
 she was growing back into the simple Cicely she had 
 always believed herself. It was with perfectly girlish 
 natural phasure that she donned the delicate sky-blue 
 farthingale, embroidered with white lilies by the skilful 
 hands of the captive Queen, and the daintily-fashioned 
 little cap of Flanders lace, and practised the pretty 
 dancing steps which the Queen had amused herself with 
 teaching her long ere they knew they were mother and 
 daughter. 
 
 As Talbots, the Bridgefield family were spectators 
 s
 
 258 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 of the wedding, after which, one by one, the seneschal 
 paired them off. Eichard was called away first, then 
 a huge old Yorkshire knight came and bore away 
 Mrs. Susan, and after an interval, during which the 
 young people entertained hopes of keeping together in 
 enviable obscurity, the following summons to the board, 
 was heard in a loud voice — 
 
 " Master Antony Babington, Esquire, of Dethick ! 
 Mistress Cicely Talbot, of Bridgefield." 
 
 Humfrey's brow grew dark with disappointment, 
 but cleared into a friendly greeting, as there advanced 
 a tall, slender gentleman, of the well-known fair, pink 
 and white colouring, and yellow hair, apparelled point 
 device in dark green velvet, with a full delicately 
 crimped ruff, bowing low as he extended his hand to 
 take that of the young lady, exchanging at the same 
 time a friendly greeting with his old comrade, before 
 leading Cis to her place. 
 
 On the whole, she was pleased. Tete-a-Utes with 
 Humfrey were dreadfully embarrassing, and she felt life 
 so flat without her nocturnal romance that she was 
 very glad to have some one who would care to talk to 
 her of the Queen. In point of fact, such conversation 
 was prohibited. In the former days, when there had 
 been much more intercourse between the Earl's house- 
 hold and the neiglibourhood, regular cautions had been 
 given to every member of it not to discuss the prisoner 
 or make any conmiunication about her habits. The 
 younger generation who had grown up in the time of 
 the closer captivity had never been instructed in these 
 laws, for the simple reason that they hardly saw auy one. 
 Antony and Cicely were likewise most comfortably 
 isohited, for she was flanked by a young esquire, who 
 had no eyes nor ears save for the fair widow of sixteen
 
 XIX.] THE CLASH OF SWOEDS. 259 
 
 whom he had just led in, and Antony, by a fat and 
 deaf lady, whose only interest was in tasting as many 
 varieties of good cheer as she could, and trying to 
 discover how and of what they were compounded. 
 Knowing Mistress Cicely to be a member of the family, 
 slie once or twice referred the question to her across 
 Antony, but getting very little satisfaction, she gave up 
 the young lady as a bad specimen of housewifery, and 
 was forced to be content with her own inductions. 
 
 There was plenty of time for Antony to begin with, 
 "Are there as many conies as ever in the chase ?" and 
 to begin on a discussion of all the memories connected 
 with the free days of childliood, the blackberry and 
 bilberry gatherings, the hide-and-seek in the rocks and 
 heather, the consternation when little Dick was lost, 
 the audacious comedy with the unsuspected spectators, 
 and all the hundred and one recollections, less memor- 
 able perhaps, but no less delightful to botli. It was 
 only thus gradually tliat they approached their recent 
 encounter in the Castleton Cavern, and Antony ex- 
 plained how he had burnt to see his dear Queen and 
 mistress once again, and that his friends, Tichborne and 
 the rest, were ready to kiss every footstep she had 
 taken, and almost worshipped him and John Eyre for 
 contriving this mode of letting them behold the hitherto 
 unknown object of their veneration. 
 
 All that passionate, chivalrous devotion, which in 
 Sidney, Spenser, and many more attached itself to their 
 great Gloriana, had in these young men, all either 
 secretly or openly reconciled to Eome, found its ol)ject 
 in that rival in whom Edmund Spenser only beheld 
 his false Duessa or snowy Elorimel. And, indeed, 
 romance had in her a congenial lieroine, who needed 
 little self-blinding so to appear. Her beauty needed
 
 260 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 no illusion to be credited. Even at her age now over 
 forty, the glimpse they had had in the fitful torchlight 
 of the cavern had been ravishing, and had confirmed 
 all they had ever heard of her witching loveliness ; 
 nor did they recollect how that very obscurity might 
 have assisted it. 
 
 To their convictions, she was the only legitimate 
 sovereign in the island, a confessor for their beloved 
 Church, a captive princess and beauty driven from her 
 throne, and kept in durance by a usurper. Thus every 
 generous feeling was enlisted in her cause, with nothing 
 to counterbalance them save the English hatred of 
 the Spaniard, with whom her cause was inextricably 
 linked ; a dread of what might be inflicted on the 
 country in the triumph of her party ; and in some, a 
 strange inconsistent personal loyalty to Elizabeth ; but 
 all these they were instructed to believe mere tempta- 
 tions and delusions that ought to be brushed aside as 
 cobwebs. 
 
 Antony's Puritan tutor at Cambridge had, as Eichard 
 Talbot had foreboded, done little but add to his detesta- 
 tion of the Eeformation, and he had since fallen in 
 with several of the seminary priests who were circulat- 
 ing in England. Some were devoted and pious men, who 
 at the utmost risk went from house to house to con- 
 firm the faith and constancy of the old families of 
 their own communion. The saintly martyr spirit of 
 one of these, whom Antony met in the house of a 
 kinsman of his mother, had so wrought on him as to 
 bring him heart and soul back to his mother's pro- 
 fession, in which he had been secretly nurtured in 
 early childhood, and which had received additional 
 confirmation at Shetfield, where Queen Mary and her 
 ladies had always shown that they regarded him as one
 
 XIX ] THE CLASH OF SWORDS. 261 
 
 of themselves, sure to return to them when he was his 
 own master. It was not, however, of this that he 
 spoke to Cis. but whatever she ventured to tell him of 
 the Queen was listened to with delight as an extreme 
 favour, which set her tongue off with all the eager 
 pleasure of a girl, telling what she alone can tell. 
 
 All through the banquet they talked, for Babington 
 had much to ask of all the members of the household 
 whom he had known. And after the feast was over 
 and the hall was cleared for dancing, Antony was 
 still, by etiquette, her partner for the evening. The 
 young bride and bridegroom had tirst to perform a 
 stately pavise before the whole assembly in the centre 
 of the floor, in which, poor young things, they acquitted 
 themselves much as if they were in the dancing- 
 master's hands. Then her father led out his mother, 
 and vice vcrsd. The bridegroom had no grandparents, 
 but the stately Earl handed forth his little active wiry 
 Countess, bowing over her with a grand stiff devotion 
 as genuine and earnest as at their wedding twenty 
 years previously, for the reconciliation had been com- 
 j)lete, and had restored all her ascendency over him. 
 Theirs, as Mistress Susan exultingly agreed with a 
 Hardwicke kinsman not seen for many years, was the 
 .L^Tandest and most featly of all the performances. All 
 tlie time each pair were performing, the others were 
 awaiting their turn, the ladies in rows on benches or 
 settles, the gentlemen sometimes standing before them, 
 sometimes sitting on cushions or steps at their feet, 
 sometimes handing them comfits of sugar or dried fruits. 
 
 The number of gentlemen was greatly in excess, 
 so tl\at Humfrey had no such agreeable occupation, 
 but had to stand in a herd among other young men, 
 watching with no gratified eye Antony Babington, in a
 
 262 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cHAP. 
 
 graceful attitude at Cicely's feet, while she conversed 
 with him with untiring animation. 
 
 Humfrey was not the only one to remark them. 
 Lady Shrewsbury nodded once or twice to herself as 
 one who had discovered what she sought, and the next 
 morning a mandate arrived at Bridgefield that Master 
 Kichard and his wife should come to speak with my 
 Lady Countess. 
 
 Eichard and his son were out of reach, havinsr 
 joined a party of the guests who had gone out hunting. 
 Susan had to go alone, for she wished to keep Cicely 
 as much as possible out of her Ladyship's sight, so she 
 left the girl in charge of her keys, so that if father 
 brought home any of the hunters to the midday meal, 
 tankards and glasses mi<i;lit not be lackinfj. 
 
 The Countess's summons was to her own bower, a 
 sort of dressing-room, within her great state bed-room, 
 and with a small glazed window looking down into the 
 great hall where her ladies sat at work, whence she 
 could on occasion call down orders or directions or 
 reproofs. Susan had known what it was to stand in 
 dread of such a window at Chatsworth or Hardwicke, 
 whence shrill shrieks of objurgation, followed sometimes 
 by such missiles as pincushions, shoes, or combs. How- 
 ever the window was now closed, and my Lady sat in 
 her arm-chair, as on a throne, a stool being set, to 
 which she motioned her kinswoman. 
 
 " So ! Susan Talbot," she said, " I have sent for you 
 to do you a good turn, for you are mine own kins- 
 woman of the Hardwicke blooil, and have ever been 
 reasonably humble and dutiful towards me and my 
 Lord." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot did not by any means view this speech 
 as the insult it would in these days appear to a lady
 
 XIX.] THE CLASH OF SWORDS. 263 
 
 of her Lirtli and position, but accepted it as the compli- 
 ment it was intended to be. 
 
 " Thus/' continued Lady Shrewsbury, " I have 
 always cast about how to marry that daughter of yours 
 :fitly. It would have been done ere now, had not that 
 Scottish woman's tongue made mischief between me 
 and my Lord, but I am come home to rule my own 
 house now, and mine own blood have the first claim 
 on me." 
 
 The alarm always excited by a summons to speak 
 with my Lady Countess began to acquire definite form, 
 and Susan made answer, " Your Ladyship is very 
 good, but I doubt me whether my husband desires to 
 bestow Cicely in marriage as yet." 
 
 " He hath surely received no marriage proposals for 
 lier without my knowledge or my Lord*s," said Bess 
 of Hardwicke, who was prepared to strain all feudal 
 claims to the uttermost. 
 
 " No, madam, but " 
 
 " Tell me not that you or he have the presumption 
 to think that my son William Cavendish or even 
 Edward Talbot will ever cast an eye on a mere portion- 
 less country maid, not comely, nor even like the Hard- 
 wickes or the Talbots. If I thought so for a moment, 
 never shouldst thou darken these doors again, thou 
 ungrateful, treacherous woman." 
 
 " Neitlier of us ever had the thought, far less the 
 wish," said Susan most sincerely. 
 
 " Well, thou wast ever a simple woman, Susan 
 Talljot," said the great lady, there1)y meaning truthful, 
 " so I will e'en take thy word for it, the more readily 
 that I made contracts for both the lads when I was at 
 court. As to Dick Talbot not being fain to bestow her, 
 I trow that is because ye liave spent too much on
 
 264 UNKNOWN TO HISTGKY. [CHAP. 
 
 your long-legged sons to he able to lay down a portion 
 for her, though she be your only daughter. Auan ?" 
 
 For though this was quite true, Susan feeling that 
 it was not the whole truth, made but faint response. 
 However, the Countess went on, expecting to over- 
 power her with gratitude. " The gentleman I mean is 
 willing to take her in her smock, and moreover his 
 wardship and marriage were granted to my Lord by her 
 Majesty. Thou knowest whom I mean." 
 
 She wanted to hear a guess, and Susan actually 
 foreboded the truth, but was too full of dismay and 
 perplexity to do anything but shake her head as one 
 puzzled. 
 
 " What think'st thou of Mr. Babington ?" triumph- 
 antly exclaimed the Countess. 
 
 " Mr. Babington ! " returned Susan. " But he is no 
 longer a ward !" 
 
 " No. We had granted his marriage to a little 
 niece of my Lord Treasurer's, but she died ere coming 
 to age. Then Tom Eatcliffe's wife would have him for 
 her daughter, a mere babe. But for that thou and 
 thine husband have done good service whUe evil 
 tongues kept me absent, and because the wench comes 
 of our own blood, we are willing to bestow her upon 
 him, he showing himself willing and content, as befits 
 a lad bred in our own household." 
 
 " Madam, w^e are much beholden to you and my 
 Lord, but sure Mr. Babington is more inclined to the 
 old faith." 
 
 " Tush, woman, what of that ? Thou mayst say 
 the same of half our Northern youth ! They think it 
 grand to dabble with seminary jjriests in hiding, and 
 talk big about their conscience and the like, but when 
 they've seen a neighbour or two pay down a heavy
 
 XIX.] THE CLASH OF SWORDS. 265 
 
 fine for recusancy, they think better of it, and a good 
 wife settles their brains to jog to church to hear the 
 parson with the rest of them." 
 
 " I fear me Cis is over young to settle any one's 
 mind,' said Susan. 
 
 " Slie is seventeen if she is a day," said my Lady, 
 ' and I was a wedded wife ere I saw my teens. 
 Moreover, I will say for thee, Susan, that thou hast 
 bred the girl as becomes one trained in my household, 
 and unless she have been spoiled by resort to the 
 Scottish woman, she is like to make the lad a moder- 
 ately good wife, having seen nought of the unthrifty 
 modes of the fine court dames, who queen it with 
 standing ruffs a foot high, and coloured with turmeric, so 
 please you, but who know no more how to bake a march- 
 pane, or roll puff paste, than yonder messan dog !" 
 
 " She is a good girl," said Susan, " but " 
 
 "What has the foolish wife to object now?" said 
 the Countess. " I tell you I marked them both last 
 eve, and though I seldom turn my mind to such follies, 
 I saw the plain tokens of love in every look and 
 gesture of the young springald. Nay, 'twas his coun- 
 tenance that put it into my mind, for I am even too 
 good - natured — over good - natured, Susan Talbot. 
 How now," at some sound below, springing to the little 
 window and flinging it back, "you lazy idle wenches 
 — what are you doing there ? Is my work to stand 
 still while you are toying with yon vile whelp ? He 
 is tangling the yarn, don't you see, thou purblind 
 Jane Dacre, with no eyes but for ogling. There ! 
 theie ! Eound the leg of the chair, don't you see 1" 
 and down flew a shoe, which made the poor dog howl, 
 and his mistress catch him up. " Put him down ! put 
 him down this instant ! Thomas ! Davy ! Here,
 
 266 unknow:n to history. [chap. 
 
 hang him up, I say," cried this over good-natured lady, 
 interspersing her commands with a volley of sixteenth 
 century Billingsgate, and ending by declaring that 
 nothing fared Avell without her, and hurrying off to 
 pounce down on the luckless damsels who had let 
 tlieir dog play with the embroidery yarn destined to 
 emblazon the tapestry of Chatsworth with the achieve- 
 ments of Juno. The good nature was so far veritable 
 that when she found little harm done, and had vented 
 her wrath in strong language and boxes on the ear, 
 she would forget her sentence upon the poor little 
 greyhound, which Mrs. Jane Dacre had hastily con- 
 veyed out of sight during her transit downstairs. 
 Susan was thus, to her great relief, released for the 
 present, for guests came in before my Lady had fully 
 completed her objurgations on her ladies, the hour of 
 noon was nigh at hand, sounds in the court betokened 
 the return of the huntsmen, and Susan effected her 
 escape to her own sober old palfre}^ — glad that she 
 would at least be able to take counsel with her hus- 
 band on this most inconvenient proposition. 
 
 He came out to meet her at the court door, having 
 just dismounted, and she knew by his face that she 
 had not to give him the first intelligence of the diffi- 
 culty in which they stood. 
 
 My Lord had himself spoken to him, like my Lady 
 expecting him to be enchanted at the prospect of so 
 good a match for his slenderly-portioned daughter, foi' 
 Dethick was a fair estate, and the Babington family, 
 though not ennobled, fully equal to a younger branch 
 of the Talbots. However, Ei chard had had a less un* 
 comfortable task than his wife, since the Earl was many 
 degrees more reasonable than the Countess. He had 
 shown himself somewhat offended at not meeting mors
 
 XIX.] THE CLASH OF SWORDS. 267 
 
 alacrity in the acceptance of his proposal, when Eichard 
 had objected on account of the young gentleman's 
 Popish proclivities ; but boldly declared that he was 
 quite certain that the stripling had been entirely cured. 
 
 This point of the narrative had just been reached 
 when it was interrupted by a scream, and Cicely came 
 flying into the hall, crying, " father, father, stop 
 them ! Humfrey and Mr. Babington ! They are 
 killing one another." 
 
 " Where ?" exclaimed Eichard, catching up his 
 sword. 
 
 " In the Pleasance, father ! Oh, stop them ! They 
 will slay one another ! They had their swords !" and 
 as the father was already gone, she threw herself into 
 the mother's arms, hid her face and sobbed with fright 
 as scarce became a princess for whom swords were for 
 the first time crossed. " Fear not ! Father will stop 
 them," said the mother, with confidence she could only 
 keep up outwardly by the inward cry, " God protect 
 my boy. Father will come ere they can hurt one 
 another." 
 
 "But how came it about?" she added, as with an 
 arm round the trembling girl, she moved anxiously for- 
 w^ard to know the issue. 
 
 " Oh ! I know not. 'Twas Humfrey fell on him. 
 Hark !" 
 
 " 'Tis father's voice," said Susan. " Thank God ! I 
 know by the sound no harm is done ! But how was 
 it, child ?" 
 
 Cis told with more coherence now, but the tears in 
 her eyes and colour deepening : " I was taking in 
 Humfrey 's kerchiefs from the bleaching on the grass, 
 when Master Babington — he liad brought me a plume 
 of pheasant's feathers from the hunting, and he began.
 
 268 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 * O mother, is it sooth ? He said my Lord had sent 
 him." 
 
 " That is true, my child, but you know we have no 
 choice but to refuse thee." 
 
 "Ay, mother, and Antony knows." 
 
 " Not thy true birth, child ?" 
 
 " Not that, but the other story. So he began to 
 say that if I were favourable — Mother, do men 
 always do like that?" Hiding her face against the 
 trusty breast, " And when I drew back, and said I 
 could not and would not hearken to such folly " 
 
 " That was well, dear child." 
 
 " He would have it that I should have to hear him, 
 and he went down on his knee, and snatched at my 
 hand. And therewith came a great howl of rage like 
 an angry lion, and Humfrey bounded right over the 
 sweetbrier fence, and cried out, ' Off, fellow ! No 
 Papist traitor knave shall meddle with her.' And 
 then Antony gave him back the lie for calling him 
 traitor, and they drew their swords, and I ran away to 
 call father, but oh ! motlier, I heard them clash !" and 
 she shuddered again. 
 
 " See," said Susan, as they had reached the corner 
 of a thick screen of yew-trees, " all is safe. There they 
 stand, and father between them speaking to them. No, 
 we will not go nearer, since we know that it is well 
 with them. Men deal with each other better out of 
 women's earshot. Ah, see, there they are giving one 
 another their hands. All is over now." 
 
 " Humfrey stands tall, grave, and stiff ! He is only 
 doing it because father bids him," said Cicely. " An- 
 tony is much more willing." 
 
 " Poor Humfrey ! he knows better than Antony 
 how vain any hope must be of my silly little princess,"
 
 XIX.] THE CLASH OF SWORDS, 269 
 
 said Susan, "with a sigh for her boy. ** Come in, child, 
 and set th(3se locks in order. The hour of noon hath 
 long been over, and father hath not yet dined." 
 
 So they flitted out of sight as Eichard and his son 
 turned from the place of encounter, the former sayir g, 
 " Son Humfrey, I had deemed thee a wiser man." 
 
 " Sir, low could a man brook seeing that fellow on 
 his kn 30 to her ? Is it not enough to be debarred from 
 my sweet princess myself, but I must see her beset by 
 a Papist and traitor, fostered and encouraged too ? " 
 
 " And thou couldst not rest secure in the utter 
 impossibility of her being given to him ? He is as 
 much out of reach of her as thou art." 
 
 " He has secured my Lord and my Lady on his side !" 
 growled Humfrey. 
 
 " My Lord is not an Amurath, nor my Lady either," 
 said Eichard, shortly. "As long as I pass for her 
 father I have power to dispose of her, and I am not 
 going to give another woman's daughter away without 
 her consent." 
 
 " Yet the fellow may have her ear," said Humfrey. 
 " I know him to be popishly inclined, and there is a 
 web of those Eomish priests all over the island, whereof 
 this Queen holds the strands in her fingers, captive 
 though she be. I should not wonder if she had devised 
 this fellow's suit." 
 
 " This is the very madness of jealousy, Humfrey," 
 said his father. " The whole matter was, as thy mother 
 and thy Lord have both told me, simply a device of my 
 Lady Countess's own brain." 
 
 " Babington took to it wondrous naturally," muttered 
 Huiafrey. 
 
 " That may be ; but as for the lady at Wingfield, 
 her talk to our poor maid hath been all of archdukes
 
 2 70 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 and dukes. She is far too haughty to think for a 
 moment of giving her daughter to a mere Derbyshire 
 esquire, not even of noble blood. You may trust her 
 for that." 
 
 This pacified Humfrey for a little while, especially 
 as the bell was clanging for the meal which had been 
 unusually deferred, and he had to hurry away to remove 
 certain marks, which were happily the result of the 
 sweetbrier weapons instead of that of Babington. 
 
 That a little blood had been shed was shown by 
 the state of his sword point, but Antony had disclaimed 
 being hurt when the master of the house came up, and 
 in the heat of the rebuke the father and son had hardly 
 noticed that he had thrown a kerchief round his left 
 hand ere he moved away. 
 
 Before dinner was over, word was brought in from 
 the door that Master Will Cavendish wanted to speak 
 to Master Humfrey. The ladies' hearts were in their 
 mouths, as it were, lest it should be to deliver a cartel, 
 and they looked to the father to interfere, but he sat 
 still, contentiug himself with saying, as his son craved 
 license to quit the board, " Use discretion as well as 
 honour." 
 
 They were glad that the next minute Humfrey came 
 back to call his father to the door, where Will Caven- 
 dish sat on horseback. He had come by desire of 
 Babington, who had fully intended that the encounter 
 should be kept secret, but some servant must have been 
 aware of it either from the garden or the park, and the 
 Countess had got wind of it. She had summoned 
 Babington to her presence, before the castle barber 
 had finished dealing with the cut in his hand, and 
 the messenger reported that " my Lady was in one of 
 her raging fits," and talked of throwing young Hum-
 
 XIX.] THE CLASH OF SWOEDS. 271 
 
 frey into a dungeon, if not having him hung for his 
 insolence. 
 
 Babington, who had talked to his friends of a slip 
 with his hunting-knife while disembowelling a deer, 
 was forced to tell the fact in haste to Cavendish, the 
 nearest at hand, begging him to hurry down and advise 
 Humfrey to set forth at once if he did not wish his 
 journey to be unpleasantly delayed. 
 
 " My Lord is unwilling to cross my mother at the 
 present," said young Cavendish with half a smile ; " and 
 though it be not likely that much harm should come 
 of the matter, yet if she laid hands on Humfrey at the 
 present moment, there might be hindrance and vexa- 
 tion, so it may be well for him to set forth, in case 
 Tony be unable to persuade my Lady that it is nought." 
 
 Will Cavendish had been a friendly comrade of 
 both Humfrey and Antony in their boyish days, and 
 his warning was fully to be trusted. 
 
 " I know not why I should creep off as though I 
 had done aught that was evil," said Humfrey, drawing 
 himself up. 
 
 " Well," said Will, " my Lord is always wroth at 
 brawling with swords amongst us, and he njight — my 
 mother egging him on — lay you by the heels in the 
 strong room for a week or so. Nay, for my part, me- 
 thinks 'twas a strange requital of poor Babington's 
 suit to your sister! Had she been your love instead 
 of your sister there might have been plainer excuse, 
 but sure you wot not of aught against Tony to warrant 
 such heat." 
 
 " He was importuning her when she would have 
 none of him," said Humfrey, feeling the perplexity he 
 had drawn on himself. 
 
 " Will says well," added the father, feeling that it
 
 272 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [nHAP. 
 
 by all means behoved them all to avert inquiry into 
 the cause of Humfrey's passion, since neither Cicely's 
 birth nor Antony's perilous inclinations could be 
 pleaded. " To be detained a week or two might hin- 
 der thy voyage. So we will speed thee on thy way 
 instantly." 
 
 " Tell me not where he halts for the night," said 
 Cavendish significantly. " Fare thee well, Humfrey. I 
 would return ere I am missed. I trust thou wilt have 
 made the Spaniard's ships smoke, and weighted thy 
 pouch with his dollars, before we see thee again." 
 
 " Fare thee well, Will, and thank thee kindly," re- 
 turned Humfrey, as they wrung each other's hands. 
 " And tell Antony that I thank him heartily for his 
 thought, and owe him a good turn." 
 
 " That is well, my son," said Eichard, as Cavendish 
 rode out of the court. " Babiugton is both hot and 
 weak-headed, and I fear me is in the toils of the Scot- 
 tish lady ; but he would never do aught that he held 
 as disloyal by a comrade. I wish I could say the 
 same of him anent the Queen." 
 
 " And you will guard her from him, sir ? " earnestly 
 said Humfrey. 
 
 " As I would from — I would have said Frenchman 
 or Spaniard, but, poor maid, that may only be her hap, 
 if her mother should come to her throne again ; " and 
 as Humfrey shrugged his shoulders at the improbability, 
 " But we must see thee off, my boy. Poor mother ! 
 this hurries the parting for her. So best, mayhap." 
 
 It was hastily arranged that Humfrey should ride 
 off at once, and try to overtake a squire who had been 
 at the festival, and had invited him to turn a little out 
 of his road and spend a day or two at his house when 
 leaving home. Humfrey had then decliued, but hos-
 
 XIX.] THE CLASH OF SWORDS. 273 
 
 pitdlity in those days was elastic, and he had no doubt 
 of a welcome. His father would bring Diccon and his 
 baggage to join him there the next day. 
 
 Thus there were only a very few minutes for adieux, 
 and, as Eichard had felt, this was best for all, even the 
 anxious mother. Cicely ran about with the rest in the 
 stress of preparation, until Humfrey, hurrying upstairs, 
 m&o her coming down with a packet of his lace cuffs 
 in her hands. 
 
 He caught the hand on the balusters, and cried, 
 " My princess, my princess, and art thou doing this for 
 me?" 
 
 " Thou hast learnt fine compliments, Humfrey," said 
 Cis, trying to do her part with quivering lips. 
 
 " Ah, Cis ! thou knowest but too well what hath 
 taught me no fine words but plain truth. Fear me 
 not, I know what is due to thee. Cis, we never used 
 to believe the tales and ballads that told of knights 
 worshipping princesses beyond their reach, without a 
 hope of more than a look — not even daring to wish 
 for more ; Cis, it is very truth. Be thou where thou 
 wilt, with whom thou wilt, there will be one ready to 
 serve thee to the uttermost, and never ask aught — 
 aught but such remembrance as may befit the brother 
 of thy childhood " 
 
 " Mistress Cis," screamed one of the maids, " madam 
 is waiting for those cuffs." 
 
 Cis ran down, but the squeeze and kiss on the 
 hand remained, as it Avere, imprinted on it, far more 
 than the last kiss of all, which he gave, as both knew 
 and felt, to support his character as a brother before 
 the assembled household.
 
 274 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHArTER XX. 
 
 WINGFIELD MANOR. 
 
 The drawing of swords was not regarded as a heinous 
 offence in Elizabethan days. It was not likely, under 
 ordinary circumstances, to result in murder, and was 
 looked on much as boxing is, or was recently, in 
 public schools, as an evidence of high spirit, and a 
 means of working off ill-blood. 
 
 Lady Shrewsbury was, however, much incensed at 
 such a presumptuous reception of the suitor whom she 
 had backed with her would-be despotic influence; and 
 in spite of Babington's making extremely light of it, 
 and declaring that he had himself been too forward in 
 his suit, and the young lady's apparent friglit had 
 made her brother interfere over hastily for her protec- 
 tion, four yeomen were despatched by her Ladyship 
 with orders in,^tantly to bring back Master Humfrey 
 Talbot to answer for himself. 
 
 They were met by Mr. Talbot with the sober reply 
 tliat Master Humfrey was already set forth on his 
 journey. The men, having no orders, never thought 
 of pursuing him, and after a short interval Eichard 
 thought it expedient to proceed to the Manor-house to 
 explain matters. 
 
 The Countess swooped upon him in one of her
 
 XX.] WINGFIELD MANOR. 275 
 
 ungovernaHe furies — one of those of which even 
 Gilbert Talbot avoided writing the particulars to his 
 father — abusing his whole household in general, and 
 his son in particular, in the most outrageous manner, 
 for thus receiving the favour she had done to their 
 beggarly, ill-favoured, ill-nurtured daughter. Eichard 
 stood still and grave, his hat in his hand, as unmoved 
 and tranquil as if he had been breasting a stiff breeze 
 on the deck of his ship, with good sea-room and con- 
 fidence in all his tackle, never even attempting to 
 open his lips, but looking at the Countess with a 
 steady gaze which somehow disconcerted her, for she 
 demanded wherefore he stared at her like one of his 
 clumsy hinds. 
 
 " Because her Ladyship does not know what she is 
 saying," he replied. 
 
 " Darest thou ! Thou traitor, thou viper, thou 
 unhanged rascal, thou mire under my feet, thou blot 
 on the house ! Darest thou beard me — me ?" screamed- 
 my Lady. " Darest thou — I say " 
 
 If the sailor had looked one whit less calm and 
 resolute, my Lady would have had her clenched fist on 
 his ear, or her talons in his beard, but he was like a 
 rock against which the billows expended themselves, 
 and after more of the tempest than need stain these 
 pages, she deigned to demand what he meant or had 
 to say for his son. 
 
 " Solely this, madam, that my son had never even 
 heard of Babington's suit, far less that he had your 
 Ladyship's good-will. He found him kneeling to 
 Cicely in the garden, and the girl, distressed and dis- 
 mayed at his importunity. There were hot words and 
 drawn blades. That was the whole. I parted them 
 and saw them join hands."
 
 276 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " So saith Master Babington. He is willing to 
 overlook the iusult, so will I and my Lord, if you will 
 atone for it by instantly consenting to this espousal." 
 
 " That, madam, I cannot do." 
 
 She let him say no more, and the storm had begun 
 to rage again, when Babington took advantage of an 
 interval to take breath, and said, " I thank you, 
 madam, and pray you peace. If a little space be 
 vouchsafed me, I trust to show this worthy gentleman 
 cause wherefore he should no longer withhold his fair 
 damsel from me." 
 
 "Indeed!" said the Countess. "Art thou so con- 
 fident ? I marvel what better backer thou wouldst 
 have than me ! . So conceited of themselves are young 
 men now-a-days, they think, forsooth, their own merits 
 and graces should go farther in mating them than the 
 word and will of their betters. There, you may go ! 
 I wash my hands of the matter. One is as ingrate as 
 the other." 
 
 Both gentlemen accepted this amiable dismissal, 
 each hoping that the Countess might indeed have 
 washed her hands of their affairs. On his departure 
 Eichard was summoned into the closet of the Earl, 
 who had carefully kept out of the way during the 
 uproar, only trusting not to be appealed to. " My 
 good cousin," he asked, " what means this broil be- 
 tween the lads ? Hath Babington spoken sooth ? " 
 
 " He hath spoken well and more generously than, 
 mayhap, I thought he would have done," said Eichard. 
 
 " Ay ; you have judged the poor youth somewhat 
 hardly, as if the folly of pagedom never were out- 
 grown," said the Earl. " I put him under governor- 
 ship such as to drive out of his silly pate all the wiles 
 that he was fed upon here. You will see him prove
 
 XX.] WINGFIELD MANOE. 277 
 
 himself an lionest Protestant and good subject yet, and 
 be glad enough to give him your daughter. So he was 
 too hot a lover for Master Hunifrey's notions, eh ?" said 
 my Lord, laughing a little. " The varlet ! He was over 
 prompt to protect his sister, yet 'twas a fault on the 
 right side, and I am sorry there was such a noise about 
 it that he should have gone without leave-takings." 
 
 " He will be glad to hear of your Lordship's good- 
 ness. I shall go after him to-morrow and take his 
 mails and little Diccon to him." 
 
 " That is well," said the Earl. " And give him 
 this, with his kinsman's good wishes that he may win 
 ten times more from the Don," pushing towards 
 Eichard a packet of twenty broad gold pieces, stamped 
 with Queen Bess in all her glory ; and then, after 
 receiving due thanks for the gift, which was meant half 
 as friendly feudal patronage from the head of the family, 
 half as a contribution to the royal service, the Earl 
 added, " I would crave of thee, Eichard, to extend thy 
 journey to Wingfield. Here are some accounts of which 
 I could not sooner get the items, to be discharged be- 
 tween me and the lady there — and I would fain send 
 thee as the man whom I can most entirely trust. I 
 will give thee a pass, and a letter to Sadler, bidding 
 liim admit thee to her presence, since there are matters 
 here which can sooner be discharged by one word of 
 mouth than by many weary lines of writing." 
 
 Good Master Eichard's conscience had little occa- 
 sion to wince, yet he could not but feel somewhat 
 guilty when this opportune commission was given to 
 him, since the Earl gave it unaware of his secret 
 understanding with the captive. He accepted it, 
 however, without hesitatiou, since he was certainly 
 not fToincj to make a mischievous use of it, and bent
 
 278 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 all his mind to understand the complicated accounts 
 that he was to lay before the Queen or her comptroller 
 of the household. 
 
 He had still another interview to undergo with 
 Antony Babington, who overtook him on his way 
 home through the crackling leaves that strewed the 
 avenue, as the October twilight fell. His recent con- 
 duct towards Humfrey gave liim a certain right to 
 friendly attention, though, as the frank-hearted mariner 
 said to himself, it was hard that a plain man, who 
 never told a lie, nor willingly had a concealment of his 
 own, should be involved in a many-sided secret like 
 this, a sort of web, where there was no knowing 
 whether straining the wrong strand might not amount 
 to a betrayal, all because he had rescued an infant, and 
 not at once proclaimed her an alien. 
 
 " Sir," said Antony, " if my impatience to accost the 
 maiden we wot of, when I saw her alone, had not mis- 
 led me, I should have sought you first to tell you that 
 no man knows better than I that my Lady Countess's 
 good will is not what is wanting to forward my suit." 
 
 " Knowing then that it is not in my power or right 
 to dispose of her, thine ardent wooing was out of place," 
 said Eichard. 
 
 " I own it, sir, though had I but had time I should 
 have let the maiden know that I sought her subject to 
 other approval, which I trust to obtain so as to satisfy 
 
 you." 
 
 " Young man," said Richard, " listen to friendly 
 counsel, and meddle not in perilous matters. I ask 
 thee not whether Dethick hath any commerce with 
 Wingfield ; but I warn thee earnestly to eschew begin- 
 ning again that which caused the trouble of thy child- 
 hood. Thou mayst do it innocently, seeking the con-
 
 XX.] WINGFIELD MANOR. 279 
 
 sent of the lady to tliis courtship of thine ; but I tell 
 thee, as one who knows more of the matter than thou 
 canst, that thou wilt only meet with disappointment." 
 
 " Hath the Queen other schemes for her ? " asked 
 Babington, anxiously; and Eichard, thinking of the 
 vista of possible archdukes, replied that she had ; but 
 that he was not free to speak, though he replied to 
 Babington's half-uttered question that his son Humfrey 
 was by no means intended. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Antony, "you give me hope, sir, I 
 will do her such service that she shall refuse me 
 nothing ! Sir ! do you mock me !" he added, with a 
 fierce change of note. 
 
 " My poor lad, I could not but laugh to think what 
 a simple plotter you are, and what fine service you will 
 render if thou utterest thy vows to the very last person 
 who should hear them ! Credit me, thou wast never 
 made for privy schemes and conspiracies, and a Queen 
 who can only be served by such, is no mistress for thee. 
 Thou wilt but run thine own neck into the noose, and 
 belike that of others." 
 
 " That wall I never do," quoth Antony. " I may 
 peril myself, but no others." 
 
 " Then the more you keep out of secrets the better. 
 Thou art too open-hearted and unguarded for them ! 
 So speaks thy well-wisher, Antony, whose friendship 
 thou hast won by thine honourable conduct towards 
 my rash boy ; though I tell thee plainly, the maiden is 
 not for thee, whether as Scottish or English, Cis or Bride." 
 
 So they parted at the gate of the park, the younger 
 man full of hope and confidence, the elder full of 
 pitying misgiving. 
 
 He was too kind-hearted not to let Cicely know 
 that he should see her mother, oi to refuse to take a
 
 280 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 billet for her, — a little formal note necessarily silent on 
 the matter at issue, since it had to be laid before the 
 Earl, who smiled at the scrupulous precaution, and let 
 it pass. 
 
 Thus the good father parted with Humfrey and 
 Diccon, rejoicing in his heart that they would fight 
 with open foes, instead of struggling with the meshes 
 of perplexity, which beset all concerned with Queen 
 Mary, and then he turned his hors'e's head towards 
 Winsfield Manor, a grand old castellated mansion of 
 the Talbots, considered by some to excel even Sheffield. 
 It stood high, on ground falling very steeply from the 
 walls on three sides, and on the south well fortified, 
 court within court, and each with a deep-arched and 
 portcullised gateway, with loopholed turrets on either 
 side, a porter's lodge, and yeomen guards. 
 
 Mr. Talbot had to give his name and quality, and 
 show his pass, at each of these gates, though they were 
 still guarded by Shrewsbury retainers, with the talbot 
 on their sleeves. He was, however, received with the 
 respect and courtesy due to a trusted kinsman of their 
 lord; and Sir Ealf Sadler, a thin, elderly, careworn 
 statesman, came to greet him at the door of the hall, 
 and would only have been glad could he have remained 
 a week, instead of for the single night he wished to 
 spend at Wingfield. 
 
 Sadler was one of Mary's most gentle and courteous 
 warders, and he spoke of her with much kindness, 
 regretting tliat her health had again begun to suffer 
 from the approach of winter, and far more from 
 disappointment. 
 
 The negotiation with Scotland on her behalf was 
 now known to have been abortive. James had fallen 
 into the hands of the faction most hostile to her, and
 
 XX.] WIXGFIELD MANOK. 281 
 
 though his mother still clung with desperate hope to 
 the trust that he, at least, was labouring on her belialf, 
 no one else believed that he cared for anything but his 
 own security, and even she had been forced to perceive 
 that her liberation was again adjourned. 
 
 " And what think you was her thought when she 
 f(jund that road closed up ?" said Sir Ealf. " Why, for 
 her people ! Her gentlewoman, Mrs. Mowbray, hath, it 
 seems, been long betrothed," 
 
 "Ay, to Gilbert Curll, the long -backed Scotch 
 Secretary. They were to be wed at Stirling so soon as 
 she arrived there again." 
 
 " Yea ; but when she read the letter that overthrew 
 her hopes, what did she say but that ' her servants 
 must not grow gray-headed with waiting till she was 
 set free '! So she would have me make the case known 
 to Sir Parson, and we had them married in the parish 
 church two days since, they being both good Protestants." 
 
 " There is no doubt that her kindness of heart is 
 true," said Eichard. " The poor folk at Sheffield and 
 Ecclesfield will miss her plentiful almsgiving." 
 
 " Some say it ought to be hindered, for that it is 
 but a purchasing of friends to her cause," said Sadler ; 
 " but I have not the heart to check it, and what could 
 these of the meaner sort do to our Queen's prejudice ? 
 I take care that nothing goes among them that could 
 hide a billet, and that none of her people have private 
 speech with them, so no harm can ensue from her 
 bounty." 
 
 A message here came that the Queen was ready to 
 admit Mr. Talbot, and Eichard found himself in her 
 presence chamber, a larger and finer room than that in 
 the lodge at Sheffield, and with splendid tapestry 
 hangings and plenishings ; but the windows all looked
 
 282 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 into the inner quadrangle, instead of on the expanse 
 of park, and thus, as Mary said, she felt more entirely 
 the prisoner. This, however, was not perceptible at 
 the time, for the autumn evening had closed in ; there 
 were two large lires burning, one at each end of the 
 room, and tall tapestry-covered screens and high-backed 
 settles were arranged so as to exclude the draughts 
 around the hearth, where Mary reclined on a couch- 
 like cliair. She looked ill, and though she brightened 
 with her sweet smile to welcome her guest, there 
 were dark circles round her eyes, and an air of de- 
 jection in her whole appearance. She held out her 
 hand graciously, as Eichard approached, closely fol- 
 lowed by his host ; he put his knee to the ground 
 and kissed it, as she said, "You must pardon me, 
 Mr. Talbot, for discourtesy, if I am less agile than 
 when we were at Buxton. You see my old foe lies in 
 wait to plague me with aches and pains so soon as the 
 year declines." 
 
 " I am sorry to see your Grace thus," returned 
 Eichard, standing on the step. 
 
 " The while I am glad to see you thus well, sir. 
 And how does the good lady, your wife, and my sweet 
 playfellow, your daughter?" 
 
 " Well, madam, I thank your Grace, and Cicely has 
 presumed to send a billet by mine hand." 
 
 " Ah ! the dear bairnie," and all the Queen's con- 
 summate art could not repress the smile of gladness 
 and tlie movement of eager joy with which she held out 
 her hand for it, so that Eichard regretted its extreme 
 brevity and unsatisfying nature, and Mary, recollecting 
 herself in a second, added, smiling at Sadler, " Mr. 
 Talbot knows how a poor prisoner must love the pretty 
 playfellows that are lent to her for a time."
 
 XX,] WINGFIELD MANOR. 283 
 
 Sir Ealf's presence hindered any more intimate 
 conversation, and Eichard had certainly committed a 
 solecism in giving Cicely's letter the precedence over 
 the Earl's. The Queen, liowever, had recalled her 
 caution, and inquired for the health of the Lord and 
 Lady, and, with a certain sarcasm on her lips, trusted 
 that the peace of the family was complete, and that 
 they were once more setting Hallamshire the example 
 of living together as household doves. 
 
 Her hazel eyes meantime archly scanned the face 
 of Eichard, who could not quite forget the very un- 
 dovelike treatment he had received, though he could 
 and did sturdily aver that " my Lord and my Lady were 
 perfectly reconciled, and seemed most happy in their 
 reunion." 
 
 Well-a-day, let us trust that there will be no 
 further disturbances to their harmony," said Mary, " a 
 prayer I may utter most sincerely. Is the little 
 Arbell come back with them ? " 
 
 "Yea, madam." 
 
 " And is she installed in my former rooms, with the 
 canopy over her cradle to befit lier strain of royalty ? " 
 
 " I think not, madam. Meseems that my Lady 
 Countess hath seen reason to be heedful on that score. 
 My young lady hath come back with a grave gouvernante, 
 who makes her read her primer and sew her seam, and 
 save that she sat next my Lady at the wedding feast 
 there is little difference made between her and the 
 other grandchildren." 
 
 The Queen then inquired into the circumstances of 
 the wedding festivities with the interest of one to 
 whom most of the parties were more or less known, 
 and who seldom had the treat of a little feminine 
 gossip. Slie asked who had been " her little Cis's
 
 284 UjNknown to histoey. [chap. 
 
 partner," and when she heard of Babiugton, she said, 
 " Ah ha, then, the. poor youth has made his pea'je with 
 my Lord ? " 
 
 " Certes, madam, he is regarded with high favour 
 by both my Lord and my Latly," said Eichard, heartily 
 wishing himself rid of his host. 
 
 " I rejoice to hear it," said Mary ; " I was afraid 
 that his childish knight-errantry towards the captive 
 dame had damaged the poor stripling's prospects for 
 ever. He is our neighbour here, and I believe Sir 
 Ealf regards him as somewhat perilous." 
 
 " Nay, madam, if my Lord of Shrewsbury be satis- 
 fied with him, so surely ought I to be," said Sir Ealf 
 
 Nothing more of importance passed that night. 
 The packet of accounts was handed over to Sir 
 Andrew Melville, and the two gentlemen dismissed 
 with gracious good-nights. 
 
 Eichard Talbot was entirely trusted, and when the 
 next morning after prayers, breakfast, and a turn among 
 the stables, it was intimated that the Queen was ready 
 to see him anent my Lord's business. Sir Ealf Sadler, 
 who had his week's report to write to the Council, 
 requested that his presence might be dispensed with, 
 and thus Mr. Talbot was ushered into the Queen's closet 
 without any witnesses to their interview save Sir 
 Andrew Melville and Marie de Courcelles. The 
 Queen was seated in a large chair, leaning against 
 cushions, and evidently in a good deal of pain, but, as 
 Eichard made his obeisance, her eyes shone as she 
 quoted two lines from an old Scotch ballad — 
 
 " * ]\Iadame, liow does my gay goss hawk ? 
 Madame, how does my doo ? ' 
 
 Now can I hear what I hunger for ! "
 
 XX.] WINGFIELD MANOE. 285 
 
 " My gay gosshawk, madam, is flown to join Sir 
 Francis Drake at Plymouth, and taken his little 
 brother witli him. I come now from speeding them 
 as far as Derby." 
 
 " Ah ! you must not ask me to pray for success to 
 them, my good sir, — only that there may be a time 
 when nations may be no more divided, and I fear me 
 we shall not live to see it. And my doo — my little 
 Cis, did she weep as became a sister for the bold 
 laddies ? " 
 
 " She wept many tears, madam, but we are sore 
 perplexed by a matter that I must lay before your 
 Grace. My Lady Countess is hotly bent on a match 
 between the maiden and young Babington." 
 
 " Babington ! " exclaimed the Queen, with the 
 lioness sparkle in her eye. " You refused the fellow 
 of course ? " 
 
 " Flatly, madam, but your Grace knows that it is 
 ill making the Countess accept a denial of her will." 
 
 Mary laughed " Ah ha ! methought, sir, you looked 
 somewhat as if you had liad a recent taste of my Lord 
 ol Shrewsbury's dove. But you are a man to hold 
 your ov/u sturdy will. Master Eichard, let Lord or 
 Lady say what they choose." 
 
 " I trust so, madam, I am master of mine own 
 house, and, as I shoukl certainly not give mine own 
 daughter to Babington, so shall I guard your Grace's." 
 
 " You would not give the child to him if she were 
 your own ? " 
 
 " No, madam." 
 
 " And wherefore not ? Because he is too much 
 inclined to tlie poor prisoner and her faith ? Is it so, 
 sir ? " 
 
 " Your Grace speaks the truth in part," said Richard,
 
 286 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 and then with effort added, " and likewise, madam, 
 with your pardon, I would say that though I verily 
 believe it is nobleness of heart and spirit that 
 inclines poor Antony to espouse your Grace's cause, 
 there is to my mind a shallowness and indiscretion 
 about his nature, even when most in earnest, such as 
 would make me loath to commit any woman, or any 
 secret, to his charge." 
 
 " You are an honest man, Mr. Talbot," said 
 Mary ; " I am glad my poor maid is in your charge. 
 Tell me, is tliis suit on his part made to your 
 daughter or to the Scottish orphan ? " 
 
 " To the Scottish orphan, matlam. Thus much he 
 knows, though by what means I cannot tell, unless 
 it be through that kinsman of mine, who, as I 
 told your Grace, saw the babe tiie night I brought 
 her in." 
 
 " Doubtless," responded Mary. " Take care he 
 neither knows more, nor hints what he doth know to 
 the Countess." 
 
 " So far as I can, I will, madam," said Eichard, 
 " but his tongue is not easy to silence ; I marvel that 
 he hath not let the secret ooze out already." 
 
 " Proving him to have more discretion than you 
 gave him credit for, my good sir," said the Queen, 
 smiling. " Eefuse him, however, staunchly, grounding 
 your refusal, if it so please you, on the very causes 
 for which I should accept him, were the lassie verily 
 what lie deems her, my ward and kinswoman. Nor 
 do you accede to him, whatever word or token he may 
 declare that he brings from me, imless it bear this mark," 
 and she hastily traced a peculiar-twisted form of M. 
 ** You know it ? " she asked. 
 
 " I have seen it, madam," said Eichard, gravely,
 
 XX.] WINGFIELD MANOR. 287 
 
 for he knew it as the letter which had been traced on 
 the child's shoulders. 
 
 " Ah, good Master Eichard," she said, with a sweet 
 and wistful expression, looking up to his face in plead- 
 ing, and changing to the familiar pronoun, " thou likest 
 not my charge, and I know that it is hard on an up- 
 right man like thee to have all this dissembling thrust 
 on thee, but what can a poor captive motlier do but 
 strive to save her child from an unworthy lot, or from 
 captivity like her own ? I ask thee to say nought, 
 that is all, and to shelter the maid, who hath been as 
 thine own daughter, yet a little longer. Thou wilt not 
 deny me, for her sake." 
 
 " Madam, I deny nothing that a Christian man and 
 my Queen's faithful servant may in honour do. Your 
 Grace has the right to choose your own daughter's lot, 
 and with her I will deal as you direct me. But, 
 madam, were it not well to bethink yourself whether 
 it be not a perilous and a cruel policy to hold out a 
 bait to nourish hope in order to bind to your service a 
 foolish though a generous youth, whose devotion may, 
 after all, work you and himself more ill than good ?" 
 
 Mary looked a good deal struck, and waved back 
 her two attendants, who were both startled and offended 
 at what Marie de Courcelles described as the English- 
 man's brutal boldness. 
 
 " Silence, dear friends," said she. " Would that I 
 had always had counsellors who would deal witli me 
 with such honour and disinterestedness. Then should 
 I not be here." 
 
 However, she then turned her attention to the 
 accounts, where Sir Andrew Melville was ready to 
 question and debate every item set down by Shrews- 
 bury's steward ; while his mistress showed herself
 
 288 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY, [CHAP. 
 
 liberal and open-handed. Indeed she had considerable 
 command of money from her French dowry, the proceeds 
 of which were, in spite of the troubles of the League, 
 regularly paid to her, and no doubt served her well in 
 maintaining the correspondence which, throughout her 
 captivity, eluded the vigilance of her keepers. On 
 taking leave of her, which Eichard Talbot did before 
 joining his host at the mid-day meal, she reiterated her 
 thanks for his care of her daughter, and her charges to 
 let no persuasion induce him to consent to Babington's 
 overtures, adding that she hoped soon to obtain per- 
 mission to have the maiden amongst her authorised 
 attendants. She gave him a billet, loosely tied with 
 black floss silk and unsealed, so that if needful, Sadler 
 and Shrewsbury might both inspect the tender, playful, 
 messages she wrote to her " migiioime," and which she 
 took care should not outrun those which she had often 
 addressed to Bessie Pierrepoiut. 
 
 Cicely was a little disappointed when she first 
 opened the letter, but ere long she bethought herself 
 of the directions she had received to hold such notes 
 to the fire, and accordingly she watched, waiting even 
 till the next day before she could have free and soli- 
 tary access to either of the two fires in the house, 
 those in the liall and in the kitchen. 
 
 At last, while the master was out farming, Ned at 
 school, and the mistress and all her maids engaged in 
 the unsavoury occupation of making candles, by re- 
 peated dipping of rushes into a caldron of melted 
 fat, after the winter's salting, she escaped under pre- 
 text of attending to the hall fire, .md kneeling beside 
 the glowing embers, she held the paper over it, and soon 
 saw pale yellow characters appear and deepen into a sort 
 of brown or green, in which she read, " My little jewel
 
 XX.] WINGFIELD MANOR. 289 
 
 must share the ring witli none less precious. Yet be 
 not amazed if commendations as from me be brought 
 thee. Jewels are sometimes useful to dazzle the eyes 
 of those who shall never possess them. Therefore 
 seem not cold nor over coy, so as to take away all 
 hope. It may be much for my service. Thou arc 
 discreet, and thy good guardians will hinder all from 
 going too far. It might be well that he should deem 
 thee and me inclined to what they oppose. Be secret. 
 Keep thine own counsel, and let them not even guess 
 what thou hast here read. So fare thee well, with 
 my longing, yearning blessing." 
 
 Cicely hastily hid the letter in the large house- 
 wifely pocket attached to her girdle, feeling excited 
 and important at having a real secret unguessed by 
 any one, and yet experiencing some of the reluctance 
 natural to the pupil of Susan Talbot at the notion of 
 acting a part towards Babington. She really liked 
 him, and her heart w^armed to him as a true friend of 
 her much-injured mother, so that it seemed the more 
 cruel to delude him with false hopes. Yet here was 
 she asked to do a real service to her mother ! 
 
 Poor Cis, she knelt gazing perplexed into the 
 embers, now and then touching a stick to make them 
 glow, till Nat, the chief of "the old blue bottles of servino-- 
 men," came in to lay the cloth for dinner, exclaiming, 
 " So, Mistress Cis ! Madam doth cocker thee truly, 
 letting thee dream over the coals, till thy face be as 
 red as my Lady's new farthingale, while she is toiling 
 away like a very scullion."
 
 290 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXT. 
 
 A TANGLE. 
 
 It was a rainy November afternoon. Dinner was over, 
 the great wood fire had been made up, and Mistress 
 Talbot was presiding over the womenfolk of her house- 
 hold and their tasks with needle and distaff. She 
 had laid hands on her unwilling son Edward to show 
 his father how well he could read the pUce de resistance 
 of the family, Fabyan's Chronicle ; and the boy, with 
 an elbow firmly planted on either side of the great folio, 
 was floundering through the miseries of King Stephen's 
 time ; while Mr. Talbot, after smoothing the head 
 of his largest hound for some minutes, had leant back 
 in his chair and dropped asleep. Cicely's hand tardily 
 drew out her thread, her spindle scarcely balanced itself 
 on the floor, and her maiden meditation was in an in- 
 active sort of way occupied with the sense of dulness 
 after the summer excitements, and wonder whether her 
 greatness were all a dream, and anything would happen 
 to recall her once more to be a princess. The kitten at 
 her feet took the spindle for a lazily moving creature, 
 and thought herself fascinating it, so she stared hard, 
 with only an occasional whisk of the end of her striped 
 tail; and Mistress Susan was oiily kept awake by her 
 anxiety to adapt Diccon's last year's jerkin to Ned's use
 
 XXL] A TANGLE. 291 
 
 Suddenly the dogs outside bayed, the dogs inside 
 pricked their ears, Ned joyfully halted, his father uttered 
 the unconscious falsehood, " I'm not asleep, lad, go on," 
 then woke up as horses' feet were heard ; Ned dashed 
 out into the porch, and was in time to hold the horse 
 of one of the two gentlemen, who, with cloaks over their 
 heads, had ridden up to the door. He helped them 
 off with their cloaks in the porch, exchanging greetings 
 with William Cavendish and Antony Babington. 
 
 " Will Mrs. Talbot pardon our riding- boots ?" said 
 the former. " We have only come down from the 
 Manor-house, and we rode mostly on the grass." 
 
 Their excuses were accepted, though Susan had 
 rather Master William had brought any other com- 
 panion. However, on such an afternoon, almost any 
 variety was welcome, especially to the younger folk, 
 and room was made for them in the circle, and accord- 
 ing to the hospitality of the time, a cup of canary 
 fetched for each to warm him after the ride, while 
 another was brought to the master of the house to 
 pledge them in — a relic of the barbarous ages, when 
 such a security was needed that the beverage was not 
 poisoned. 
 
 Will Cavendish then explained that a post had 
 come that morning to his stepfather from Wingfield, 
 having been joined on the way by Babington (people 
 always preferred travelling in companies for security's 
 sake), and that, as there was a packet from Sir Ealf 
 Sadler for Master Eichard, he had brought it down, 
 accompanied by his friend, who was anxious to pay his 
 devoirs to the ladies, and though Will spoke to the 
 mother, he smiled and nodded comprehension at the 
 daughter, who blushed furiously, and set her spindle 
 to twirl and leap so violently, as to make the kitten
 
 292 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 believe the creature had taken friglit, and was going to 
 escape. On she dashed with a sudden spring, in- 
 volving herself and it in the flax. The old v/atch-dog 
 roused himself with a growl to keep order, Cicely flung 
 herself on the cat, Antony hurried to the rescue to 
 help her disentangle it, and received a fierce scratch 
 for his pains, which made him start back, while Mrs. 
 Talbot put in her word. " Ah, Master Babiugton, it is 
 ill meddling with a cat in the toils, specially for men 
 folk ! Here, Cis, hold her fast and I will soon have 
 her free. Still, Tib ! 
 
 Cicely's cheeks were of a still deeper colour as she 
 held fast the mischievous favourite, while the good 
 mother untwisted the flax from its little claws and 
 supple limbs, while it winked, twisted its head about 
 sentimentally, purred, and altogether wore an air of 
 injured innocence and forgiveness. 
 
 "I am afraid, sir, you receive nothing but damage 
 at our house," said Mrs. Talbot politely. " Hast drawn 
 blood ? Oh fie ! thou ill-mannered Tib ! Will you 
 have a tuft from a beaver to stop the blood ?" 
 
 " Thanks, madam, no, it is a small scratch. 1 
 would, I would that I could face truer perils for this 
 lady's sake ! " 
 
 "That I hope you will not, sii," said Eichard, in a 
 serious tone, which conveyed a meaning to the ears of 
 the initiated, though Will Cavendish only laughed, and 
 said, 
 
 '•■ Our kinsman takes it gravely ! It was in the 
 days of our grandfathers that ladies could tlirow a 
 glove among the lions, and bid a knight fetch it out 
 for her love." 
 
 " It has not needed a lion to defeat Mi. Babington," 
 observed Ned, looking up from his book with a sober
 
 XXL] A TAXGLE. 293 
 
 twinkle id his eye, which set them all laughing, though 
 his father declared that he ought to have his ears 
 boxed for ;i malapert varlet. 
 
 Will Cavendish declared that the least the fair 
 damsel could do for her knight-errant was to bind up 
 liis wounds, but Cis was too shy to show any disposi- 
 tion so to do, and it was Mrs. Talbot who salved the 
 scratch for him. She had a feeling for the motherless 
 youth, upon whom she foreboded that a fatal game 
 might be played. 
 
 When quiet was restored, Mr. Talbot craved license 
 from his guests, and opened the packet. There was a 
 letter for Mistress Cicely Talbot in Queen Mary's well- 
 known beautiful hand, which Antony followed with 
 eager eyes, and a low gasp of " Ah ! favoured maiden," 
 making the good mother, who overheard it, say to her- 
 self, " Methinks his love is chiefly for the maid as 
 something appertaining to the Queen, though he wots 
 not how nearly. His heart is most for the Queen her- 
 self, poor lad." 
 
 The maiden did not show any great haste to open 
 the letter, being aware that the true gist of it could 
 only be discovered in private, and her father was 
 studying his own likewise in silence. It was from 
 Sir Ealf Sadler to request that Mistress Cicely might 
 be permitted to become a regular member of the house- 
 hold. There was now a vacancy since, though Mra 
 Curll was nearly as much aboiit the Queen as ever, it 
 was as the secretary's wife, not as one of the maiden 
 attendants ; and Sir Ealf wrote that he wished the more 
 to profit by the opportunity, as he might soon be dis- 
 placed by some one not of a temper greatly to consider 
 the prisoner's wishes. Moreover, he said the poor lady 
 was ill at ease, and much dejected at the tenor of
 
 294 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 her late letters from Scotland, and that she had said 
 repeatedly that nothing would do her good hut the 
 presence of her pretty playfellow. Sir Kalf added 
 assurances that he would watch over the maiden like 
 his own daughter, and would take the utmost care 
 of the faith and good order of all \rithin his house- 
 hold. Curll also wrote hy order of his mistress a formal 
 application for the young lady, to which Mary had 
 added in her own hand, " I thank the good Master 
 Eichard and Mrs. Susan beforehand, for I know they 
 will not deny me." 
 
 Eefusal was, of course, impossible to a mother who 
 had every right to claim her own child ; and there was 
 nothing to be done but to fix the time for setting off: 
 and Cicely, who had by this time read her own letter, 
 or at least all that was on the surface, looked up trem- 
 ulous, with a strange frightened gladness, and said, 
 " Mother, she needs me." 
 
 " I shall shortly be returning home," said Antony, 
 •' and shall much rejoice if I may be one of the party 
 who will escort this fair maiden." 
 
 " I shall take my daughter myself on a pillion, sir," 
 said Eichard, shortly. 
 
 " Then, sir, I may tell my Lord that you purpose to 
 grant this request," said Will Cavendish, who had ex- 
 pected at least some time to be asked for deliberation, 
 and knew his mother would expect her permission to 
 be requested. 
 
 " I may not choose but do so," replied Eichard ; and 
 then, thinking he might have said too much, he added, 
 " It were sheer cruelty to deny any solace to the poor 
 lady." 
 
 " Sick and in prison, and balked by her only son," 
 added Susan, " one's heart cannot but ache for her."
 
 XXI.] A TANGLE. 295 
 
 " Let not Mr. Secretary Walsingbam hear you say 
 so, good madam," said Cavendish, smiling. In Lon- 
 don they think of her solely as a kind of malicious 
 fury shut up in a cage, and tliere were those who looked 
 askance at me when I declared tiiat she was a gentle- 
 woman of great sweetness and kindness of demeanour. 
 I believe myself they will not rest till they have her 
 blood ! " 
 
 Cis and Susan cried out with horror, and Babington 
 with stammering wrath demanded whether she was to be 
 assassinated in the Spanish fashion, or on what pretext 
 a charge could be brought against her. " Well," Caven- 
 dish answered, " as the saying is, give her rope enough, 
 and she will hang herself." Indeed, there's no doubt 
 but that she tampered enough with Throckmorton's 
 plot to have been convicted of misprision of treason, 
 and so she would have been, but that her most sacred 
 Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, would have no charge made 
 against her. 
 
 " Treason from one sovereign to another, that is new 
 law !" said Babington. 
 
 " So to speak," said Eichard ; *' but if she claim to 
 be heiress to the crown, she must also be a subject. 
 Heaven forefend that she should come to the throne !" 
 
 To which all except Cis and Babington uttered a 
 hearty amen, while a picture arose before the girl of 
 herself standing beside her royal mother robed in velvet 
 and ermine on the throne, and of the faces of Lady 
 Shrewsbury and her daughter as they recognised her, 
 and were pardoned. 
 
 Cavendish presently took his leave, and carried the 
 unwilling Babington off with him, rightly divining that 
 the family would wish to make their arrangements 
 alone. To Eichard's relief, Babington had brought
 
 296 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 him no private message, and to Cicely's disappoint- 
 ment, there was no addition in sympprthetic ink to her 
 letter, though she scorched the paper brown in trying 
 to bring one out. The Scottisli Queen was much too 
 wary to waste and risk her secret expedients without 
 necessity. 
 
 To Eichard and Susan this was the real resignation 
 of their foster-child into the hands of her own parent. 
 It was true that she would still bear their name, and 
 pass for their daughter, but that would be only so long 
 as it might suit her mother's convenience ; and instead 
 of seeing her every day, and enjoying her full con- 
 lidence (so far as they knew), she would be out of 
 reach, and given up to influences, both moral and 
 religious, which they deeply distrusted ; also to a fate 
 looming in the future with all the dark uncertainty 
 that brooded over all connected with Tudor or Stewart 
 royalty. 
 
 How much good Susan wept and prayed that night, 
 only her pillow knew, not even her husband ; and there 
 was no particular comfort when my Lady Countess 
 descended on her in the first interval of fine weather, 
 full of wrath at not having been consulted, and dis- 
 charging it in all sorts of predictions as to Cis's future. 
 Xo honest and loyal husband would have her, after 
 being turned loose in such company ; she would be 
 corrupted in moials and manners, and a disgrace to the 
 Talbots ; she would be perverted in faith, become a 
 Papist, and die in a nunnery beyond sea ; or she would 
 be led into plots and have her head cut off; or pressed 
 to death by the i^eine forte et dure. 
 
 Susan had nothing to say to all this, but that her 
 husband thouglit it riglit, and tlien had a little vigor- 
 ous advice on her own score against tamely submitting
 
 XXI.] A TANGLE. 297 
 
 to any man, a weakness whicli certainly could not be 
 laid to the cbaroe of the termagant of Hardwicke. 
 
 Cicely herself was glad to go. She loved her 
 mother witli a rojjiantic enthusiastic affection, missed 
 her engaging caresses, and felt her Bridgefield home 
 eminently dull, flat, and even severe, especially since 
 she had lost the excitement of Humfrey's presence, 
 and likewise her companion Diccon. So she made her 
 preparations with a joyful alacrity, wliich secretly 
 pained her good foster-parents, and made Susan almost 
 ready to reproach her with ingratitude. 
 
 Tliey lectured her, after the fashion of the time, on 
 the need of never forgetting her duty to her God in 
 her affection to her mother, Susan trusting that she 
 would never let herself be led away to the Eomish 
 faith, and Eichard warning her strongly against untruth 
 and falsehood, though she must be exposed to cruel 
 perplexities as to the right — " But if tliou be true to 
 man, thou wilt be true to GJod," he said. " If thou be 
 false to man, thou wilt soon be false to thy God like- 
 wise." 
 
 " We will pray for thee, child," said Susan. " Do 
 thou pray earnestly for thyself that thou mayest ever 
 see the right." 
 
 " My queen mother is a right j)ious woman. She 
 is ever praying and reading holy books," said Cis. 
 " Mother Susan, 1 marvel you, wlio know her, can speak 
 tlms." 
 
 " Nay, child, I would not lessen tliy love and duty 
 to her, poor soul, but it is not even piety in a mother 
 that can keep a maiden from temptation. I blame not 
 her in warning thee." 
 
 Kichard himself escorted the damsel to her new 
 home. There was no preventing their being joined by
 
 298 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Babington, who, being well acquainted v/itli the road, 
 and being also known as a gentleman of good estate, 
 was able to do much to make their journey easy to 
 them, and secure good accommodation for them at the 
 inns, though Mr. Talbot entirely baffled his attempts to 
 make them his guests, and insisted on bearing a full 
 share of the reckoning. Neither did Cicely fulfil her 
 mother's commission to show herself inclined to accept 
 his attentions. If she had been under contrar}^ orders, 
 there would have been some excitement in going as far 
 as she durst, but the only effect on her was embarrass- 
 ment, and she treated Antony with the same sliy stiff- 
 ness she had shown to Humfrey, during the earlier part 
 of his residence at home. Besides, she clung more 
 and more to her adopted father, who, now that they 
 were away from home and he was about to part with 
 her, treated her with a tender, chivalrous deference, 
 most winning in itself, and making her feel herself no 
 longer a child. 
 
 Arriving at last at Wingfield, Sir Ealf Sadler had 
 hardly greeted them before a messenger was sent to 
 summon the young lady to the presence of the Queen 
 of Scots. Her welcome amounted to ecstasy. The 
 Queen rose from her cushioned invalid chair as the 
 bright young face appeared at the door, held out her 
 arms, gathered her into them, and, covering her with 
 kisses, called her by all sorts of tender names in French 
 and Scottish. 
 
 " ma mie, my lassie, ma fille, mine ain wee thing, 
 how sweet to have one bairn who is mine, mine ain, 
 whom they have not robbed me of, for thy brother, 
 ah, thy brother, he hath forsaken me ! He is made of 
 the false Darnley stuff", and compacted by Knox and 
 Buchanan and the rest, and he will not stand a blast
 
 XXI.] A TANGLE. 299 
 
 of Queen Elizabeth's wrath for the poor mother that 
 bore him. Ay, he hath betrayed me, and deluded 
 me, my child ; he hath sold me once more to the 
 English loons ! I am set faster in prison than ever, 
 the iron entereth into my soul. Thou art but daughter 
 to a captive queen, who looks to thee to be her one 
 bairn, one comfort and solace." 
 
 Cicely responded by caresses, and indeed felt her- 
 self more than ever before the actual daughter, as she 
 heard with indignation of James's desertion of his 
 mother's cause ; but Mary, whatever she said herself, 
 would not brook to hear her speak severely of him. 
 " The poor laddie," she said, " he was no better than 
 a prisoner among those dour Scots lords," and she de- 
 scribed in graphic terms some of her own experiences 
 of royalty in Scotland. 
 
 The other ladies all welcomed the new-comer as 
 the best medicine both to the spirit and body of their 
 Queen. She was regularly enrolled among the Queen's 
 maidens, and shared their meals. Mary dined and 
 supped alone, sixteen dishes being served to her, both 
 on " fish and flesh days," and the reversion of these as 
 well as a provision of their own came to the higher 
 table of her attendants, where Cicely ranked with the 
 two Maries, Jean Kennedy, and Sir Andrew Melville. 
 There was a second table, at which ate the two secre- 
 taries, Mrs. Curll, and Elizabeth Curll, Gilbert's sister, 
 a most faithful attendant on the Queen. As before, 
 she shared the Queen's chamber, and there it was tliat 
 Mary ask^d her, " Well, mignonne, and how fares it 
 with thine ardent suitor ? Didst say that he rode 
 with thee?" 
 
 " As far as the Manor gat(js, madam." 
 
 " And what said he ? Was he very pressing ?"
 
 300 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAP 
 
 "Nay, madani, I was ever with my father — Mr 
 Talbot." 
 
 " And he keeps the poor youth at arm's length. 
 Thine other swain, the sailor, his son, is gone off" once 
 more to rob the Spaniards, is he not ? — so there is the 
 more open field." 
 
 " Ay ! but not till he had taught Antony a lesson." 
 
 The Queen made Cis tell the story of the en- 
 counter, at which she was much amused. " So my 
 princess, even unknown, can make hearts beat and 
 swords ring for her. Well done ! thou art worthy 
 to be one of the maids in Perceforest or Amadis de 
 Gaul, who are bred in obscurity, and set all the knights 
 a sparring together. Tourneys are gone out since my 
 poor gude-father perished by mischance at one, or we 
 would set thee aloft to be contended for." 
 
 " madame mtre, it made me greatly afraid, and 
 poor Hunifrey had to go off without leave-taking, my 
 Lady Countess was so wrathfuL" 
 
 " So my Lady Countess is playing our game, is she 
 Backiug Babington and banishing Talbot ? Ha, ha," 
 and Mary again laughed with a merriment that rejoiced 
 the faithful ears of Jean Kennedy, under her bed- 
 clothes, but somewhat vexed Cicely. " Indeed, madam 
 mother," she said, " if I must wed under my degree, T 
 had rather it were Humfrey than Antony Babington." 
 
 " I tell thee, simple child, thou shalt wed neither. 
 A woman does not wed every man to whom she gives 
 a smile and a nod. So long as thou bear'st the name 
 of this Talbot, he is a good watch-dog to hinder Bab- 
 ington from winning thee : but if my Lady Countess 
 choose to send the swain here, favoured by her to pay 
 his court to thee, why then, she gives us the best 
 chance we have had for many a long day of holding
 
 XXI.] A TANGLE. 301 
 
 intercourse with our friends without, and a hope of 
 thee will bind him the more closely." 
 
 " He is all yours, heart and soul, already, madam." 
 
 " I know it, child, but men are men, and no cliains 
 are so strong as can be forged by a lady's lip and eye, if 
 she do it cunningly. So said my helle mh^e in France, 
 aud well do I believe it. Why, if one of the sour- 
 visaged reformers who haunt this place chanced to 
 have a daughter with sweetness enough to temper the 
 acidity, the youth might be throwing up his cap the 
 next hour for Queen Bess and the Eeformation, unless 
 we can tie him down with a silken cable while he is 
 in the mind." 
 
 " Yea, madam, you who are beautiful and winsome, 
 you can do such things, I am homely and awkward." 
 
 " Mort de ma vie, child ! the beauty of the best of 
 us is in the man's eyes who looks at us. 'Tis true, 
 thou hast more of the Border lassie than the princess. 
 The likeness of some ewe-milking, cheese-making 
 sonsie Hepburn hath descended to thee, and hath been 
 fostered by country breeding. But thou hast by nature 
 the turn of the neck, and the tread that belong to 
 our Lorraine blood, the blood of Charlemagne, and 
 now that I have thee altogether, see if I train thee not 
 so as to bring out the princess that is in thee ; and so, 
 good-night, my bairnie, my sweet child ; I shall sleep 
 to-night, now that I have thy warm fresh young cheek 
 beside mine. Thou art life to me, my little one."
 
 302 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXII. 
 
 TUTBURY. 
 
 James VL again cruelly tore his mothers heart and 
 dashed her hopes by an unfeeling letter, in which he 
 declared her incapable of being treated with, since she 
 was a prisoner and deposed. The not unreasonable 
 expectation, that his manhood might reverse the pro- 
 ceedings wrought in his name in his infancy, was 
 frustrated. Mary could no longer believe that he was 
 constrained by a faction, but perceived clearly that 
 he merely considered her as a rival, whose liberation 
 would endanger his throne, and that whatever scruples 
 he might once have entertained had given way to 
 English gold and Scottish intimidation, 
 
 " The more simple was I to look for any other in 
 the son of Darnley and the pupil of Buchanan," said 
 she, " but a motlier's heart is slow to give up her 
 trust." 
 
 " And is there now no hope ?" asked Cicely. 
 
 " Hope, child ? Diim sjnro, spero. The hope of 
 coming forth honourably to him and to Elizabeth is at 
 an end. There is another mode of coming forth," she 
 added with a glittering eye, " a mode which shall make 
 them rue that they liave driven patience to extremity." 
 
 " By force of arms ? Oh, madam !" cried Cicely.
 
 XXII.] TUTBURY. 303 
 
 " And wherefore not ? ]\Iy noble kinsman, Guise, 
 is the paramount ruler in France, and will soon have 
 crushed the heretics there ; Parma is triumphant in 
 the Low Countries, and has only to tread out the last 
 remnants of faction with his iron boot. They wait only 
 the call, which my motherly weakness has delayed, to 
 bring their hosts to avenge my wrongs, and restore 
 this island to the true faith. Then thou, child, wilt 
 be my heiress. We will give thee to one who will 
 worthily bear the sceptre, and make thee blessed at 
 home. The Austrians make good husbands, I am told. 
 Matthias or Albert would be a noble mate for thee ; 
 only thou must be trained to more princely bearing, 
 my little home-bred lassie." 
 
 In spite — nay, perhaps, in consequence — of these 
 anticipations, an entire change began for Cicely. It 
 was as if all the romance of her princely station had 
 died out and the reality had set in. Her freedom was 
 at an end. As one of the suite of the Queen of Scots, 
 she was as much a prisoner as the rest ; whereas before, 
 both at Buxton and Sheffield, she had been like a dog 
 or kitten admitted to be petted and played with, but 
 living another life elsewhere, while now there was 
 nothing to relieve the weariness and monotony of the 
 restraint. 
 
 Nor was the petting what it was at first. Mary 
 was far from being in the almost frolicsome mood which 
 had possessed her at Buxton ; her hopes and spirits 
 had sunk to the lowest pitch, and though she had an 
 admirably sweet and considerate temper, and was 
 scarcely ever fretful or unreasonable with her attend- 
 ants, still depression, illness, and anxiety could not but 
 tell on her mode of dealin<]j with her surrouudincis 
 Sometimes she gave way entirely, and declared she
 
 304 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 should waste away and perish in her captivity, and 
 that she only brought misery and destruction on all 
 who tried to befriend her ; or, again, that she knew 
 that Burghley and Walsingham were determined to 
 have her blood. 
 
 It was in these moments that Cicely loved her most 
 warmly, for caresses and endearments soothed her, and 
 the grateful affection which received them would be 
 very sweet. Or in a higher tone, she would trust 
 that, if she were to perish, she might be a martyr and 
 confessor for her Church, though, as she owned, the 
 sacrifice would be stained by many a sin ; and she 
 betook herself to the devotions which then touched 
 her daughter more than in any other respect. 
 
 INIore often, however, her indomitable spirit resorted 
 to fresh schemes, and chafed fiercely and hotly at 
 thought of her wrongs ; and this made her the more 
 critical of all that displeased her in Cicely. 
 
 Much that had been treated as charming and amus- 
 ing when Cicely was her plaything and her visitor was 
 now treated as unbecoming English rusticity. The 
 Princess Bride must speak French and Italian, perhaps 
 Latin ; and the girl, whose literary education had 
 stopped short when she ceased to attend Master 
 Sniggius's school, was made to study her Cicero once 
 more with the almoner, who was now a French priest 
 named De Preaux, while Queen Mary herself heard 
 her read French, and, though always good-natured, 
 was excruciated by her pronunciation. 
 
 Moreover, Mary was too admirable a needlewoman 
 not to wish to make her daughter the same ; whereas 
 Cicely's turn had always been for the department of 
 housewifery, and she could make a castle in pastry far 
 better than in tapestry ; but where Queen Mary had
 
 XXII.] TUTBURY. 305 
 
 a whole service of cooks and pantlers of her own, this 
 accomplisliment was uncalled for, and was in fa(;t 
 considered undignified. She had to sit still and learn 
 all the embroidery stitches and lace -making arts 
 brought by Mary from the Court of France, till her 
 eyes grew weary, her heart faint, and her young limbs 
 acned for the freedom of Bridgefield Pleasaunce and 
 Sheffield Park. 
 
 Her mother sometimes saw her weariness, and 
 would try to enliven her by setting her to dance, but 
 here poor Cicely's untaught movements were sure to 
 incur reproof; and even if they had been far more 
 satisfactory to the beholders, what refreshment were 
 they in comparison with gathering cranberries in the 
 park, or holding a basket for Ned in the apple-tree ? 
 Mrs. Kennedy made no scruple of scolding her roundly 
 for fretting in a month over what the Queen had borne 
 for full eighteen years. 
 
 " Ah ! " said poor Cicely, " but she had always been 
 a queen, and was used to being mewed up close ! " 
 
 And if this was the case at Wingfield, how much 
 more was it so at Tutbury, whither Mary was removed 
 in January. The space was far smaller, and the rooms 
 were cold and damp ; there was much less outlet, the 
 atmosphere was unwholesome, and the furniture in- 
 sufficient. Mary was in bed witli rheumatism almost 
 from the time of her arrival, but she seemed thus to 
 become the more vigilant over lier daughter, and dis- 
 tressed by her shortcomings. If the Queen did not 
 take exercise, the suite were not supposed to require 
 any, and indeed it was never desired by her elder 
 ladies, but to the country maiden it was absolute 
 punishment to be thus shut up day after day. Neithei 
 Sir Ealf Sadler nor his colleague, Mr. Somer, had 
 
 X
 
 306 UNKXOWx\ TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 brought a wife to share the cliarge, so that there was 
 none of the neutral ground afforded by intercourse 
 with the ladies of the Talbot family, and at first the 
 only variety Cicely ever had was the attendance at 
 chapel on the other side of the court. 
 
 It was remarkable that Mary discouraged all 
 proselytising towards the Protestants of her train, and 
 even forbore to make any open attempt on her 
 daughter's faith. " Cela viendra," she said to Marie 
 de Courcelles. " The sermons of M. le Pasteur will 
 do more to convert her to our side than a hundred 
 controversial arguments of our excellent Abb^ ; and 
 when the good time comes, one High Mass will be 
 enough to win her over." 
 
 " Alas ! when shall we ever again assist at the 
 Holy Sacrifice in all its glory !" sighed the lady. 
 
 " Ah, my good Courcelles ! of what have you not 
 deprived yourself for me ! Sacrifice, ah ! truly you 
 share it ! But for the child, it would give needless 
 offence and difhculty were she to embrace our holy 
 faith at present. She is simple and impetuous, and 
 has not yet sufficiently outgrown the rude straight- 
 forward breeding of the good housewife, Madam Susan, 
 not to rush into open confession of lier faith, and then ! 
 oh the fracas ! The wicked wolves would have stolen 
 a precious lamb from M. le Pasteur's fold ! Master 
 Richard would be sent for ! Our restraint would be the 
 closer ! Moreover, even when the moment of freedom 
 strikes, who knows that to find her of their own reh- 
 gion may not win us favour with the English ?" 
 
 So, from whatever motive, Cis remained unmolested 
 in her religion, save by the weariness of the contro- 
 versial sermons, during which the young lady con- 
 trived to abstract her mind pretty completely. If in
 
 XXII.] TUTBURY. 307 
 
 good spirits she would construct airy castles for her 
 Archduke ; if dispirited, she yearned with a homesick 
 feeling for Bridgefield and Mrs. Talbot. There waS 
 something in the firm sober wisdom and steady kind- 
 ness of that good lady which inspired a sense of con- 
 fidence, for which no caresses nor brilliant auguries 
 could compensate. 
 
 Weary and cramped she was to the point of having 
 a feverish attack, and on one slightly delirious night 
 she fretted piteously after " mother," and shook off the 
 Queen's hand, entreating that "mother, real mother," 
 would come. Mary was much pained, and declared 
 that if the child were not better the next day she should 
 have a messenger sent to summon Mrs. Talbot. How- 
 ever, she was better in the morning ; and the Queen, 
 who had been making strong representations of the 
 unhealthiness and other inconveniences of Tutbury, 
 received a promise that she should change her abode 
 as soon as Chartley, a house belonging to the young 
 Earl of Esse.x, could be prepared for her. 
 
 The giving away large alms had always been one 
 of her great solaces — not that she was often permitted 
 any personal contact with the poor : only to sit at a 
 window watching them as they flocked into the court, 
 to be relieved by her servants under supervision from 
 some ofticer of her warders, so as to hinder any surrep- 
 titious communication from passing between them. 
 Sometimes, however, the poor would accost her or her 
 suite as she rode out ; and she had a great compassion 
 for them, deprived, as she said, of the alms of the 
 religious houses, and flogged or branded if hunger forced 
 tliem into beggary. On a fine spring day Sir lialf 
 Sadler invited the ladies out to a hawking i)arty on 
 the banks of the Dove, with the little sparrow hawks.
 
 308 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 whose prey was specially larks. Pity for the beautiful 
 soaring songster, or for the young ones that might be 
 istarved in their nests, if the parent birds were killed, 
 had not then been thought of. A gallop on the moors, 
 though they were strangely dull, gray, and stony, 
 was always the best remedy for the Queen's ailments ; 
 and the party got into the saddle gaily, and joyously 
 followed the chase, thinking only of the dexterity and 
 beauty of the flight of pursuer and pursued, instead 
 of the deadly terror and cruel death to which they 
 condemned the crested creature, the very proverb for 
 joyousness. 
 
 It was during the halt which followed the slaughter 
 of one of the larks, and the reclaiming of the hawk, 
 that Cicely strayed a little away from the rest of the 
 party to gather some golden willow catkins and sprays 
 of white sloe thorn wherewith to adorn a beaupot that 
 might cheer the dull rooms at Tutbury. 
 
 She had jumped down from her pony for the pur- 
 pose, and was culling the branch, when from the copse- 
 wood that clothed the gorge of the river a ragged 
 woman, with a hood tied over her head, came forward 
 with outstretched hand asking for alms. 
 
 " You may have something from the Queen anon, 
 Goody, when I can get back to her," said Cis, not much 
 liking the looks or the voice of the woman. 
 
 "And have you nothing to cross the poor woman's 
 hand with, fair mistress ?" returned the beggar. " She 
 brought you fair fortune once ; how know you but she 
 can bring you more ?" 
 
 And Cicely recognised the person who had haunted 
 her at Sheftield, Tideswell, and Buxton, and whom she 
 had heard pronounced to be no woman at all. 
 
 "I need no fortune of your bringing," she said
 
 Xill.] TUTBURY. 309 
 
 proudly, and trying to get nearer the rest of the party, 
 heartily wishing she was on, not off, her little rough pony. 
 
 " My young lady is proud," said her tormentor, 
 fixing on her the little pale eyes she so much dis- 
 liked. " She is not one of the maidens who would 
 thank one who can make or mar her life, and cast 
 spells that can help her to a princely husband or leave 
 Ler to a prison." 
 
 " Let go," said Cicely, as she saw a retaining hand 
 laid on her pony's bridle ; " I will not be beset thus " 
 
 "And this is your gratitude to her who helped you 
 to lie in a queen's bosom ; ay, and who could aid you 
 to rise higher or fall lower ?" 
 
 " I owe nothing to you," said Cicely, too angry to 
 think of prudence. " Let me go ! " 
 
 There was a laugh, and not a woman's laugh. "You 
 owe nothing, quoth my mistress ? Not to one who saw 
 you, a drenched babe, brought in from the wreck, and 
 who gave the sign which has raised you to your present 
 honours ? Beware !" 
 
 By this time, however, the conversation had at- 
 tracted notice, and several riders were coming towards 
 them. 
 
 There was an immediate change of voice from the 
 threatening tone to the beggar's whine ; but the words 
 were — " I must have my reward ere I speak out." 
 
 " What is this ? A masterful beggar wife besetting 
 TMistress Talbot," said Mr. Somer, who came first. 
 
 " I had naught to give her," said Cicely. 
 
 '• She should have the lash for thus frightening you," 
 said Somer. " Yonder lady is too good to such vaga- 
 bonds, and they come about us in swarms. Stand 
 back, woman, or it may be the worse for you. Let me 
 help you to your horse. Mistress Cicely."
 
 310 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 Instead of obeying, the seeming woman, to gain 
 time perhaps, began a story of woe ; and Mr. Somer, 
 being anxious to remount the young lady, did not 
 immediately stop it, so tliat before Cis was in her 
 saddle the Queen had ridden up, with Sir Ralf Sadler 
 a little behind her. There were thus a few seconds 
 free, in which the stranger sprang to the Queen's bridle 
 and said a few hasty words almost inaudibly, and as Cis 
 thought, in French ; but they were answered aloud in 
 English — " My good woman, I know all that you can 
 tell me, and more, of this young lady's fortune. Here 
 are such alms as are mine to give ; but hold your peace, 
 and quit us now." 
 
 Sir Ealf Sadler and his son-in-law both looked 
 suspicious at this interview, and bade one of the 
 grooms ride after the woman and see what became of 
 her, but the fellow soon lost sight of her in the broken 
 ground by the river-side. 
 
 When the party reached home, there was an 
 anxious consultation of the inner circle of confidantes 
 over Cicely's story. Neitlier she nor the Queen had 
 the least doubt that the stranger was Cutlibert Lang- 
 ston, who had been employed as an agent of hers for 
 many years past ; his insignificant stature and colour- 
 less features eminently fitting him for it. No con- 
 cealment was made now that he was the messenger 
 with the beads and bracelets, which were explained to 
 refer to some ivory beads which had been once placed 
 among some spars purchased by the Queen, and which 
 Jean had recognised as part of a rosary belonging to 
 poor Alison Hepburn, the nurse who had carried the 
 babe from Lochleven. This liad opened the way to 
 the recovery of her daughter. Mary and Sir Andrew 
 Melville had always held him to be devotedly faithful,
 
 XXII.] TUTBUKY. 3 H 
 
 but there had certainly been something of greed, and 
 something of menace in his language which excited 
 anxiety. Cicely was sure that his expressions • con- 
 veyed that he really knew her royal birth, and meant 
 to threaten her with the consequences, but the few 
 who had know^n it were absolutely persuaded that 
 this was impossible, and believed that he could only 
 surmise that she was of more importance than an 
 archer's daughter. 
 
 He had told the Queen in French that lie was in 
 great need, and expected a reward for his discretion 
 I'espectiug what he had brought her. And when he per- 
 ceived the danger of being overheard, he had changed 
 it into a pleading, " I did but tell the fair young lady 
 that T could cast a spell that would bring her some 
 good fortune. Would her Grace hear it ?" 
 
 " So," said Mary, " I could but answer him as I 
 did, Sadler and Somer being both nigh. I gave him 
 my purse, with all there was therein. How much 
 was it, Andrew ? " 
 
 "Five golden pieces, besides groats and testers, 
 madam," replied Sir Andrew. 
 
 " If he come again, he must have more, if it can 
 l)e contrived without suspicion," said the Queen. " I 
 fear me he may become troublesome if he guess some- 
 what, and have to be paid to hold his tongue." 
 
 " I dread worse than that," said JMelville, apart to 
 Jean Kennedy ; " there was a scunner in his een that 
 I mislikit, as though her Grace had offended him. 
 And if the lust of the penny-fee hatli possessed him, 
 'tis but who can bid the highest, to have him fast 
 body and soul. Those lads ! those lads ! Fve seen a 
 mony of tliem. They'll begin for pure love of the 
 Queen and of Holy Church, but ye see, 'tis lying and
 
 312 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY [CHAP. 
 
 falsehood and disguise that is needed, and one way 
 or other they get so in love with it, that they come at 
 last to lie to us as well as to the other side, and then 
 none kens where to have them ! Cuthberc has been 
 over to that weary Paris, and once a man goes there, 
 he leaves his truth and honour behind him, and ye 
 kenna whether he be serving you, or Queen Elizabeth, 
 or the deil himsel'. I wish I could stop that loon's 
 thrapple, or else wot how much he kens anent our 
 Lady Bride."
 
 xxiil] the love token. 313 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIIL 
 
 THE LOVE TOKEN. 
 
 "Yonder woman came to tell this young lady's 
 fortune," said Sir Ealf, a few days later. " Did she 
 guess what I, an old man, have to bode for her !" and 
 he smiled at the Queen. " Here is a token I was 
 entreated by a young gentleman to deliver to this 
 young lady, with his humble suit that he may pay his 
 devoirs to her to-morrow, your Grace permitting." 
 
 " I knew not," said Mary, " that my women had 
 license to receive visitors." 
 
 "Assuredly not, as a rule, but this young gentle- 
 man, Mr. Babington of Dethick, has my Lord and 
 Lady of Shrewsbury's special commendation." 
 
 " I knew the young man," said Mary, with perfectly 
 acted heedlessness. " He was my Lady Shrewsbury's 
 page in his boyhood. I should have no objection to 
 receive him." 
 
 " That, madam, may not be," returned Sadler. " I 
 am sorry to say it is contrary to the orders of the 
 council, but if Mr. and Mrs. Curll, and the fair 
 Mistress Cicely, will do me the honour to dine with 
 me to-morrow in the hall, we may bring about the 
 auspicious meeting my Lady desires." 
 
 Cicely's first impulse had been to pout and say she
 
 314 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 wanted none of Mr. Babington's tokens, nor liis com- 
 pany ; but her mother's eye held her back, and besides 
 any sort of change of scene, or any new face, could not 
 but be deliglitful, so there was a certain leap of the 
 young heart when the invitation was accepted for her ; 
 and she let Sir Ealf put the token into her hand, and 
 a choice one it was. Everybody pressed to look at it, 
 while she stood blushing, coy and unwilling to display 
 the small egg-shaped watch of the kind recently in- 
 vented at Nuremberg. Sir Ealf observed that the 
 young lady showed a comely shamefast maidenliness, 
 and therewith bowed himself out of the room. 
 
 Cicely laughed with impatient scorn. " Well 
 spoken, reverend seignior," she said, as she found 
 herself alone with the Queen. " I wish my Lady 
 Countess would leave me alone. I am none of hers." 
 
 " Nay, mademoiselle, be not thus disdainful," said 
 the Queen, in a gay tone of banter; "give me here 
 this poor token that thou dost so despise, when many 
 a maiden would be distraught with delight and grati- 
 tude. Let me see it, I say." 
 
 And as Cicely, restraining with difficulty an im- 
 patient, uncourtly gesture, placed the watch in her hand, 
 her delicate deft fingers opened the case, disregarding 
 both the face and the place for inserting the key ; but 
 dealing with a spring, which revealed that the case 
 was double, and that between the two thin plates of 
 silver which formed it, was inserted a tiny piece of 
 the thinnest paper, written from corner to corner with 
 the smallest characters in cipher. Mary laughed 
 joyously and triumphantly as she held it up. " There, 
 mignonne ! What sayest thou to thy token r ow ? 
 This is the first secret news I have had from the 
 outer world since we came to this weary Tutbury.
 
 XXIII.] THE LOVE TOKEN. 315 
 
 And oh ! the exquisite jest that my Lady and Sir 
 Ealf Sadler should be the bearers ! I always knew 
 some good would come of that suitor of thine ! Thou 
 must not flout him, my fair lady, nor scowl at him so 
 with thy beetle brows." 
 
 " It seems but hard to lure him on with false 
 hopes," said Cicely, gravely. 
 
 " Hoots, lassie," as Dame Jean would say, " 'tis but 
 joy and delight to men to be thus tickled. 'Tis the 
 greatest kindness we can do them thus to amuse 
 them," said Mary, drawing up her head with the 
 conscious fascination of the serpent of old Nile, and 
 toying the while with the ciphered letter, in eagerness, 
 and yet dread, of what it might contain. 
 
 Such things were not easy to make out, even to 
 those who had the key, and Mary, unwilling to trust 
 it out of her own hands, leant over it, spelling it out 
 for many minutes, but at last broke forth into a clear 
 ringing burst of girlish laughter and clasped her hands 
 together, " Mignonue, miguonne, it is too rare a jest to 
 hold back. Deem not that your Highness stands first 
 here ! Oh no ! 'Tis a letter from Bernardo de Mendoza 
 with a proposition for whose hand thiukest thou ? For 
 this poor old captive hand ! For mine, maiden. Ay, 
 and from whom ? From his Excellency, the Prince of 
 Parma, Lieutenant of the Netherlands. Anon will he be 
 here with 30,000 picked men and the Spanish fleet; 
 and then I shall ride once again at the head of my brave 
 men, hear trumpets bray, and see banners fly .' We 
 will begin to work our banner at once, child, and let 
 Sir Pvalf think it is a bed-quilt for her sacred Majesty, 
 Elizabeth. Thou look'st dismayed, little maiden." 
 
 "Spanish ships and men, madam, ah ! and how would 
 it be with my father — Mr. and Mrs. Talbot, I mean ?"
 
 316 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 •'Not a hair of their heads shall be touche<3, child. 
 "We will send down a chosen troop to protect them, 
 with Babington at its head if thou wilt. But," 
 added the Queen, recollecting herself, and perceiving 
 that she had startled and even shocked her daughter, 
 " it is not to be to-morrow, nor for many a weary- 
 month. All that is here demanded is wliether, all 
 being well, he might look for my hand as his guerdon. 
 Shall I propose thine instead ?" 
 
 " madam, he is an old man and full of gout !" 
 
 " Well ! we will not pull caps for him just yet. 
 And see, thou must be secret as the grave, child, or 
 thou wilt ruin thy mother. I ought not to have told 
 thee, but the surprise was too much for me, and thou 
 canst keep a secret. Leave me now, child, and send 
 me Monsieur Nau." 
 
 The next time any converse was held between 
 mother and daughter, Queon Mary said, " Will it grieve 
 thee much, my lassie, to return this bauble, on the 
 plea of thy duty to the good couple at Bridgefield?" 
 
 After all Cicely had become so fond of the curious 
 and ingenious egg that she was rather sorry to part 
 with it, and there was a little dismal resignation in her 
 answer, " I will do your bidding, madam." 
 
 " Thou shalt have a better. 1 will write to 
 Chateaunay for the choicest that Paris can furnish," 
 said Mary, " but seest thou, none other mode is so safe 
 for conveying an answer to this suitor of mine ! Nay, 
 little one, do not fear. He is not at hand, and if he 
 be so gout-ridden and stern as I have heard, we will 
 find some way to content him and make him do the 
 service without giving thee a stepfather, even though 
 he be grandson to an emperor." 
 
 There was something perplexing and distressing to
 
 XXIII.] THE LOVE TOKEN. 317 
 
 Cis in this sudden mood of exultation at such a suitor. 
 However, Parma's proposal might mean liberty and a 
 recovered throne, and who could wonder at the joy 
 that even the faintest gleam of light afforded to one 
 whose captivity had lasted longer than Cicely's young 
 life ? — and then once more there was an alternation of 
 feeling at the last moment, when Cicely, dressed in 
 hsr best, came to receive instructions. 
 
 " I ken not, I ken not," said Mary, speaking the 
 Scottish tongue, to which she recurred in her moments 
 of deepest feeling, " I ought not to let it go. I ought 
 to tell the noble Prince to have naught to do with a 
 being like me. 'Tis not only the jettatura wherewith 
 the Queen Mother used to reproach me. Men need 
 but bear me good wiU, and misery overtakes them. 
 Death is the best that befalls them ! The gentle 
 husband of my girlhood — then the frantic Chastelar, 
 my poor, poor good Davie, Darnley, Bothwell, Geordie 
 Douglas, young Willie, and again Norfolk, and the 
 noble and knightly Don John ! One spark of love 
 and devotion to the wretched Mary, and all is over 
 with them ! Give me back that paper, child, and 
 warn Babington against ever dreaming of aid to a 
 wretch like me. I will perish alone ! It is enough ! 
 ] will drag down no more generous spirits in the 
 whirlpool around me." 
 
 " Madam ! madam !" exclaimed De Preaux the 
 almoner, who was standing, "this is not like your 
 noble self Have you endured so much to be faint- 
 hearted when the end is near, and you are made a 
 smooth and polished instrument, welded in the fire, for 
 the triumph of the Church over her enemies?" 
 
 "Ah, Father!" said the Queen, " how should not 
 n.y heart fail me when I think of the many high
 
 318 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 spirits who have fallen for my sake ? Ay, and when 
 I look out on yonder peaceful vales and happy home- 
 steads, and think of them ravaged by those furious 
 Spaniards and Italians, whom my brother of Anjou 
 himself called very fiends ! " 
 
 " Fiends are the tools of Divine wrath," returned 
 Preaux. " Look at the profaned sanctuaries and out- 
 raged convents on which these proud English have 
 waxen fat, and say whether a heavy retribution be not 
 due to them." 
 
 " Ah, father ! I may be weak, but I never loved 
 persecution. King Francis and I were dragged to 
 behold the executions at Amboise. That was enough 
 for us. His gentle spirit never recovered it, and I — I 
 see their contorted visages and forms still in my 
 restless nights ; and if the Spanish dogs should deal 
 with England as with Haarlem or Antwerp, and all 
 through me ! — Oh ! I should be happier dying within 
 these walls !" 
 
 "Nay, madam, as Queen you would have the reins 
 in your own hand : you could exercise what wholesome 
 severity or well -tempered leniency you chose," urged 
 the almoner ; " it were ill requiting the favour of 
 the saints who have opened this door to you at last 
 to turn aside now in terror at the phantasy that long 
 weariness of spirit hath conjured up before you." 
 
 So Mary rallied herself, and in five minutes more 
 was as eager in giving her directions to Cicely and to 
 the Curlls as though her heart had not recently failed 
 her. 
 
 Cis was to go forth with her cliaperons, not by any 
 means enjoying the message to Babington, and yet 
 imable to help being very glad to escape for ever so 
 short a time from the dull prison apartments. There
 
 XXIII.] THE LOVE TOKEN. 319 
 
 might be no great faith in her powers of diplomacy, 
 but as it was probable that Babington w(hi1c1 have 
 more opportunity of conversing with her than with 
 the Curlls, she was charged to attend heedfully to 
 whatever he might say. 
 
 Sir Half's son-in-law, Mr. Somer, was sent to escort 
 the trio to the hall at the hour of noon ; and there, 
 pacing the ample chamber, while the board at the 
 upper end was being laid, were Sir Ealf Sadler and 
 his guest Mr. Babiugton. Antony was dressed in 
 green velvet slashed with primrose satin, setting off his 
 good mien to the greatest advantage, and he came up 
 with suppressed but rapturous eagerness, bowing low 
 to Mrs. Curll and the secretary, but falling on his knee 
 to kiss the hand of the dark-browed girl. Her recent 
 courtly training made her much less rustically 
 awkward than she would have been a few mouths 
 before, but she was extremely stiff, and held her head 
 as though her ruff were buckram, as she began her 
 lesson. " Sir, I am greatly beholden to you for this 
 token, but if it be not sent with the knowledge and 
 consent of my honoured father and mother I may not 
 accept of it." 
 
 " Alas ! that you will say so, fair mistress," said 
 Antony, but he was probably prepared for this re- 
 jection, for he did not seem utterly overwhelmed by it. 
 
 " The young lady exercises a wise discretion," said 
 Sir Ealf Sadler to Mrs, Curll. " If I had known that 
 mine old friend Mr. Talbot of Bridgefield was un- 
 favourable to the suit, I would not have harboured 
 the young spark, but when he brought my Lady 
 Countess's commendation, I thought all was well." 
 
 Barbara Curll had her cue, namely, to occupy Sir 
 Ealf so as to leave the young people to themselves, so
 
 320 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 she drew him off to tell him in confidence a long and 
 not particularly veracious story of the objections of 
 the Talbots to Antony Babington ; whilst her husban'l 
 engaged the attention of Mr. Somer, and there was a 
 space in which, as Antony took back the watch, he 
 was able to inquire " Was the egg-shell opened ? " 
 
 " Ay," said Cis, blushing furiously and against her 
 will, " the egg was sucked and replenished." 
 
 " Take consolation," said Antony, and as some one 
 came near them, " Duty and discretion shall, I trust, 
 both be satisfied when I next sun myself ^n the light 
 of those lovely eyes." Then, as the coast became 
 more clear, "You are about shortly to move. Chart- 
 ley is preparing for you." 
 
 " So w^e are told." 
 
 " There are others preparing," said Antony, bending 
 over her, holding her hand, and apparently making 
 love to her with all his might. " Tell me, lady, who 
 hath charge of the Queen's buttery ? Is it faithful 
 old Halbert as at Sheffield?" 
 
 " It is," replied Cis. 
 
 " Then let him look well at the bottom of each 
 barrel of beer supplied for the use of her household. 
 There is an honest man, a brewer, at Burton, whom 
 Paulett will employ, who will provide that letters be 
 sent to and fro. Gifford and Langstou, who are both 
 of these parts, know him well." Cis started at the 
 name. "Do you trust Langston then?" she asked. 
 
 "Wholly! Why, he is the keenest and ablest of 
 us all. Have you not seen him and had speech with 
 him in many strange shapes ? He can change his 
 voice, and whine like any beggar wife." 
 
 " Yea," said Cis, " but the Queen and Sir Andrew 
 doubted a little if he meant not threats last time we met."
 
 XXIII.] THE LOVE TOKEN. 3?1 
 
 " All put on — excellent dissembling to beguile the 
 keepers. He told me all," said Antony, " and how he 
 had to scare thee and change tone suddenly. Why, 
 he it -is who laid this same egg, and will receive 
 it. There is a sworn baud, as you know already, who 
 will let her know our plans, and be at her com- 
 mands through that means. Then, when we have 
 done service approaching to be worthy of her, then 
 it may be that I shall have earned at least a look or 
 sign." 
 
 "Alas! sir," said Cicely, "how can I give you 
 Mse hopes ?" For her honest heart burnt to tell the 
 poor fellow that she would in case of his success 
 be farther removed from him than ever. 
 
 " What would be false now shall be true then. 
 I will wring love from thee by my deeds for her whom 
 we both alike love, and then wilt thou be mine own, 
 my true Bride !" 
 
 By this time other guests had arrived, and the 
 dinner was ready. Babington was, in deference to the 
 Countess, allowed to sit next to his lady-love. She 
 found he had been at Sheffield, and had visited Bridge- 
 field, vainly endeavouring to obtain sanction to his 
 addresses from her adopted parents. He saw how her 
 eyes brightened and heard how her voice quivered with 
 eagerness to hear of what still seemed home to her, 
 and he was pleased to feel himself gratifying her by 
 telling her how Mrs. Talbot looked, and how Brown 
 Dumpling Iiad been turned out in the Park, and Mr. 
 Talbot had taken a new horse, which Ned had in- 
 sisted on calling " Fulvius," from its colour, for Ned 
 was such a scholar that he was to be sent to study at 
 Cambridge. Then he would liave wandered off to 
 little Lady Arbell's being put under Master Sniggius'a 
 
 Y
 
 322 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAr. 
 
 tuition, but Cicely would bring bim back to Bridge- 
 field, and to Ned's brotbers. 
 
 No, tbe boasted expedition to Spain bad not 
 begun yet. Sir Francis Drake was lingering* about 
 Plymouth, digging a ditch, it was said, to bring water 
 from Dartmoor. He would nevei get license to attack 
 King Philip on his own shores. The Queen knew 
 better than to give it. Humfrey and Diccon would 
 get no better sport than robbing a ship or two on the 
 wa}- to the Netherlands. Antony, for his part, could 
 not see that piracy on the high seas was fit work for 
 a gentleman. 
 
 " A gentleman loves to serve his queen and country 
 in all places," said Cicely. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Antony, with a long breath, as though 
 making a discovery, " sits the wind in that quarter ? " 
 
 "Antony," exclaimed she, in her eagerness calling 
 him by the familiar name of childhood, " you are in 
 error. I declare most solemnly that it is quite another 
 matter that stands in your way." 
 
 " And you will not tell me wherefore you are thus 
 cruel r 
 
 " I cannot, sir. You will understand in time that 
 what you call cruelty is true kindness." 
 
 This was the gist of the interview. All the rest 
 only repeated it in one form or another ; and when 
 Cis returned, it was with a saddened heart, for she 
 could not but perceive that Antony was well-nigh 
 crazed, not so much with love of her, as with the con- 
 templation of the wrongs of the Church and the Queen, 
 whom he regarded with equally passionate devotion, 
 and with burning zeal and indignation to avenge 
 their sufferings, and restore them to their pristine 
 glory. He did, indeed, love her, as he professed to
 
 XXIII.] THE LOVE TOKEN. 323 
 
 have done from infancy, but as if she were to he his 
 own personal portion of the reward. Indeed there was 
 magnanimity enough in the youth almost to lose the 
 individual hope in the dazzle of the great victory for 
 which he was willing to devote his own life and happi- 
 ness in the true spirit of a crusader. Cicely did not 
 fully or consciously realise all this, but she had such 
 a glimpse of it as to give her a guilty feeling in con- 
 cealing from him the whole truth, which would have 
 shown how fallacious were the hopes that her mother 
 did not scruple, for her own purposes, to encourage. 
 Poor Cicely ! she had not had royal training enough to 
 look on all subjects as simply pawns on the monarch's 
 chess-board ; and she was so evidently unhappy over 
 Babington's courtship, and so little disposed to enjoy 
 ber first feminine triumph, that the Queen declared 
 that Nature had designed her for the convent she had 
 so narrowly missed ; and, valuable as was the intelli- 
 gence she had brought, she was never trusted with 
 the contents of the correspondence. On the removal 
 of Mary to Chartley the barrel with the false bottom 
 came into use, but the secretaries Nau and Curll alone 
 knew in full what was there conveyed. Little more 
 was said to Cicely of Babington. 
 
 However, it was a relief when, before the end of 
 this summer. Cicely heard of his marriage to a young 
 lady selected by the Earl. She hoped it would make 
 him forget his dangerous inclination to herself; but 
 yet there was a little lurking vanity which believed 
 that it had been rather a marriage for property's than 
 for love's sake.
 
 324 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHA> 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 A LIONESS jyT BAY. 
 
 It was in the middle of the summer of 1586 that 
 Humfrey and his young brother Eichard, in broad 
 grass hats and long feathers, found tliemselves again 
 in London, Diccon looking considerably taller and 
 leaner than when he went away. For when, after 
 many months' delay, the naval expedition had taken 
 place, he had been laid low with fever during the attack 
 on Florida by Sir Francis Drake's little fleet ; and the 
 return to England had been only just in time to save 
 his life. Though Humfrey had set forth merely as a 
 lieuteinnt, he had returned in command of a vessel, and 
 stood in high repute for good discipline, readiness of 
 resource, and personal exploits. His ship had, how- 
 ever, suffered so severely as to be scarcely seaworthy 
 when the fleet arrived in Plymouth harbour ; and Sir 
 Francis, finding it necessary to put her into dock and 
 dismiss her crew, had chosen the young Captain 
 Talbot to ride to London with his despatches to her 
 Majesty. 
 
 The commission might well delight the brothers, 
 Avho were burning to hear of home, and to know how 
 it fared with Cicely, having been absolutely without 
 intelligence ever since they had sailed from Plymouth
 
 XXIV.] A LIONESS AT BAY. 325 
 
 in January, since wliicli they had plundered the 
 Spaniard both at home and in the West Indies, but 
 had had no letters. 
 
 They rode post into London, taking their last change 
 of horses at Kensington, on a fine June evening, when 
 the sun was mounting high upon the steeple of St. 
 Paul's, and speeding through the fields in hopes oi" 
 being able to reach the Strand in time for supper at 
 Lord Shrewsbury's mansion, which, even in the absence 
 of my Lord, was always a harbour for all of the name 
 of Talbot. Nor, indeed, was it safe to be out after 
 dark, for the neighbourhood of the city was full of 
 roisterers of all sorts, if not of highwaymen and cut- 
 purses, who might come in numbers too large even for 
 the two young gentlemen and the two servants, who 
 remained out of the four volunteers from Bridgefield. 
 
 They were just passing Westminster where the 
 Abbey, Hall, and St. Stephen's Chapel, and their pre- 
 cincts, stood up in their venerable but unstaiued beauty 
 among the fields and fine trees, and some of the 
 Westminster boys, flat -capped, gowned, and yellow - 
 stockinged, ran out with the cry that always flattered 
 Diccon, not to say Humfrey, though he tried to be 
 superior to it, " Mariners ! mariners from the Western 
 Main ! Hurrah for gallant Drake ! Down with the 
 Don !" Tor the tokens of the sea, in the form of 
 clothes and w^eapons, were well known and higiily 
 esteemed. 
 
 Two or three gentlemen who were walking along 
 the road turned and looked up, and the young sailors 
 recognised in a moment a home face. There was an 
 exclamation on either side of " Antony Babington !" 
 and " Humfrey Talbot !" and a ready clasp of the hand 
 in right of old companionship.
 
 326 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 " Welcome home !" exclaimed Antony. " Is all well 
 with you ?" 
 
 " Eoyally well," returned Humfrey. " Know'st thou 
 aught of our father and mother ?" 
 
 " All was well with them when last I heard " said 
 Antony. 
 
 " And Cis — my sister I mean ?" said Diccon, putting, 
 in liis unconsciousness, the very question Ilumfrey was 
 burning to ask. 
 
 " She is still with the Queen of Scots, at Chartley," 
 replied Babington. 
 
 " Chartley, where is that ? It is a new place for 
 her captivity." 
 
 " 'Tis a house of my Lord of Essex, not far from 
 Licl *.*.'''d," returned Antony. " They sent her thither 
 this spring, after they had well-nigh slain her with the 
 damp and wretched lodgings they provided at Tutbury." 
 
 "Who? Not our Cis?" asked Diccon. 
 
 " Nay," said Antony, " it hurt not her vigorous 
 youth — but I meant the long-suffering princess." 
 
 " Hath Sir Ealf Sadler still the charge of her ?" 
 inquired Ilumfrey. 
 
 " No, indeed. He was too gentle a jailer for the 
 Council. They have given her Sir Amias Panlett, a 
 mere Puritan and Leicestrian, who is as hard as the 
 nether millstone, and weU-nigh as dull," said Babing- 
 ton, with a little significant chuckle, which perhaps 
 alarmed one of his companions, a small slight man 
 with a slight halt, clad in black like a lawyer. " Mr. 
 Babington," he said, " pardon me for interrupting 
 you, but we sliall make Mr. Gage tarry supper 
 for us." 
 
 "Nay, Mr. Langston," said Baliington, who was in 
 high spirits, " these are kinsmen of your own, sons of
 
 XXIV.] A LIONESS AT BAY. 327 
 
 Mr. Eicliard Talbot of Bridgefield, to whom you have 
 often told me you were akin." 
 
 Mr. Langston was thus compelled to come forward, 
 shake hands with the young travellers, welcome them 
 home, and desire to be commended to their woithy 
 parents ; and Babington, in the exuberance of 1* s 
 welcome, named his other two companions — Mr. 
 Tiehborne, a fine, handsome, graceful, and somewhat 
 melancholy young man ; Captain Fortescue, a bearded 
 moustached bravo, in the height of the fashion, a loug 
 plume in his Spanish hat, and his short gray cloak 
 glittering with silver lace. Humfrey returned their 
 salute, but was as glad as they evidently were when 
 they got Babington away with them, and left tie 
 brothers to pursue tlieir way, after inviting them to 
 come and see him at his lodgings as early as possible. 
 
 " It is before supper," said Diccon, sagely, " or I 
 should say Master Antony had been acquainted with 
 some good canary." 
 
 " More likely he is uplifted with some fancy of his 
 own. It may be only with the meeting of me after 
 our encounter," said Humfrey. " He is a brave fellow 
 and kindly, but never did craft so want ballast as does 
 that pate of his !" 
 
 " Humfrey," said his brother, riding nearer to him, 
 "did he not call that fellow in black, Langston?" 
 
 " Ay, Cuthbert Langston. I have heard of him. 
 No good comrade for his weak brain." 
 
 " Humfrey, it is so, though father would not credit 
 me. I knew his halt and his eye — just like the 
 venomous little snake that was the death of poor 
 Foster. He is the same with the witch woman 
 Tibbott, ay, and with her with the beads and bracelets, 
 who beset Cis and me at Buxton."
 
 328 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [(5HAP. 
 
 Young Diccon had proved himself on the voyage 
 to have an unerring eye for recognition, and liis brother 
 gave a h3W whistle. " I fear me then Master Aiitony 
 may be running himself into trouble." 
 
 " See, they turn in mounting the steps to the upper 
 fence of yonder house with the deep carved balcony. 
 Another has joined them ! I like not his looks. He 
 is like one of those hardened cavaliers from the 
 Netherlands." 
 
 " Ay ! who seem to have left pity and conscience 
 behind them there," said Humfrey, looking anxiously 
 up at the fine old gabled house with its projecting 
 timbered front, and doubting inwardly whether it 
 would be wise to act on his old playfellow's invitation, 
 yet with an almost sick longing to know on what terms 
 the youth stood with Cicely. 
 
 In another quarter of an hour they were at the 
 gateway of Shrewsbury House, where the porter proved 
 to be one of the Sheffield retainers, and admitted them 
 joyfully. My Lord Earl was in Yorkshire, he said, 
 but my Lord and Lady Talbot were at home, and 
 would be fain to see them, and there too was Master 
 William Cavendish. 
 
 Tliey were handed on into the courtyard, where 
 servants ran to take their horses, and as the news 
 ran that Master Eichard's sons had arrived from the 
 Indies, Will Cavendish came running down the hall 
 steps to embrace them in his glee, while Lord Talbot 
 came to the door of the hall to welcome them. These 
 great London houses, which had not quite lost their 
 names of hostels or inns, did really serve as free lodg- 
 ings to all members of the family who might visit 
 town, and above all such travellers as these, bringing 
 news of grand national achievements.
 
 XXIV.] A LIONESS AT BAY. 329 
 
 Very soon after Gilbert's accession to the heirship, 
 quarrels had begun between his wife and her mother 
 the Countess. 
 
 Lord Talbot had much of his father's stately grace, 
 and his wife was a finished lady. They heartily 
 welcomed the two lads who had grown from boys to 
 men. My lady smilingly excused the riding-gear, and 
 as soon as the dust of travel had been removed they 
 were seated at the board, and called on to tell of the 
 galUmt deeds in which they had taken part, whilst 
 they heard in exchange of Lord Leicester's doings in 
 the Netherlands, and the splendid exploits of the 
 Stanleys at Zutphen. 
 
 Lord Talbot promised to take Humfrey to Eicli- 
 mond the next day, to be presented to her Majesty, 
 so soon as he should be equipped, so as not to lose 
 his character of mariner, but still not to attront her 
 sensibilities by aught of uncourtly or unstudied in his 
 ajjparel. 
 
 They confir-^ed what Babingtou had said of the 
 Queen of Scots' changes of residence and of keepers. 
 As to Cicely, they had been lately so little at Shetfield 
 that they had almost forgotten her, but they thought 
 that if slie were still at Chartley, there could be no 
 objection to her brothers having an interview with 
 her on their way home, if they chose to go out of their 
 road for it. 
 
 Humfrey mentioned his meeting with Babington 
 in Westminster, and Lord Talbot made some inquiries 
 as to his companions, adding that there were strange 
 stories and suspicions afloat, and that he feared that 
 the young man was disaffected and was consorting with 
 Popish recusants. Diccon's tongue was on the alert with 
 his observation, but at a sign from his brother, who did
 
 330 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 not wish to get Babington into trouble, he \\'as silent. 
 Cavendish, however, laughed and said he ^^•as for ever 
 in Mr. Secretary's house, and even had a room there. 
 
 Very early the next morning the body servant of 
 his Lordship was in attendance with a barber and the 
 fashionable tailor of the Court, and in good time Hum- 
 frey and Diccon were arrayed in such garments as were 
 judged to suit the Queen's taste, and to become tlie 
 character of young mariners from the West. Huinfrey 
 had a dainty jewel of shell-work from the spoils of 
 Carthagena, entrusted to him by Drake to present to 
 the Queen as a foretaste of what was to come. Lady 
 Talbot greatly admired its novelty and beauty, and 
 thought the Queen would be enchanted with it, giving 
 him a pretty little perfumed box to present it in. 
 
 Lord Talbot, well pleased to introduce his spirited 
 young cousins, took them in his boat to Eichmond, 
 which they reached just as the evening coolness came 
 on. They were told that her Majesty was walking 
 in the Park, and thither, so soon as the ruffs had 
 been adjusted and the fresh Spanish gloves drawn on, 
 they resorted. 
 
 The Queen walked freely there without guards — 
 without even swords being worn by the gentlemen in 
 attendance- — loving as she did to display her confidence 
 in her people. No precautions were taken, but they 
 were allowed to gather together on the gi'eeusward to 
 watch her, as among the beautiful shady trees she 
 paced along. 
 
 The eyes of the two youths w^ere eagerly directed 
 towards her, as they followed Lord Talbot. "Was she 
 not indeed the cynosure of all the realm ? Did she 
 not hold the heart of every loyal Englishman by an 
 invisible rein ? Was not her favour their dream and
 
 XXIV.] A LIONESS AT BAY. 331 
 
 their reward ? She was a little in advance of her 
 suite. Her hair, of that light sandy tint which is slow 
 to whiten, was built up in curls under a rich stiff coif, 
 covered with silver lace, and lifted high at the temples. 
 Trom this a light gauze veil hung round her shoulders 
 and over her splendid standing ruff, which stood up 
 like the erected neck ornaments of some birds, opening 
 in front, and showing the lesser ruff or frill encircling 
 lier throat, and terminating a lace tucker within her 
 low-cut boddice. Eich necklaces, the jewel of the 
 Garter, and a whole constellation of brilliants, decorated 
 her bosom, and the boddice of her blue satin dress and 
 its sleeves were laced with seed pearls. The waist, a 
 very slender one, was encircled with a gold cord and 
 heavy tassels, the farthingale spread out its magnificent 
 proportions, and a richly embroidered white satin 
 petticoat showed itself in front, but did not conceal 
 the active, well-shaped feet. There was something 
 extraordinarily majestic in her whole bearing, especially 
 the poise of her head, which made the sj)ectator never 
 perceive how small her stature actually was. Her face 
 and complexion, too, were of the cast on which time is 
 slow to make an impression, being always pale and 
 fair, with keen and delicately -cut features; so that 
 her admirers had quite as much reason to be dazzled 
 as when she was half her present age ; nay, perhaps 
 more, for the habit of command had added to the 
 regality which really was her principal beauty. Sir 
 Christopher Hatton, with a handsome but very small 
 face at the top of a very tall and portly frame, dressed 
 in the extreme of foppery, came behind her, and then 
 a bevy of ladies and gentlemen. 
 
 As the Talbots approached, she was moving slowly 
 on, unusually erect even for her, and her face com-
 
 332 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cHAP. 
 
 posed to severe majesty, like that of a judge, the 
 tawny eyes with a strange gleam in them fixed on 
 some one in the throng on the grass near at hand. 
 Lord Talbot advanced with a bow so low that he 
 swept the ground with his plume, and while the two 
 youths followed his example, Diccon's quick eye noted 
 that she glanced for one rapid second at their weapons, 
 then continued her steady gaze, never withdrawing 
 it even to receive Lord Talbot's salutation as he knelt 
 before her, though she said, " We greet you well, my 
 good lord. .Are not we well guarded, not having one 
 man with a sword near me ?" 
 
 " Here are three good swords, madam," returned he, 
 " mine own, and those of my two young kinsmen, whom 
 I venture to present to your Majesty, as they bear greet- 
 ings from your, trusty servant. Sir Francis Drake." 
 
 While he spoke there had been a by-play unper- 
 ceived by him, or by the somewhat slow and tardy 
 Hatton. A touch from Diccon had made Humfrey 
 follow the direction of the Queen's eye, and they saw 
 it was fixed on a figure in a loose cloak strangely 
 resembling that which they had seen on the stair of 
 the house Babington had entered. They also saw a 
 certain quailing and cowering of the form, and a scowl 
 on the shaggy red eyebrows, and Irish features, and 
 Humfrey at once edged himself so as to come between 
 the fellow and the Queen, though he was ready to 
 expect a pistol shot in his back, but better thus, was 
 his thought, than that it should strike her, — and both 
 laid tlieir hands on their swords. 
 
 " How now ! " said Hatton, " young men, you are 
 over prompt. Her Majesty needs no swords. You 
 are out of rank. Fall in and do your obeisance." 
 
 Something in the Queen's relaxed gaze told Hum-
 
 XXIV.] A LIONESS AT BAY. 333 
 
 frey that the peril was over, and that he might kneel 
 as Talbot named him, explaining his lineage as Eliza- 
 beth always wished to have done. A sort of trenio^ 
 passed over her, but slie instantly recalled her attention. 
 " From Drake !" she said, in her clear, somewhat shrill 
 voice. " So, young gentleman, you have been with 
 the pirate who outruns our orders, and fills our brother 
 of Spain with malice such that he would have our life 
 by fair or foul means." 
 
 " That shall he never do while your Grace has 
 English watch-dogs to guard you," returned Talbot. 
 
 " The Talbot is a trusty hound by water or by 
 land," said Elizabeth, surveying the goodly proportion 
 of the elder brother. " Whelps of a good litter, though 
 yonder lad be somewhat long and lean. Well, and 
 how fares Sir Erancis ? Let him make his will, for 
 the Spaniards one day will have his blood." 
 
 " I have letters and a token from him for your 
 Grace," said Humfrey. 
 
 " Come then in," said the Queen. " We will see 
 it in the bower, and hear what thou wouldst say." 
 
 A bower, or small summer-house, stood at the end 
 of tlie path, and here she took her way, seating herself 
 on a kind of rustic throne evidently intended for her, 
 and there receiving from Humfrey the letter and the 
 gift, and asking some questions about the voyage ; but 
 she seemed preoccupied and anxious, and did not show 
 the enthusiastic approbation of her sailors' exploits 
 winch the young men expected. After glancing over 
 it, she bade them carry the letter to Mr, Secretary 
 Walsingham the next day ; nor did she bid the party 
 remain to supper; but as soon as half a dozen of her 
 gentlemen pensioners, who had been summoned by hei 
 orders, came up, she rose to return to the palace.
 
 334 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CITAP. 
 
 Yet, to Talbot's surprise, she gavo both the young 
 men her hand to kiss, and even hiid it upon Humfrey's 
 freshly - trimmed head, saying, " You have done good 
 service, my brave young spark. Use your eyes more 
 tlian your tongue, and you will do well We would 
 not wish for stauncher bulwarks against traitor — 
 Papist or Spaniard." 
 
 This was their dismissal. The audience was over, 
 and they had to depart. Lord Talbot declaring that 
 Humfrey had had marvellous good hap, and he had 
 seldom seen her Majesty so gracious at a first presenta- 
 tion, unless a man was more comely than he could call 
 his young cousins. 
 
 " Methinks she was glad to see our swords," said 
 Diccon. " There was a scowling fellow she had her 
 eye on, just as I have seen Sir Francis keep a whole 
 troop of savage Indians in check as we landed on an 
 island." 
 
 Lord Tidbot laughed rather provokingly, and said, 
 " The Queen hath swords enough at command without 
 being beholden to thine, my doughty cousin ! " 
 
 Diccon was suppressed, and mortified, but he thouglit 
 the more. Humfrey owned his disappointment at 
 more notice not having been taken of his commanders' 
 exploits, and was answered, " Humour or policy, boy, 
 policy or humour — one or both. One day, Drake and 
 Hawkins and the rest will be her brave mariners, her 
 golden boys ; another, mere pirates and robbers, bring- 
 ing the Dons' wrath down upon us. You must take 
 her as you find her, she is but a woman after all ; and 
 even now there is said to be a plot — more deadly- 
 than ever before — which the Council are watching 
 that they may lay the blame on the right sJioulders. 
 
 Lord Talbot did not, however, know more than
 
 XXIV.] A LIONESS AT HAY. 385 
 
 that there were flying rumours of a fearful design, that 
 the Duke of Parma sliould laud from the Netherlands, 
 the Queen be assassinated, and Mary of Scotland 
 liberated and proclaimed, all at once ; and he marvelled 
 at her residence at Chartley being permitted, since 
 it would not be difficult to set it on fire, and carry her 
 away in the confusion. He added that the whole of 
 the country, especially the Londoners, were declaring 
 that they should never sleep in peace while she lived, 
 and there was nothing but Queen Elizabeth's life 
 between her and the crown. 
 
 " And that knave meant mischief, and the Queen 
 knew it, and bore him down with her eye, just as 
 Drake did by the cannibal chief with the poisoned 
 arrow," thought Diccon, but Lord Talbot's previous 
 manner had silenced him effectually.
 
 336 UiJKNOWN TO llISTOliY. [CU.VP. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 Paul's walk. 
 
 Will Cavendish, who was in training for a statesman, 
 and acted as a secretary to Sir Francis Walsingham, 
 advised that the letters should be carried to him at 
 once that same evening, as he would be in attendance 
 on the Queen the next morning, and she would inquu-e 
 for them. 
 
 The great man's house was not far off, and he walked 
 thither with Humfrey, who told him what he had seen, 
 and asked wliether it ought not at once to be reported 
 to Walsingham. 
 
 Will whistled. " Tliey are driving it very close," 
 he said. " Humfrey, old comrade, thy brains were 
 always more of the order fit to face a tough breeze 
 than to meddle with Court plots. Credit me, there is 
 cause for what amazed thee. The Queen and her 
 Council know what they are about. Risk a little, and 
 put an end to all the plottings for ever ! That's the 
 word." 
 
 " Eisk even the Queen's life ?" 
 
 Will Cavendish looked sapient, and replied, " We 
 of the Coundii Board know many a thing that looks 
 passing strange." 
 
 Mr. Secretary Walsingham's tow^n house was, like
 
 XXV. J Paul's walk. 337 
 
 Lord Talbot's, built round a court, across which Caven- 
 crish led the way, with the assured air of one used to 
 the service, and at home there. The hall was thronged 
 with people waititig, but Cavendish passed it, opened 
 a little wicket, and admitted his friends into a small 
 anteroom, where he bade them remain, while lie 
 aunounced them to Sir Francis. 
 
 He disappeared, shutting a door behind him, and 
 after a moment's interval another person, with a brown 
 cloak round him, came hastily and stealthily across to 
 the door. He had let down the cloak which mutiled his 
 cliin, not expecting the presence of any one, and there 
 was a moment's start as he was conscious of the young 
 men standing there. He passed through the door 
 instantly, but not before Humfrey had had time to 
 recognise in him no other than Cuthbert Langston, 
 almost the last person he would have looked for at Sir 
 Francis Walsingham's. Directly afterwards Cavendish 
 returned. 
 
 " Sir Francis could not see Captain Talbot, and 
 prayed him to excuse him, and send in the letter." 
 
 " It can't be helped," said Cavendish, with his 
 youthful airs of patronage. " He would gladly 
 have spoken with you when I told him of you, but 
 that Maude is just come on business that may 
 not tarry. So you must e'en entrust your packet 
 to me." 
 
 "Maude," repeated Humfrey, "Was that man's 
 name Maude ? I should have dared be sworn that he 
 was my father's kinsman, Cuthbert Langston." 
 
 " Very like," said Will, " I would dare be sworn to 
 nothing concerning him, but that he is one of the 
 greatest and most useful villains unhung." 
 
 So saying. Will Cavendish disappeared with the 
 z
 
 338 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 letters. He probably had had a caution administered 
 to him, for when he returned he was evidently swell- 
 ing with the consciousness of a State secret, which he 
 would not on any account betray, yet of the existence 
 of which he desired to make his old comrade aware. 
 
 Humfrey asked whether he had told Mr. Secretary 
 of the man in Ilichmond Park. 
 
 " Never fear ! he knows it," returned the bud:l:rg 
 statesman. " Why, look you, a man like Sir Francis 
 has ten thousand means of intelligence that a simple 
 mariner like you would never guess at. I thought it 
 strange myself when I came first into business of State, 
 but he hath eyes and ears everywhere, like the Queen's 
 gown in her picture. Men of the Privy Council, you 
 see, must despise none, for the lewdest and meanest 
 rogues oft prove those who can do the best service, 
 just as the bandy-legged cur will turn the spit, or 
 unearth the fox wheu your gallant hound can do 
 nought but bay outside." 
 
 " Is this Maude, or Langston, such a cur ? " 
 
 Cavendish gave his head a shake that expressed 
 unutterable things, saying : " Your kinsman, said you ? 
 I trust not on the Talbot side of the house ?" 
 
 " No. On his mother's side. I wondered the more 
 to see him here as he got that halt in the Eising of 
 the North, and on the wrong side, and hath ever been 
 reckoned a concealed Papist." 
 
 " Ay, ay. Dost not see, mine honest Humfrey, 
 that's the very point that fits him for our purpose ?" 
 
 " You mean that he is a double traitor and informer." 
 
 "We do not use such hard words in the Privy 
 Council Board as you do on deck, my good friend," 
 said Cavendish. " We have our secret intelligencers, 
 you see, all in the Queen's service. Foul and dirty
 
 XXV.] Paul's walk. 339 
 
 work, but you can't dig out a fox without; soiling o< 
 fingers, and if there be those that take kindly to the 
 work, why, e'en let them do it." 
 
 " Then there is a plot ?" 
 
 " Content you, Humfrey ! You'll hear enough of it 
 anon. A most foul, bloody, and horrible plot, quite 
 enough to hang every soul that has meddled in it, and 
 yet safe to do no harm — like poor Hal's blunderbuss, 
 which would never go off, except when it burst, and 
 blew him to pieces." 
 
 Will felt that he had said quite enough to impress 
 Humfrey with a sense of his statecraft and import- 
 ance, and was not sorry for an interruption before he 
 should have said anything dangerous. It was from 
 Frank Pierrepoint, who had been Diccon's schoolmate, 
 and was enchanted to see him. Humfrey was to stay 
 one day longer in town in case Walsingham should 
 wish to see him, and to show Diccon something of 
 London, which they had missed on their way to 
 Plymouth. 
 
 St. Paul's Cathedral was even then the sight that all 
 Englishmen were expected to have seen, and the brothers 
 took their way thither, accompanied by Prank Pierre- 
 point, who took their guidance on his hands. Had the 
 lads seen the place at the opening of the century they 
 would have thought it a piteous spectacle, for desecra- 
 tion and sacrilege had rioted there unchecked, the mag- 
 nificent peal of bells had been gambled away at a single 
 throw of the dice, the library had been utterly destroyed, 
 the magnificent plate melted up, and what covetous 
 fanaticism had spared had been further ravaged by a 
 terrible fire. At this time Bishop Bancroft had done 
 his utmost towards reparation, and the old spire had 
 been replaced by a wooden one ; but there vras much
 
 340 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY, [CHAP. 
 
 of ruin and decay visible all around, where stood the 
 fiiraous octagon building called Paul's Cross, where 
 outdoor sermons were preaclied to listeners of all ranks. 
 This was of wood, and was kept in moderately good 
 repair. Beyond, the nave of the Cathedral stretched 
 its length, the greatest in England. Two sets of doors 
 immediately opposite to one another on the north and 
 south sides had rendered it a thoroughfare in very early 
 times, in spite of the endeavours of the clergy ; and at 
 this time " Duke Humfrey's Walk," from the tomb of 
 Duke Humfrey Stafford, as the twelve grand Norman 
 bays of this unrivalled nave were called, was the prime 
 place for the humours of London ; and it may be feared 
 that this, rather than the architecture, was the chief 
 idea in the minds of the youths, as a babel of strange 
 sounds fell on their ears, " a still roar like a humming 
 of bees," as it was described by a contemporary, or, as 
 Humfrey said, like the sea in a great hollow cave. A 
 cluster of choir-boys were watching at the door to fall 
 on any one entering with spurs on, to levy their spur 
 money, and one gentleman, whom they had thus 
 attacked, was endeavouring to save his purse by call- 
 ing on the youngest boy to sing his gamut. 
 
 Near at hand was a pillar, round which stood a set 
 of men, some rough, some knavish-looking, with the 
 blue coats, badges, short swords, and bucklers carried 
 by serving-men. They were waiting to be hired, as if 
 in a statute fair, and two or three loud-voiced bargains 
 were goii-g on. In the middle aisle, gentlemen in all 
 the glory of plumed hats, jewelled ears, ruffed necks, 
 Spanish cloaks, silken jerkins, velvet hose, and be-rosed 
 shoes, were marching up and down, some attitudinising 
 to show their graces, some discussing the news of the 
 day, for " Paul's Walk " was the Bond Street, the Eow,
 
 XXV.] Paul's walk. 341 
 
 the Tattersall's, the Club of London. Twelve scriveners 
 had their tables to act as letter- writers, and sometimes 
 as legal advisers, and great amusement might be had 
 by those who chose to stand listening to the blunderiug 
 directions of their clients. In the side aisles, horse- 
 dealing, merchants' exchanges, everything imaginable in 
 the way of traffic was going on. Disreputable-looking 
 men, who there were in sanctuary from their creditors, 
 there lurked around Humfrey Stafford's tomb ; and 
 young Pierrepoint's warning to guard their purses 
 was evidently not wasted, for a country fellow, who 
 had just lost his, was loudly demanding justice, and 
 getting jeered at for his simplicity in expecting to 
 recover it. 
 
 " Seest thou this ? " said a voice close to Humfrey, 
 and he found a hand on his arm, and Babiugton, in 
 the handsome equipment of one of the loungers, close 
 to him. 
 
 " A sorry sight, that would grieve my good mother," 
 returned Humfrey. 
 
 " My Mother, the Church, is grieved," responded 
 Antony. " This is what you have brought us to, for 
 your so-called religion" he added, ignorant or oblivious 
 that these desecrations had been quite as shocking 
 before the Eeformation. '' All will soon be changed, 
 however," he added. 
 
 " Sir Thomas Gresham's New Exchange has cleared 
 off some of the traffic, they say," returned Humfrey. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said Antony ; " I meant no such folly. 
 That were cleansing one stone while the whole house 
 is foul with shame. No. There shall be a swift 
 vengeance on these desecrators. The purifier shall 
 come again, and the glory and the beauty of the true 
 Faith shall be here as of old, when our fathers bowed
 
 342 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 before the Holy Eood, instead of tearing it down." 
 His eye glanced with an enthusiasm which Humfrey 
 thought somewhat wild, and he said, "Whist! these 
 are not things to be thus spoken of." 
 
 "All is safe," said Babington, drawing him within 
 shelter of the chantry of Sir John Beauchamp's tomb. 
 " Never heed Diccon — Pierrepoint can guide him," 
 and Humfrey saw their figures, apparently absorbed in 
 listening to the bidding for a horse. " I have things 
 of moment to say to thee, Humfrey Talbot. We have 
 been old comrades, and had that childish emulation 
 which turns to love in manhood in the face of perils." 
 
 Humfrey, recollecting how they had parted, held 
 out his hand in recognition of the friendliness. 
 
 " I would fain save thee," said Babington. " Heretic 
 and rival as thou art, I cannot but love thee, and I 
 would have thee die, if die thou must, in honourable 
 fight by sea or land, rather than be overtaken by the 
 doom that will fall on all who 4ire persecuting our 
 true and lawful confessor and sovereign." 
 
 " Gramercy for thy good will, Tony," said Humfrey, 
 looking anxiously to see whoLlier his old companion 
 was in his right mind, yet remembering what had been 
 said of plots. 
 
 " Thou deem'st me raving," said Antony, smiling 
 at the perplexed countenance before him, " but thou 
 wilt see too late that I speak sooth, when the armies 
 of the Church avenge the Name that has been pro- 
 faned among you !" 
 
 " The Spaniards, I suppose you mean," said Hum- 
 frey coolly. " You must be far goue indeed to hope 
 to see those fiends turned loose on this peaceful laud, 
 but by God's blessing we have kept them aloof before, 
 I trust we may again."
 
 XXV.] Paul's walk. 343 
 
 " You talk of God's blessing. Look at His House," 
 said Babington. 
 
 " He is more like to bless honest men who fight 
 for their Queen, their homes and hearths, than traitors 
 who would bring in slaughterers and butchers to work 
 their will ! " 
 
 " His glory is worked through judgment, and thus 
 must it begin!" returned the young man. "But I 
 would save thee, Humfrey," he added. " Go thou 
 back to Plymouth, and be warned to hold aloof from 
 that prison where the keepers will meet their fit 
 doom ! and the captive will be set free. Thou dost 
 not believe," he added. " See here," and drawing into 
 the most sheltered part of the chantry, he produced 
 from his bosom a picture in the miniature style of the 
 period, containing six heads, among which his own 
 was plaiidy to be recognised, and likewise a face which 
 Humfrey felt as if he should never forget, that which 
 he had seen in Richmond Park, quailing beneath the 
 Queen's eye. Round the picture was the motto — 
 
 " Hi mihi sunt comites quos ipsa pericula jungunt." 
 
 " I tell thee, Humfrey, thou wilt hear — if tliou dost 
 live to hear — of these six as having wrought the 
 greatest deed of our times !" 
 
 " May it only be a deed an honest man need not be 
 ashamed of," said Humfrey, not at all convinced of his 
 friend's sanity. 
 
 "Ashamed of!" exclaimed Babington. "It is blest, 
 I tell thee, blest by holy men, blest l)y the noble and 
 suffering woman who will thus be delivered from her 
 martyrdom." 
 
 " Babington, if thou talkest thus, it will be my duty 
 to have tliee put in ward," said Humfrey.
 
 344 UNKNOWN TO HISIOR^. [CHAP. 
 
 Antony laughed, and there was a triumphant ring 
 very like insanity in his laughter. Humfrey, with a 
 moment's idea that to hint that the conspiracy was 
 known would hlast it at once, if it were real, said, " I 
 see not Cuthbert Langston among your six. Know 
 yon, I saw him only yestereven going into Secretary 
 Walsingham's privy chamber." 
 
 ■ " Was he so ? " answered Babington. " Ha ! ha ! 
 he holds them all in play till the great stroke be 
 struck ! Why ! am not I myself in Walsingham's 
 confidence ? He thinketh that he is about to send me 
 to France to watch the League. Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Here Humfrey's otlier companions turned back in 
 search of him ; Babington vanished in the crowd, he 
 hardly knew how, and he was left in perplexity and 
 extreme difficulty as to what was his duty as friend or 
 as subject. If Babington were sane, there must be 
 a conspiracy for killing the Queen, bringing in the 
 Spaniards and liberating Mary, and he had expressly 
 spoken of having had the latter lady's sanction, while 
 the sight of the fellow in Eichmond Park gave a colour 
 of probability to the guess. Yet the imprudence and 
 absurdity of having portraits taken of six assassins 
 before the blow was struck seemed to contradict all 
 the rest. On the other hand. Cavendish had spoken of 
 having all the meshes of the web in the hands of the 
 Council ; and Langston or Maude seemed to be trusted 
 by both parties. 
 
 Humfrey decided to feel his way with Will Caven- 
 dish, and that evening spoke of having met Babington 
 and having serious doubts whether he were in his 
 right mind. Cavendish laughed, " Poor wretch ! I could 
 pity him," he said, "though his plans be wicked enough 
 to merit no compassion. Nay, never fear, Humfrey.
 
 XXV.] PAUL'S WALK. 345 
 
 All were overthrown, did I speak openly. Nay, to utter 
 one word would ruin me for ever. 'Tis quite suffi- 
 cient to say that he and his fellows are only at large 
 till Mr. Secretary sees fit, that so his grip may be the 
 more sure." 
 
 Humfrey saw he was to be treated with no confi- 
 dence, and this made him the more free to act. There 
 were many recusant gentlemen in the neighbourhood of 
 Chartley, and an assault and fight there were not im- 
 probable, if, as Cavendish hinted, there was a purpose 
 of letting the traitors implicate themselves in the 
 largest numbers and as fatally as possible. On the 
 other hand, Babingtou's hot head might only fancy he 
 had authority from the Queen for his projects. If, 
 through Cicely, he coidd convey the information to 
 Mary, it might save her from even appearing to be 
 cognisant of these wild schemes, whatever they might 
 be, and to hint that they were known was the surest 
 way to prevent their taking effect. Any way, Hum- 
 frey's heart was at Chartley, and every warning he had 
 received made him doubly anxious to be there in per- 
 son, to be Cicely's guardian in case of whatever danger 
 might threaten her. He blessed the fiction which still 
 represented him as her brother, and which must open a 
 way for him to see her, but he resolved not to take 
 Diccon thither, and parted with him when the roads 
 diverged towards Lichfield, sending to his father a 
 letter which Diccon was to deliver only into his own 
 hand, witli full details of all he had seen and heard, 
 and his motives for repairing to Chartley. 
 
 "Shall I see my little Cis ?" thought he. "And 
 even if she play the princess to me, how will she meet 
 me ? She scorned me even when she was at home. 
 How will it be now when she h?.s been for well-
 
 346 UNKNO\VN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 nigh a year in this Queen's training ? Ah ! she will 
 be taught to despise me ! Heigh ho ! At least she 
 may be in need of a true heart and strong arm to 
 guard her, and they shall not fail her." 
 
 Will Cavendish, in the plenitude of the official im- 
 portance with which he liked to dazzle his old play- 
 fellow, had offered him a pass to facilitate his entrance, 
 and he found reason to be glad that he had accepted 
 it, for there was a guard at the gate of Chartley Park, 
 and he was detained there while his letter was sent up 
 for inspection to Sir Amias Paulett, who had for the 
 last few months acted as warder to the Queen. 
 
 However, a friendly message came back, inviting 
 him to ride up. The house — though called a castle — 
 had been rebuilt in hospitable domestic style, and 
 looked much less like a prison than Slieffield Lodge, 
 but at every enclosure stood yeomen who challenged the 
 passers-by, as though this were a time of alarm. How- 
 ever, at tlie hall-door itself stood Sir Amias^ Paulett, 
 a thin, narrow-browed, anxious-looking man, with the 
 stiffest of ruff's, over which hung a scanty yellow beard. 
 
 " Welcome, sir," he said, with a nervous anxious 
 distressed manner. " Welcome, most welcome. You 
 will pardon any discourtesy, sir, but these are evil 
 times. The son, I think, of good Master Eichard 
 Talbot of Bridgefield ? Ay, I would not for worlds 
 have shown any lack of hospitality to one of his family. 
 It is no want of respect, sir. No ; nor of my Lord's 
 house ; but these are ill days, and with my charge, sir 
 — if Heaven itself keep not the house — who knows 
 what may cliance or what may be laid on me ?" 
 
 " I understand," said Humfrey, smiling. " I was 
 bred close to Sheffield, and hardly knew what 'twas to 
 live beyond watch and ward."
 
 XXV.] PAUL'S WALK. 347 
 
 "Yea!" said Paulett, shaking his head. "You 
 come of a loyal house, sir ; but even the good Eaii 
 was less exercised than I am in the charge of this 
 same lady. But I am glad, glad to see you, sir. And 
 you would see your sister, sir ? A modest young lady, 
 and not indevout, though I have sometimes seen her 
 sleep at sermon. It is well that the poor maiden 
 should see some one well affected, for she sitteth in the 
 very gate of Babylon ; and with respect, sir, I marvel 
 that a woman, so godly as Mistress Talbot of Bridge- 
 field is reported to be, should suffer it. However, I do 
 my poor best, under Heaven, to hinder the faithful of 
 the household from being tainted. I have removed 
 Preaux, who is well known to be a Popish priest in 
 disguise, and thus he can spread no more of his errors. 
 Moreover, my chaplain, Master Blunden, with other 
 godly men, preaches three times a week against Eomish 
 errors, and all are enforced to attend. May their ears 
 be opened to the truth ! I am about to attend this 
 lady on a ride in the Park, sir. It might — if she be 
 willing — be arranged that your sister. Mistress Talbot, 
 should spend the time in your company, and methinks 
 the lady will thereto agree, for she is ever ready to 
 show a certain carnal and Avorldly complaisance to the 
 wishes of her attendants, and I have observed that she 
 greatly affects the damsel, more, I fear, than may be for 
 the eternal welfare of the maiden's souL'*
 
 S48 UNKNOWN TO HISIOEY. lCMAJP. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 IN THE WEB. 
 
 It was a beautiful briglit summer day, and (Jueen 
 JMary and some of lier train were preparing for tlieii 
 ride. The Queen was in liigh spirits, and that wonder- 
 ful and c]ian<:feful countenance of hers was beamincj 
 with anticipation and hope, while her demeanour was 
 altogether delightful to every one who approached her. 
 She was adding some last instructions to Nau, who was 
 writing a letter for her to the French ambassador, and 
 Cicely stood by her, holding her little dog in a leash, 
 and looking somewhat anxious and wistful. There was 
 more going on round the girl than she was allowed to 
 understand, and it made her anxious and uneasy. She 
 knew that the correspondence through the brewer was 
 actively carried on, but she was not informed of what 
 passed. Only she was aware that some crisis must be 
 expected, for her mother was ceaselessly restless and 
 full of expectation. She had put all her jewels and 
 valuables into as small a compass as possible, and 
 talked more than ever of her plans for giving hei 
 daughter either to the Archduke Matthias, or to some 
 great noble, as if the English crown were already within 
 her grasp. Anxious, curious, and feeling injured by 
 the want of confidence, yet not daring to complain
 
 XXVI.] IN THE WEB. 349 
 
 Cicely felt almost fretful at her mother's buoyancy, 
 but she had been taught a good many lessons in the 
 past year, and one of them was that she might indeed 
 be caressed, but that she must show neither humour 
 nor will of her own, and the least presumption in in- 
 quiry or criticism was promptly quashed. 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and the usher 
 announced that Sir Amias Paulett prayed to speak 
 with her Grace. Her eye glanced round with the 
 rapid emotion of one doubtful whether it were for weal 
 or woe, yet with undaunted spirit to meet either, and 
 as she -granted her permission, Cis heard her whisper to 
 Nau, " A rider came up even now ! 'Tis the tidings ! 
 Are the Catholics of Derby in the saddle ? Are the 
 ships on the coast ? " 
 
 In came the tall old man with a stiff reverence : 
 " Madam, your Grace's horses attend you, and I have 
 tidings " — (Mary started forward) — " tidings for this 
 young lady. Mistress Cicely Talbot. Her brother is 
 arrived from the Spanish Main, and requests permission 
 to see and speak with her." 
 
 Eadiance flashed out on Cicely's countenance as 
 excitement faded on that of her mother : " Humfrey ! 
 madam, let me go to him ! " she entreated, with a 
 spring of joy and clasped hands. 
 
 Mary was far too kind-hearted to refuse, besides 
 to have done so would have- excited suspicion at a 
 perilous moment, and the arrangement Sir Amias pro- 
 posed was quickly made. Mary Scaton was to attend 
 the Queen in Cicely's stead, and she was allowed to 
 hurry downstairs, and oidy one warning was possible : 
 " Go then, poor child, take thine holiday, only bear in 
 mind what and who thou art." 
 
 Yet the words had scarce died on her ears before
 
 350 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 she was oblivions of all save that it was a familiar 
 home figure wlio stood at the bottom of the stairs, one 
 of the fac3s she trusted most in all the world which 
 beamed out upon her, the hands which she know 
 would guard her through everything were stretched 
 out to her, the lips with veritable love in them kissed 
 the cheeks she did not withhold. Sir Amias stood by 
 and gave the kindest smile she had seen from him. 
 quite changing his pinched features, and he proposea 
 to the two young people to go and walk in the garden 
 together, letting them out into the square walled 
 garden, very formal, but very bright and gay, and 
 with a pleached alley to shelter them from the sun. 
 
 "Good old gentleman!" exclaimed Humfrey, hold- 
 ing the maiden's hand in his. " It is a shame to win 
 such pleasure by feigning." 
 
 " As for that," sighed Cis, " I never know what 
 is sooth here, and what am I save a living lie myself? 
 Humfrey ! I am so weary of it all." 
 
 " Ah ! would that I could bear thee home with 
 me," he said, little prepared f>jr this reception. 
 
 " Would that thou couldst ! , that I were indeed 
 thy sister, or that the writing in my swaddling bands 
 had been washed out ! — Nay," catching back her words, 
 " I meant not that ! I would not but belong to the 
 dear Lady here. She says I comfort her more than 
 any of them, aud oh ! she is — she is, there is no tell- 
 ing how sweet and how noble. It was only that the 
 sight of thee awoke the yearning to be at home with 
 mother and with father. Forget my folly, Humfrey." 
 
 " I cannot soon forget that Bridgefield seems to 
 thee thy true home," he said, putting etrong restiaint on 
 himself to say and do no more, while his heart throbbed 
 with a violence unawakened by storm or Spaniard.
 
 XXVJ,1 IN THE WEB. 351 
 
 "Tell me of tliem all," she said. "I lia\'o heard 
 naught of them since we left Tutbiiry, where at least 
 we were in my Lord's house, and the dear old silver 
 dog was on every sleeve. Ah ! there he is, the trusty 
 rogue." 
 
 And snatching up Humfrey's hat, which was 
 fastened with a brooch of his crest in the fashion of 
 the day, she kissed the familiar token. Then, how- 
 ever, she blushed and drew herself up, remembering 
 the caution not to forget who she was, and with an 
 assumption of more formal dignity, she said, " And how 
 fares it with the good Mrs. Talbot ?" 
 
 " Well, when I last heard," said Humfrey, " but I 
 have not been at home. I only know wliat Will 
 Cavendish and my Lord Talbot told me. I sent 
 Diccon on to Bridgefield, and came out of the way to 
 see you, lady," he concluded, with tlie same regard to 
 actual circumstances that she had shown. 
 
 " Oh, that was good !" she whispered, and they both 
 seemed to feel a certain safety in avoiding personal 
 subjects. Humfrey had the history of his voyage to 
 narrate — to tell of little Diccon's gallant doings, and 
 to exalt Sir Francis Drake's skill and bravery, and at 
 last to let it ooze out, under Cis's eager questioning, 
 that when his captain had died of fever on the His- 
 paniola coast, and they had been overtaken by a 
 tornado, Sir Francis had declared that it was Hum- 
 frey's skill and steadfastness which had saved the ship 
 and crew. 
 
 " And it was that tornado," he said, " which 
 stemmed the fever, and saved little Diccon's life. 
 Oh ! when he lay moaning below, then was the time 
 to long for my mother." 
 
 Time sped on till the great hall clock made Cicely
 
 352 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [cHAP. 
 
 look up and say she feared that the ridtis would soon 
 return, and then Humfrey knew that he must make 
 sure to speak the words of warning he came to utter. 
 He told, in haste, of his message to Queen Elizabeth, 
 and of bis being sent on to Secretary Walsingham, 
 adding, " But I saw not the great man, for he was 
 closeted — with whom think you ? No other than 
 Cuthbert Langston, whom Cavendish called by another 
 ^«,me. It amazed me the more, because I had two 
 days before met him in Westminster with Antony 
 Babington, who presented him to me by his own name." 
 
 " Saw you Antony Babington ?" asked Cis, raising 
 her eyes to his face, but looking uneasy. 
 
 " Twice, at Westminster, and again in Paul's Walk. 
 Had you seen him since you have been here ?" 
 
 " Not here, but at Tutbury. He came once, and I 
 was invited to dine in the hall, because he brought 
 recommendations from the Countess." There was a 
 pause, and then, as if she had begun to take in the 
 import of Humfrey's words, she added, " What said 
 you ? That Mr. Langston was going between him and 
 Mr. Secretary ?" 
 
 "Not exactly that," and Humfrey repeated with 
 more detail what he had seen of Langston, forbearinf; 
 to ask any questions which Cicely might not be able 
 to answer with honour ; but they had been too much 
 together in childhood not to catch one another's mean- 
 ing with half a hint, and she said, " I see why you 
 came here, Humfrey. It was good and true and kind, 
 befitting you. I will tell the Queen, If Langston be 
 in it, there is sure to be treachery. But, indeed, I 
 know nothing or well-nigh nothing." 
 
 "I am glad of it," fervently exclaimed Humfrey. 
 
 " No ; I only know that she has high hopes, and
 
 XXVI.] IN THE WEB. 353 
 
 thinks that the term of her captivity is well-nigh over. 
 But it is Madame de Conrcelles whom she trusts, not 
 me," said Cicely, a little hurt. 
 
 " So is it much better for thee to know as little as 
 possible," said Humfrey, growing intimate in tone 
 again in spite of himself. " She hath not changed 
 thee much, Cis, only thou art more grave and womanly, 
 ay, and thou art taller, yea, and thinner, and paler, as I 
 fear me thou mayest well be." 
 
 " Ah, Humfrey, 'tis a poor joy to be a princess in 
 prison ! And yet I shame me that I long to be away. 
 Oh no, I would not. Mistress Seaton and Mrs. Curll 
 and the rest might be free, yet they have borne this 
 durance patiently all these years — and I think — I 
 think she loves me a little, and oh ! she is hardly used. 
 Humfrey, what think'st thou that Mr. Langston meant ? 
 I wot now for certain that it was he who twice came 
 to beset us, as Tibbott the huckster, and with the beads 
 and bracelets ! They all deem him a true friend to 
 my Queen." 
 
 " So doth Babington," said Humfrey, curtly. 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, with a little terrified sound of 
 conviction, then added, " What thought you of Master 
 Babington ?" 
 
 " That he is half-crazed," said Humfrey. 
 
 " We may say no more," said Cis, seeing a servant 
 advancing from the house to tell her that the riders 
 were returning. " Shall I see you again, Humfrey ?" 
 
 " If Sir Amias should invite me to lie here to-night, 
 and remain to-morrow, since it will be Sunday." 
 
 "At least I sliall see you in the morning, ere you de- 
 part," she said, as with unwilling yet prompt steps she 
 returned to the house, Humfrey feeling that she was 
 indeed his little Cis, yet that some change had come over 
 
 2 A
 
 354 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Ler, not so much altering her, as developing the capa- 
 bilities he had always seen. 
 
 For herself, poor child, her feelings were in a strange 
 turmoil, more than usually conscious of that dual exist- 
 ence which had tormented her ever since she had been 
 made aware of her true birth. Moreover, she had a 
 sense of impending danger and evil, and, by force of con- 
 trast, the frank, open-hearted manner of Humfrey made 
 her the more sensible of being kept in the dark as to 
 serious matters, while outwardly made a pet and play- 
 thing by her mother, "just like Bijou," as she said to 
 herself. 
 
 " So, little one," said Queen Mary, as she returned, 
 " thou hast been revelling once more in tidings of 
 Sheffield ! How long will it take me to polish away 
 the dulness of thy clownish contact ? " 
 
 " Humfrey does not come from home, madam, but 
 from London. Madam, let me tell you in your 
 ear " 
 
 Mary's eye instantly took the terrified alert ex- 
 pression which had come from many a shock and 
 alarm. " What is it, child ? " she asked, however, in 
 a voice of affected merriment. " I wager it is that he 
 has found his true Cis. i^ay, wliisper it to me, if it 
 touch thy silly little heart so deeply." 
 
 Cicely knelt down, the Queen bending over her, while 
 she murmured in her ear, " He saw Cuthbert Langston, 
 by a feigned name, admitted to Mr. Secretary Walsing- 
 ham's priv^y chamber." 
 
 She fdt the viulent start this information caused, 
 but the command of voice and counteaance was perfect. 
 " What of that, mignonne ? " she said. " What knoweth 
 he of this Langston, as thou callest him ?" 
 
 "He is my — no — his father's kinsman, madam,
 
 XXVI.] IN THE WEB. 355 
 
 and is known to be but a plotter. Oh, surely, he is 
 not in your secrets, madam, my mother, after that 
 day at Tutbury ? " 
 
 " Alack, my lassie, Gifford or Babington answered 
 for him," said the Queen, " and he kens more than I 
 could desire. But this Humfrey of thine ! How came 
 he to blunder out such tidings to tliee ?" 
 
 " It was no blunder, madam.' He came here of 
 purpose." 
 
 " Sure," exclaimed Mary, " it were too good to hope 
 that he hath become well affected. He — a sailor of 
 Drake's, a son of Master Eichard ! Hath Babington 
 won him over ; or is it for thy sake, child ? For I 
 bestowed no pains to cast smiles to him at Sheffield, 
 even had he come in my way." 
 
 " I think, madam," said Cicely, " that he is too loyal- 
 hearted to bear the sight of treachery without a word 
 of warning." 
 
 " Is he so ? Then he is the first of his nation who 
 hath been of such a mind ! Nay, mignonnc, deny not 
 thy conquest. This is thy work." 
 
 " I deny not that — that I am beloved by Humfrey," 
 said Cicely, " for I have known it all my life ; but that 
 goes for naught in what he deems it right to do." 
 
 " There spoke so truly Mistress Susan's scholar that 
 thou makest me laugh in spite of myself and all the 
 rest. Hold him fast, my maiden ; think what thou 
 wilt of his service, and leave me now, and send Melville 
 and Curll to me." 
 
 Cicely went away full of that undefined discomfort 
 experienced by generous young spirits when their elders, 
 more worldly-wise (or foolish), fail even to comprehend 
 the purity or loftiness of motive in which they them- 
 selves thoroughly believe. Yet, though she had in-
 
 356 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 finitely more faith in Humfrey's aftection than she had 
 in tliat of Babington, she had not by any means the 
 same dread of being used to bait the hook for him, 
 partly because she knew his integrity too well to expect 
 to shake it, and partly because he was perfectly aware 
 of her real birth, and could not be gulled with such 
 delusive hopes as poor Antony might once have been. 
 
 Humfrey meantime was made very welcome by Sir 
 Amias Paulett, who insisted on his spending the next 
 day, Sunday, at Chartley, and made him understand 
 that he was absolutely welcome, as having a strong 
 arm, stout heart, and clear brain used to command. 
 " Trusty aid do I need," said poor Sir Amias, " if ever 
 man lacked an arm of flesh. The Council is putting 
 more on me than ever man had to bear, in an open 
 place like this, hard to be defended, and they will 
 not increase the guard lest they should give the alarm, 
 forsooth ! " 
 
 "What is it that you apprehend?" inquired 
 Humfrey. 
 
 " There's enough to apprehend when all the hot- 
 headed Papists of Stafford and Derbyshire are waiting 
 the signal to fire the outhouses and carry off this lady 
 under cover of the confusion. Mr. Secretary swears 
 they will not stir till the signal be given, and that it 
 never will ; but such sort of fellows are like enough to 
 mistake the sign, and the stress may come through 
 their dillydallying to make all sure as they say, and 
 then, if there be any mischance, I shall be the one to 
 bear the blame. Ay, if it be their own work !" he 
 added, speaking to himself, " Murder under trust ! 
 That would serve as an answer to foreign princes, and 
 my head would have to pay for it, however welcome it 
 might be ! So, good Mr. Talbot, supposing any alarm
 
 XXVI.] IN THE WEB. 357 
 
 should arise, keep you close to the person of this lady, 
 for there be those who would make the fray a colour 
 for taking her life, under pretext of hindering her. from 
 being carried off." 
 
 It was no wonder that a warder in such circum- 
 ■itances looked harassed and perplexed, and showed 
 himself glad of being joined by any ally whom he could 
 trust. In truth, harsh and narrow as he was, Paulett 
 was too good and religious a man for the task that had 
 been thrust on him, where loyal obedience, sense of 
 expediency, and even religious fanaticism, were all in 
 opposition to the primary principles of truth, mercy, 
 and honour. He was, besides, in constant anxiety, 
 living as he did between plot and counterplot, and with 
 the certainty that emissaries of the Council surrounded 
 him who would have no scruple in taking Mary's life, 
 and leaving him to bear the blame, when Elizabeth 
 would have to explain the deed to the other sovereigns 
 of Europe. He disclosed almost all this to Humfrey, 
 whose frank, trustworthy expression seemed to move 
 him to unusual confidence. 
 
 At supper -time another person appeared, whom 
 Humfrey thought he had once seen at Sheffield — a thin, 
 yellow -haired and bearded man, much marked with 
 smaUpox, in the black dress of a lawyer, who sat above 
 the houseliold servants, though below the salt. Paulett 
 once drank to him with a certain air of patronage, 
 calling him Master Phillipps, a name that came as a 
 revelation to Humfrey. Phillipps was the decipherer 
 who had, he knew, been employed to interpret Queen 
 Mary's letters after tlie Norfolk plot. Were there, 
 then, fresh letters of that unfortunate lady in his hands, 
 or were any to be searched for and captured ?
 
 358 UNKNOWN TO llIfcJTOJiY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE CASTLE WELL. 
 
 " What vantage or wliat thing 
 Gett'st thou thus for to sting, 
 
 Thou false and flatt'ring liar ? 
 Thj' tongue doth hurt, it's seen 
 No less than arrows keen 
 
 Or liot consuming fire." 
 
 So sang the congregation in the chapel at Chaitley, in 
 the strains of Sternhold and Hopkins, wliile Humfrey 
 Talbot could not forbear from a misgiving whether 
 these falsehoods were entirely on the side to which 
 they were thus liberally attributed. Opposite to liim 
 stood Cicely, in her dainty Sunday farthingale of white, 
 embroidered with violet buds, and a green and violet 
 boddice to match, holding herself with that unconscious 
 royal bearing which had always distinguished her, but 
 with an expression of care and anxiety drawing her 
 dark brows nearer together as she bent over her book. 
 
 She knew that her mother had left her bed with the 
 earliest peep of summer dawn, and had met tlie two 
 secretaries in her cabinet. There they were busy for 
 hours, and she had only returned to her bed just as the 
 household began to bestir itself. 
 
 " My child," she said to Cicely, " I am about to put
 
 XXVII.] THE CASTLE WELL. 359 
 
 my life into thy keeping and that of this Talbot lad. 
 If what he saith of this Langston be sooth, I am again 
 betrayed, fool tliat I was to expect aught else. My 
 life is spent in being betrayed. The fellow hath been 
 a go-between in all that hath passed between Babington 
 and me. If he hath uttered it to Walsingham, all is 
 over with our hopes, and the window in whose sun- 
 light I have been basking is closed for ever ! But some- 
 thing may yet be saved. Something ? What do I 
 say ? — The letters I hold here would give colour for 
 taking my life, ay, and Babington's and Curll's, and 
 many more. I trusted to have burnt them, but in this 
 summer time there is no coming by fire or candle 
 without suspicion, and if I tore tliem they might be 
 pieced together, nay, and with addition. They must 
 be carried forth and made away with beyond the ken 
 of Paulett and his spies. Now, this lad hath some 
 bowels of compassion and generous indignation. Thou 
 wilt see him again, alone and unsuspected, ere he departs. 
 Thou must deal with him to bear this packet away, 
 and when he is far out of reach to drop it into the 
 most glowing fire, or the deepest pool he can find. 
 Tell him it may concern thy life and liberty, and he 
 will do it, but be not simple enough to say ought of 
 Babington." 
 
 " He would be as like to do it for Babington as for 
 any other," said Cis. 
 
 The Queen smiled and said, " Nineteen years old, 
 and know thus little of men." 
 
 " I know Humfrey at least," said Cis. 
 
 " Then deal with him after thy best knowledge, 
 to make him convey away this perilous matter ere 
 a search come upon us. Do it we must, maiden, 
 not for thy poor mother's sake alone, but for tliat of
 
 360 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [OHAP. 
 
 many a faithful spirit outside, aud above all of poor 
 Curll. Tliiuk of our Barbara ! Would that I could 
 have sent her out of reach of our alarms and shocks, 
 but Paulett is bent on penning us together like silly 
 birds in the net. Still proofs will be wanting if thou 
 canst get this youth to destroy this packet unseen. 
 Tell him that I know his parents' son too well to offer 
 him any meed save the prayers and blessings of a poor 
 captive, or to fear that he would yield it for the largest 
 reward Elizabeth's coffers could yield." 
 
 " It shall be done, madam," said Cicely. 
 
 But there was a strong purpose in her mind that 
 Humfrey should not be implicated in the matter. 
 
 When after dinner Sir Amias Paulett made his 
 daily visit of inspection to the Queen, she begged that 
 the young Talbots might be permitted another walk in 
 the garden ; and when he replied that he did not 
 approve of worldly pastime on the Sabbath, she 
 pleaded the celebrated example of John Knox finding 
 Calvin playing at bowls on a Sunday afternoon at 
 Geneva, and thus absolutely prevailed on him to let 
 them take a short walk together in brotherly lo^'e, 
 while the rest of the household was collected in the 
 hall to be catechised by the chaplain. 
 
 So out they went together, but to Humfrey's sur- 
 prise, Cicely walked on hardly speaking to him, so that 
 he fancied at first that she must have had a lecture on 
 her demeanour to him. She took him along the broad 
 terrace beside the bowling-green, through some yew- 
 tree walks to a stone wall, and a gate which proved 
 to be locked. She looked much disappointel, but 
 scanning the wall with her eye, said, " We have scaled 
 walls together before now, and higher than this. Hum- 
 frey, I cannot tell you why, but I must go over here."
 
 XXVII.] THE CASTLE WELL. 361 
 
 The wall was overgrown with stout branches of 
 ivy, and though the Sunday farthingale was not very 
 appropriate for climbing, Cicely's active feet and 
 Humfrey's strong arm carried her safely to where she 
 could jump down on the other side, into a sort of 
 wilderness where thorn and apple trees grew among 
 green mounds, heaps of stones and broken walls, the 
 ruins of some old outbuilding of the former castle. 
 There was only a certain trembling eagerness about 
 her, none of the mirthful exultation that the recurrence 
 of such an escapade with her old companion would 
 naturally have excited, and all she said was, " Stand 
 here, Humfrey; an you love me, follow me not. I will 
 return anon." 
 
 With stealthy step she disappeared behind a mound 
 covered by a thicket of brambles, but Humfrey was 
 much too anxious for her safety not to move quietly 
 onwards. He saw her kneeling by one of those black 
 yawning holes, often to be found in ruins, intent upon 
 fastening a small packet to a stone ; he understood all 
 in a moment, and drew back far enough to secure that 
 no one molested her. There was something in this 
 reticence of hers that touched him greatly ; it showed 
 so entirely that she had learnt the lesson of loyalty 
 wliich his father's influence had impressed, and likewise 
 one of self-dependence. What was right for her to do 
 for her mother and Queen might not be right for him, as 
 an Englishman, to aid and abet ; and small as the deed 
 seemed in itself, her thus silently taking it on herself 
 ratlier than perplex him with it, added a certain esteem 
 aiivl respect to the affection he had always had for her. 
 
 She came back to him with bounding steps, as if 
 with a lightened heart, and as he asked her what this 
 strange place was, she explained that here were said ta
 
 362 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 be the ruins of the former castle, and that beyond lay 
 the ground where sometimes the party sliot at the butts. 
 A little dog of Mary Seaton's had been lost the last 
 time of their archery, and it was feared that he had 
 fallen down the old well to which Cis now conducted 
 Humfrey. There was a sound — long, hollow, rever- 
 berating, when Humfrey threw a stone down, and when 
 Cicely asked him, in an awestruck voice, whether he 
 thought anything thrown there would ever be heard of 
 more, he could well say that he believed not. 
 
 She breathed freely, but they were out of bounds, 
 and had to scramble back, which they did undetected,, 
 and with much more mirth than the first time. Cicely 
 was young enough to be glad to throw off her anxieties 
 and forget them. She did not want to talk over the 
 plots she only guessed at; -which were not to her exciting 
 mysteries, but gloomy terrors into which she feared 
 to look. Nor was she free to say much to Humfrey of 
 what she knew. Indeed the rebound, and the satis- 
 faction of having fulfilled her commission, had raised 
 Cicely's spirits, so that she was altogether the bright 
 childish companion Humfrey had known her before he 
 went to sea, or royalty had revealed itself to her ; and 
 Sir Amias Paulett would hardly have thought them 
 solemn and serious enough for an edifying Sunday talk 
 could he have heard them laughing over Humfrey's 
 adventures on board ship, or her troubles in learning to 
 dance in a high and disposed manner. She came in so 
 glowing and happy that the Queen smiled and sighed, 
 and called her her little milkmaid, commending her 
 highly, however, for having disposed of the dangerous 
 parcel unknown (as she believed) to her companion. 
 " The fewer who have to keep counsel, the sickeier it 
 is," she said.
 
 XXVII.] THE CASTLE WELL. 363 
 
 Humfrey meantime joined the rest of the house- 
 hold, and comported himself at the evening sermon 
 with such exemplary discretion as entirely to win the 
 heart of Sir Amias Paulett, who thought him listening 
 tc» Mr. Blunden's oft-divided headings, while he was in 
 fact revolving on what pretext he could remain to pro- 
 tect Cicely. The Knight gave him that pretext, when 
 he spoke of departing early on Monday morning, 
 offering him, or rather praying him to accept, the com- 
 mand of the guards, whose former captain had been 
 dismissed as untrustworthy. Sir Amias undertook 
 that a special messenger should be sent to take a letter 
 to Bridgefield, explaining Humfrey's delay, and asking 
 permission from his parents to undertake the charge, 
 since it was at this very crisis tliat he was especially 
 in need of God-fearing men of full integrity. Then 
 moved to confidence, the old gentleman disclosed that 
 not only was he in fear of an attack on the house 
 from the Eoman Catholic gentry in the neighbourhood, 
 which was to take place as soon as Parma's ships were 
 seen on the coast, but that he dreaded his own servants 
 being tampered with by some whom he would not men- 
 tion to take the life of the prisoner secretly. 
 
 " It hath been mooted to me," he said, lowering his 
 voice to a whisper, " that to take such a deed on me 
 would be good service to the Queen and to religion, 
 but I cast the thought from me. It can be nought but 
 a deadly sin — accursed of God — and were I to con- 
 sent, I should be the first to be accused." 
 
 " It would be no better than the King of Spain 
 himself," exclaimed Humfiey. 
 
 " Even so, young man, and right glad am I to 
 find one who thinks with me. For the other prac- 
 tices, they are none of mine, and is it not written ' In
 
 364 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP, 
 
 the same pit which they laid privily is their foot 
 taken ' 1 " 
 
 " Then there are other practices ?" 
 
 "Ask me no questions, Mr. Talbot. All will be 
 known soon enough. Be content tliat I will lay no- 
 thing on you inconsistent with the honour of a Chris- 
 tian man, knowing that you will serve the Queen 
 faithfully." 
 
 Humfrey gave his word, resolving that he would 
 warn Cicely to reckon henceforth on nothing on his 
 part that did not befit a man in charge.
 
 xxvulJ hunting down the deee. 365 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 HUNTING DOWN THE DEEE. 
 
 HuMTREY had been sworn in of the service of the 
 Queen, and had been put in charge of the guard mus- 
 tered at Cliartley for about ten days, during which he 
 seldom saw Cicely, and wondered much not to have 
 heard from home : when a stag-hunt was arranged to 
 take place at the neighbouring park of Tickhill or Tix- 
 all, belonging to Sir Walter Ash ton. 
 
 The chase always invigorated Queen Mary, and she 
 came down in cheerful spirits, with Cicely and Mary 
 Seaton as her attendants, and with the two secretaries, 
 Nau and Curll, heading the other attendants. 
 
 " Now," she said to Cicely, " shall I see this swain, 
 or this brother of thine, who hath done us such good 
 service, and I promise you there will be more in my 
 greeting than will meet Sir Amias's ear." 
 
 But to Cicely's disappointment Humfrey was not 
 among the horsemen mustered at the door to attend 
 and guard the Queen. 
 
 " My little maid's eye is seeking for her brother," said 
 Mary, as Sir Amias advanced to assist her to her horse. 
 
 " He hath another charge which will keep him at 
 home," replied Paulett, somewhat gruffly, and they 
 rode ou.
 
 366 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 1 1 was a beautiful day in early August, the trees in 
 full foliacje, the fields seen here and there through 
 them assuming their amber harvest tints, the twin 
 spires of Lichfield rising in the distance, the park and 
 forest ground through which the little hunting-party 
 rode rich with purple heather, illuminated here and 
 there with a bright yellow spike or star, and the rapid 
 motion of her brisk palfrey animated the Queen. She 
 began to hope that Humfrey had after all brought a 
 false alarm, and that either he had been mistaken or 
 that Langston was deceiving the Council itself, and 
 though Sir Amias Paulett's close proximity held her 
 silent, those who knew her best saw that her indomit- 
 ably buoyant spirits were rising, and she hummed to 
 herself the refrain of a gay French hunting-song, with 
 the more zest perhaps that her warder held himself 
 trebly upright, stiff and solemn under it, as one who 
 thought such lively tunes equally unbefitting a lady, a 
 queen, and a captive. So at least Cis imagined as 
 she watched them, little guessing that there might be 
 deeper reasons of compassion and something like com- 
 punction to add to the gravity of the old knight's face. 
 
 As they came in siglit of the gate of Tickhill Park, 
 they became aware of a company whose steel caps and 
 shouldered arquebuses did not look like those of hunts- 
 men. Mary bounded in her saddle ; she looked round 
 at her little suite with a glance of exultation in her 
 eye, which said as plainly as words, " My brave friends, 
 the hour has come !" and she quickened her steed, 
 expecting, no doubt, that she might have to outride Sir 
 Amias in order to join them. 
 
 One gentleman came forward from the rest. He 
 held a parchment in his hand, and as soon as he was 
 alongside ol the Queen thus read : —
 
 XXVIII.] HUNTING DOWN THE DEER. 367 
 
 "Mary, late Queen of Scots and Queen Dowager 
 of France, I, Thomas Gorges, attaint thee of high 
 treason and of compassing the life of our most Gracious 
 Majesty Queen Elizabeth, in company with Antony 
 Babington, John Ballard, Chidiock Tichborne, Eobert 
 Barnwell, and others." 
 
 Mary held up her hands, and raised her eyes to 
 Heaven, and a protest was on her lips, but Gorges cut 
 it short with, " It skills not denying it, madam. The 
 proofs are in our hands. I have orders to conduct 
 you to Tickhill, while seals are put on your effects." 
 
 " That there may be proofs of your own making," 
 said the Queen, with" dignity. " I have experience of 
 that mode of judgment. So, Sir Amias Paulett, the 
 chase you lured me to was truly of a poor hunted doe 
 whom you think you have run down at last. A 
 worthy chase indeed, and of long continuance !" 
 
 " I do but obey my orders, madam," said Paulett, 
 gloomily. 
 
 " Oh ay, and so does the sleuth-hound," said Mary. 
 
 " Your Grace must be pleased to ride on with me," 
 said Mr. Gorges, laying his hand on her bridle. 
 
 " What are you doing with those gentlemen ? " cried 
 Mary, sharply reining in her horse, as she saw Nan and 
 Curll surrounded by the armed men. 
 
 " They will be dealt with after her Majesty's plea- 
 sure," returned Paulett. 
 
 Mary dropped her rein and threw up her hands with 
 a gesture of despair, but as Gorges was leading her 
 away, she turned on her saddle, and raised her voice 
 to call out, " Farewell, my true and faithful servants ! 
 Betide what may, your mistress will remember you 
 in her prayers. Curll, we will take care of your wife." 
 
 And she waved her hand to them as they were
 
 368 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 made, with a strong guard, to ride off in the direction 
 of Lichfield. All the way to Tickhill, whither she 
 was conducted with Gorges and Paulett on either side 
 of her horse, Cis could hear her pleading for consider- 
 ation for poor Barbara Curll, for whose sake she forgot 
 her own dignity and became a suppliant. 
 
 Sir Walter Ashton, a dull heavy-looking country 
 gentleman of burly form and ruddy countenance, stood 
 at his door, and somewhat clownishly offered his ser- 
 vices to hand her from her horse. 
 
 She submitted passively tiU she had reached the 
 upper chamber which had been prepared for her, and 
 there, turning on the three gentlemen, demanded the 
 meaning of this treatment. 
 
 " You will soon know, madam," said Paulett. " I 
 am sorry that thus it should be." 
 
 "Thus !" repeated Mary, scornfully. "AVhat means 
 this?" 
 
 " It means, madam," said Gorges, a ruder man of 
 less feeling even than Paulett, " that your practices 
 with recusants and seminary priests have been detected. 
 The traitors are in the Counter, and will shortly be 
 brought to judgment for the evil purposes which have 
 been frustrated by the mercy of Heaven." 
 
 " It is well if treason against my good sister's person 
 have been detected and frustrated," said Mary ; " but 
 how doth that concern me ? " 
 
 " That, madam, the papers at Cbartley wiU show," 
 returned Gorges. " Meantime you will remain here, 
 till her Majesty's pleasure be known." 
 
 " Where, then, are my women and my servants ? " 
 inquired the Queen. 
 
 " Your Grace will be attended by the servants of 
 Sir Walter Ashton."
 
 XXVIII.] HUNTING DOWN THE DEER. 369 
 
 •'Gentlemen, this is not seemly," said Mary, the 
 colour coming hotly into her face. " I know it is not 
 the will of my cousin, the Queen of England, that I 
 should remain here without any woman to attend me, 
 nor any change of garments. You are exceeding j our 
 commission, and she shall hear of it." 
 
 Sir Amias Paulett here laid his hand on Gorges' 
 arm, and after exchanging a few words with him, said — ■ 
 
 " Madam, this young lady. Mistress Talbot, being 
 simple, and of a loyal house, may remain with you for 
 the present. For the rest, seals are put on all your 
 effectB at Chartley, and nothing can be removed from 
 thence, but what is needful will be supplied by my 
 Lady Ashton. I bid your Grace farewell, craving your 
 pardon for what may have been hasty in this." 
 
 Mary stood in the centre of the floor, full of her 
 own peculiar injured dignity, not answering, but making 
 a low ironical reverence. Mary Seaton fell on her 
 knees, clung to the Queen's dress, and declared that 
 while she lived, she would not leave her mistress. 
 
 " Endure this also, ma mie," said the Queen, in 
 French. " Give them no excuse for using violence. 
 
 They would not scruple " and as a demonstration to 
 
 hinder French-speaking was made by the gentlemen, 
 " Fear not for me, I shall not be alone." 
 
 " I understand your Grace and obey," said Mary 
 Seaton, rising, with a certain bitterness in her tone, 
 Avhich made Mary say — " Ah ! why must jealousy mar 
 the fondest affection ? Eemember, it is their choice, not 
 mine, my Seaton, friend of my youth. Bear my loving 
 gi'eetings to all. And take care of poor Barbara !" 
 
 " Madam, there must be no private messages," said 
 Paulett. 
 
 " I send no messages save what you yourself may 
 2 B
 
 370 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 hear, sir/' replied the Queen. " My greetings to my 
 faithful servants, and my entreaty that all care and 
 tenderness may be shown to Mrs. Curll." 
 
 " I will bear them, madam," said the knight, " and 
 so I commend you to God's keeping, praying that He 
 may send you repentance. Believe me, madam, I am 
 sorry that this has been put upon me." 
 
 To this Mary only replied by a gesture of dismissal. 
 The three gentlemen drew back, a key grated in the 
 lock, and the mother and daughter were left alone. 
 
 To Cicely it was a terrible hopeless sound, and even 
 to her mother it was a lower depth of wretche(iness. 
 She had been practically a captive for nearly twenty 
 years. She had been insulted, watched, guarded, coerced, 
 but never in this manner locked up before. 
 
 She clasped her hands together, dropped on her 
 knees at the table that stood by her, and hid her face. 
 So she continued till she was roused by the sound of 
 Cicely's sobs. Frightened and oppressed, and new to 
 all terror and sorrow, the girl had followed her example 
 in kneeling, but the very attempt to pray brought on 
 a fit of weeping, and the endeavour to restrain what 
 might disturb the Queen only rendered the sobs more 
 choking and strangling, till at last Mary heard, and 
 coming towards her, sat down on the floor, gathered 
 her into her arms, and kissing her forehead, said, 
 " Poor bairnie, and did she weep for her mother ? Have 
 the sorrows of her house come on her ?" 
 
 " mother, I could not help it ! I meant to have 
 comforted you," said Cicely, between her sobs. 
 
 " And so thou dost, my child. Unwittingly they 
 have left me that which was most precious to me." 
 
 There was consolation in the fondness of the loving 
 embrace, at least to such sorrows as those of the
 
 XXVIII.] HUNTING DOWN THE DEER. 371 
 
 maiden ; and Queen Mary liad an inalienable power of 
 charming the will and affections of those in contact 
 with her, so that insensibly there came into Cicely's 
 heart a sense that, so far from weeping, she should 
 rejoice at being the one creature left to console her 
 mother, 
 
 " And," she said by and by, looking ap with a 
 smile, " they must go to the bottom of the old well to 
 find anything." 
 
 " Hush, lassie. Never speak above thy breath in a 
 prison till thou know'st whether walls have ears. And, 
 apropos, let us examine what sort of a prison they have 
 given us this time." 
 
 So saying Mary rose, and leaning on her daughter's 
 arm, proceeded to explore her new abode. Like her 
 apartment at the Lodge, it was at the top of the 
 house, a fashion not uncommon when it was desirable 
 to make the lower regions defensible ; but, whereas she 
 had always hitherto been placed in the castles of the 
 highest nobility, she was now in that of a country 
 knight of no great wealth or refinement, and, moreover, 
 taken by surprise. 
 
 So the plenishing was of the simplest. The walls 
 were covered with tapestry so faded that the pattern 
 could hardly be detected. The hearth yawned dark 
 and dull, and by it stood one chair with a moth-eaten 
 cushion. A heavy oaken table and two forms were in 
 the middle of the room, and there was the dreary, fusty 
 smell of want of habitation. The Queen, whose instincts 
 for fresh air were always a distress to her ladies, sprang 
 to the mullioned window, but the heavy lattice defied 
 all her efforts. 
 
 " Let us see the rest of our dominions," she said, 
 turning to a door, which led to a still more gloomy
 
 372 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 bedroom, where the only articles of fun.itnre were a 
 great carved bed, with curtains of some undefined dark 
 colour, and an oaken chest. The window was a 
 mere slit, and even more impracticable than that of 
 the outer room. However, tliis did not seem to hor- 
 rify Mary so much as it did her daughter. " They 
 cannot mean to keep us here long," she said ; " perhaps 
 only for the day, while they make their search — their 
 unsuccessful search — thanks to — we know whom, little 
 one." 
 
 " I hope so ! How could we sleep there ? " said 
 Cicely, looking with a shudder at tlie bed. 
 
 " Tush ! I have seen worse in Scotland, mignonne, 
 ay and when I was welcomed as liege lady, not as 
 a cap)tive. I have slept in a box like a coffin with one 
 side open, and I have likewise slept on a plaidie on 
 the braw purple blossoms of freshly pulled heather ! 
 Nay, the very thought makes this cliamber doubly 
 mouldy and stifling ! Let the old knight beware. If 
 he open not his window I shall break it ! Soft. Here 
 he comes." 
 
 Sir Walter Ashton appeared, louting low, looking 
 half- dogged, half- sheepish, and escorting two heavy- 
 footed, blue-coated serving-men, who proceeded to lay 
 the cloth, which at least had the merit of being per- 
 fectly clean and white. Two more brought in covered 
 silver dishes, one of which contained a Yorkshire 
 pudding, the other a piece of roast-beef, apparently 
 calculated to satisfy five hungry men. A flagon of 
 sack, a tankard of ale, a dish of apples, and a large loaf 
 of bread, completed the meal ; at which the Queen 
 and Cicely, accustomed daily to a first table of six- 
 teen dishes and a second of nine, compounded by her 
 Grace's own French cooks and pantlers, looked with a
 
 XXVIII.] HUNTING DOWN THE DEER. 373 
 
 certain amused dismay, as Sir Walter, standing by the 
 table, produced a dagger from a sheath at his belt, and 
 took up with it first a mouthful of the pudding, then 
 cut off a corner of the beef, finished off some of the 
 bread, and having swallowed these, as well as a 
 draught of each of the liquors, said, " Good and sound 
 meats, not tampered with, as I hereby testify. You 
 take us suddenly, madam ; but I thank Heaven, none 
 ever found us unprovided. Will it please you to fall 
 to ? Your woman can eat after you," 
 
 Mary's courtesy was unfailing, and though she felt 
 all a Frenchwoman's disgust at the roast-beef of old 
 England, she said, " We are too close companions not 
 to eat together, and I fear she will be the best trencher 
 comrade, for, sir, I am a woman sick and sorrowful, and 
 have little stomach for meat." 
 
 As Sir Walter carved a huge red piece from the ribs, 
 she could not help shrinking back from it, so that he 
 said with some affront, " You need not be queasy, 
 madam, it was cut from a home-fed bullock, only killed 
 three days since, and as prime a beast as any in 
 Stafford." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, sir. It is not the fault of the beef, but 
 of my feebleness. Mistress Talbot will do it reason. 
 But I, methinks I could eat better were the windows 
 opened." 
 
 But Sir Walter replied that these windows were 
 not of the new-fangled sort, made to open, that honest 
 men might get rheums, and foolish maids prate there- 
 from. So there was no hope in that direction. He 
 really seemed to be less ungracious than utterly clownish, 
 dull, and untaught, and extremely shy and embarrassed 
 with his prisoner. 
 
 Cicely poured out some wine, and persuaded her to
 
 374 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 dip some bread in, which, with an apple, was all she could 
 taste. However, the fare, though less nicely served 
 than by good Mrs. Susan, was not so alien to Cicely, 
 and she was of an age and constitution to be made 
 hungry by anxiety and trouble, so that — encouraged by 
 the Queen whenever she would have desisted — she 
 ended by demolishing a reasonable amount. 
 
 Sir Walter stood all the time, looking on moodily 
 and stolidly, with his cap in his hand. The Queen 
 tried to talk to him, and make inquiries of him, but 
 he had probably steeled himself to her blandishments, 
 for nothing but gruff monosyllables could be extracted 
 from him, except when he finally asked what she would 
 be pleased to have for supper. 
 
 " Mine own cook and pantler have hitherto pro- 
 vided for me. They would save your household the 
 charge, sir," said Mary, " and I would be at charges 
 for them." 
 
 "Madam, I can bear the charge in the Queen's 
 service. Your black guard are under ward. And if 
 not, no French jackanapes shall ever brew his messes 
 in my kitchen ! Command honest English fare, 
 madam, and if it be within my compass, you shall 
 have it. No one shall be stinted in Walter Ash ton's 
 house ; but I'll not away with any of your • outlandish 
 kickshaws. Come, what say you to eggs and bacon, 
 madam ? " 
 
 "As you will, sir," replied IVfary, listlessly. And Sir 
 Walter, opening the door, shouted to his serving-man, 
 who speedily removed the meal, he going last and 
 making his clumsy reverence at the door, which he 
 locked behind him. 
 
 " So," said Mary, " I descend ! I have had the 
 statesman, the earl, the courtly knight, the pedantic
 
 XXVIII.] HUNTING DOWN THE DEER. '375 
 
 Huguenot, for my warders. Now am I come to tlie 
 clown. Soon will it be the duncfeon and the 
 headsman." 
 
 " dear madam mother, speak not thus," cried. 
 Cicely. " Eemember they can find nothing against 
 you." 
 
 " They can make what they cannot find, my poor 
 child. If they thirst for my blood, it will cost them 
 little to forge a plea. Ah, lassie ! there have been 
 tunes when nothing but my cousin Elizabeth's con- 
 science, or her pity, stood between me and doom. If 
 she be brought to think that I have compassed her 
 death, why then there is naught for it but to lay my 
 head on the same pillow as Norfolk and More and 
 holy Fisher, and many another beside. Well, be it so ! 
 I shall die a martyr for the Holy Church, and thus 
 may I atone by God's mercy for my many sins ! Yea, I 
 offer myself a sacrifice," she said, folding her hands and 
 looking upward with a light on her face. " do Thou 
 accept it, and let my sufferings purge away my many 
 misdeeds, and render it a pure and acceptable offering 
 unto Thee, Child, child," she added, turning to Cicely, 
 " would that thou wert of my faith, then couldst thou 
 pray for me." 
 
 " mother, mother, I can do that. I do pray foi 
 thee." 
 
 And hand in hand, with tears often rising, they 
 knelt while Mary repeated in broken voice the 
 Miserere.
 
 376 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE SEARCH. 
 
 HUMFREY had been much disappointed, when, instead of 
 joining the hunt, Sir Amias Paulett bade him undertake 
 the instruction of half a dozen extremely awkward 
 peasants, who had been called in to increase the guard, 
 but who did not know how to shoulder, load, or fire 
 an arquebus, had no command of their own limbs, and, 
 if put to stand sentry, would quite innocently loll in 
 the nearest corner, and go to sleep. However, he 
 reflected that if he were resident in the same house as 
 Cicely he could not expect opportunities to be daily 
 made for their meeting, and he addressed himself with 
 all his might to the endeavour to teach his awkward 
 squad to stand upright for five minutes together. 
 Sturdy fellows as they were, he had not been able to 
 hinder them from lopping over in all directions, when 
 horses were heard approaching. Every man of them, 
 regardless of discipline, lumbered off to stare, and 
 Humfrey, after shouting at them in vain, and wishing 
 he had them all on board ship, gave up the endeavour 
 to recall them, and followed their example, repairing to 
 the hall-door, wlien he found Sir Amias Paulett dis- 
 mounting, together with a clerkly-looking personage, 
 attended by Will Cavendish. Mary Seaton was being
 
 XXIX.] THE SEARCH. 377 
 
 assisted from her horse, evidently in great grief; and 
 others of the personal attendants of Mary w^ere there, 
 but neither herself, Cicely, nor the Secretaries. 
 
 Before he had time to ask questions, his old com- 
 panion came up to him. " You here still, Humfrey ! 
 Well ! You have come in for the outburst of the 
 train you scented out when you were with us in 
 London, though I could not then speak explicitly." 
 
 " What mean you ? Where is Cicely ? Where is 
 the Queen of Scots ? " asked Humfrey anxiously. 
 
 Sir Amias Paulett heard him, and replied, " Your 
 sister is safe. Master Talbot, and with the Queen of 
 Scots at Tixall Castle. We permitted her attend- 
 ance, as being young, simple, and loyal ; she is less like 
 to serve for plots than her elders in that lady's service." 
 
 Sir Amias strode on, conducting with . him his 
 guest, whom Cavendish explained to be Mr. Wade, 
 sworn by her Majesty's Council to take possession of 
 Queen Mary's effects, and there make search for 
 evidence of the conspiracy. Cavendish followed, and 
 Humfrey took leave to do the same. 
 
 The doors of the Queen's apartment were opened 
 at the summons of Sir Amias Paulett, and Sir Andrew 
 Melville, Mistress Kennedy, Marie de Courcelles, and 
 the rest, stood anxiously demanding what was become 
 of their Queen. They were briefly and harshly told 
 that her foul and abominable plots and conspiracies 
 against the life of the Queen, and the peace of the 
 Kingdom, had been brought to light, and that she was 
 under secure ward. 
 
 Jean Kennedy demanded to be taken to her at 
 once, but Paulett replied, " That must not be, madam. 
 We have strict commands to keep her secluded from 
 aU."
 
 378 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 Marie de Courcelles screamed akiid and wrung her 
 hands, crying, " If ye have slain her, only tell us 
 quickly ! " Sir Andrew Melville gTavely protested 
 against such a barbarous insult to a Queen of Scot- 
 land and France, and was answered, " No queen, sir, 
 but a State criminal, as we shall presently show." 
 
 Here Barbara Curll pressed forward, asking wildly 
 for her husband ; and AYade replying, with brutal 
 brevity, that he was taken to London to be examined 
 for his practices before the Council, the poor lady, well 
 knowing that examination often meant torture, fell 
 back in a swoon. 
 
 " We shall do nothing with all these women crying 
 and standing about," said Wade impatiently; "have 
 them all away, while we put seals on the effects." 
 
 " Kay, sirs," said Jean Kennedy. " Suffer me 
 first to send her Grace some changes of garments." 
 
 " I tell thee, woman," said Wade, " our orders are 
 precise ! Not so much as a kerchief is to be taken 
 from these chambers till search hath been made. We 
 know what practices may lurk in the smallest rag." 
 
 " It is barbarous ! It is atrocious ! The King of 
 France shall hear of it," shrieked Marie de Courcelles. 
 
 " The King of France has enough to do to take 
 care of himself, my good lady," returned Wade, Avith 
 a sneer. 
 
 " Sir," said Jean Kennedy, with more dignity, turn- 
 ing to Sir Amias Paulett, " I cannot believe that it can 
 be by the orders of the Queen of England, herself a 
 woman, that my mistress, her cousin, should be de- 
 prived of all attendance, and even of a change of linen. 
 Such unseemly commands can never have been issued 
 from herself." 
 
 " She is not without attendance," rephed the knight,
 
 XXIX.] THE SEARCH. 379 
 
 " tlie little Talbot wench is with her, and for the rest, 
 Sir Walter and Lady Ashton have orders to supply her 
 needs during her stay among them. She is treated 
 with all honour, and is lodged in the best chambers," 
 he added, consolingly. 
 
 "We must dally no longer," called out Wade. 
 " Have away all this throng into ward, Sir Amias. 
 We can do nothing with them here." 
 
 There was no help for it. Sir Andrew Melville did 
 indeed pause to enter his protest, but that, of course, 
 went for nothing with the Commissioners, and Himifrey 
 was ordered to conduct them to the upper gallery, there 
 to await further orders. It was a long passage, in the 
 highly pointed roof, with small chambers on either 
 side which could be used when there was a press of 
 guests. There was a steep stair, as the only access, 
 and it could be easily guarded, so Sir Amias directed 
 Humfrey to post a couple of men at the foot, and to 
 visit and relieve them from time to time. 
 
 It was a sad procession that climbed up those 
 narrow stairs, of those faithful followers who were 
 sejDarated from their Queen for the first time. The 
 servants of lower rank were merely watched in their 
 kitchen, and not allowed to go beyond its courtyard, 
 but were permitted to cook for and wait on the 
 others, and bring them such needful furniture as was 
 required. 
 
 Humfrey was very sorry for them, having had some 
 acquaintance with them all his life, and he was dis- 
 mayed to find himself, instead of watching over Cicely, 
 separated from her and made a jailer against his will. 
 And when he returned to the Queen's apartments, he 
 found Cavendish holding a taper, while Paulett and 
 Wade were vigorously aflixiug cords, fastened at each
 
 380 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 end by huge red seals bearing the royal arms, to every 
 receptacle, and rudely plucking back the curtains that 
 veiled the ivory crucifix. Sir Amias's zeal would have 
 "plucked down the idol," as he said, but Wade re- 
 strained him by reminding him that all injmy or 
 damage was forbidden. 
 
 Not till all was sealed, and a guard had been 
 stationed at the doors, would the Commissioners taste 
 any dinner, and then their conversation was brief and 
 guarded, so that Humfrey could discover little. He 
 did, indeed, catch the name of Babington in connection 
 with the " Counter prison," and a glance of inquiry to 
 Cavendish, with a nod in return, showed him that his 
 suspicions were correct, but he learnt little or nothing 
 more till the two, together with Phillipps, drew to- 
 gether in the deep window, with wine, apples, and 
 pears on the ledge before them, for a private discussion. 
 Humfrey went away to see that the sentries at the 
 staircase were relieved, and to secure that a sufficient 
 meal for the unfortunate captives in the upper stories 
 had been allowed to pass. Will Cavendish went with 
 him. He had known these ladies and gentlemen far 
 more intimately than Humfrey had done, and allow (id 
 that it was harsh measure that they suffered for their 
 fidelity to their native sovereign, 
 
 " No harm will come to them in the end," he said, 
 " but what can we do ? That very faithfulness would 
 lead them to traverse our purposes did we not shut 
 them up closely out of reach of meddling, and there is 
 no other place where it can be done." 
 
 "And what are these same purposes?" asked 
 Humfrey, as, having fulfilled his commission, the two 
 young men strolled out into the garden and threw 
 themselves on the gTass, close to a large mulberry-tree,
 
 XXIX.] THE SEARCH. 381 
 
 whose luscious fruit dropped round, and hung m it-bin 
 easy reach. 
 
 " To trace out all the coils of as villainous and 
 bloodthirsty a plot as ever was hatched in a traitor's 
 brain," said Will ; " but they little knew that we over- 
 looked their designs the whole time. Thou wast 
 mystified in London, honest Humfrey, I saw it plainly; 
 but I might not then speak out," he added, with all his 
 official self-importance. 
 
 " And poor Tony hath brought himself within 
 compass of the law ?" 
 
 " Verily you may say so. But Tony Babington 
 always was a fool, and a wrong-headed fool, who was 
 sure to ruin himself sooner or later. You remember 
 the decoy for the wild-fowl ? Well, never was silly duck 
 or goose so ready to swim into the nets as was he !" 
 
 " He always loved this Queen, yea, and the old 
 faith." 
 
 " He sucked in the poison with his mother's milk, 
 you may say. Mrs. Babington was naught but a 
 concealed Papist, and, coming from her, it cost nothing 
 to this Queen to beguile him when he was a mere lad, 
 and make him do her errands, as you know full well 
 Then what must my Lord Earl do but send him to 
 that bitter Puritan at Cambridge, who turned him all 
 the more that way, out of very contradiction. My 
 Lord thought him cured of his Popish inclinations, and 
 never guessed tliey had only led him among those who 
 taught him to dissemble." 
 
 " And that not over well," said Humfrey. " My 
 father never trusted him." 
 
 " And would not give him your sister. Yea, 
 but the counterfeit was good enough for my Lord 
 who sees nothing but what is before his nose, and
 
 382 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 for my mother who sees nothing but what she 
 vjill see. Well, he had fallen in with those who 
 deem this same Mary our only lawful Queen, and 
 would fain set her on the throne to bring back fire 
 and faggot by the Spanish sword among us." 
 
 " I deemed him well-nigh demented with brooding 
 over her troubles and those of his church." 
 
 "Demented in verity. His folly was surpassing. 
 He put his faith in a recusant priest — one John 
 Ballard — who goes ruffling about as Captain Fortescue 
 in velvet hose and a silver-laced cloak." 
 
 "Ha!" 
 
 " Hast seen him ?" 
 
 "Ay, in company with Babington, on the day I 
 came to London, passing through Westminster." 
 
 " Very like. Their chief place of meeting was at a 
 house at Westminster belonging to a fellow named 
 Gage. We took some of them there. Well, this 
 Ballard teaches poor Antony, by way of gospel truth, 
 that 'tis the mere duty of a good Catholic to slay the 
 enemies of the church, and that he who kills our 
 gracious Queen, whom God defend, will do the holiest 
 deed ; just as they gulled the fellow, who murdered the 
 Prince of Orange, and then died in torments, deeming 
 himself a holy martyr." 
 
 " But it was not Babington whom I saw at Bich- 
 mond." 
 
 " Hold, I am ooniing to that. Let me tell you the 
 Queen bore it in mind, and asked after you. Well, 
 Babington has a number of friends, as hot-brained and 
 fanatical as himself, and when once he had swallowed 
 the notion of privily murdering the Queen, he got so 
 enamoured of it, that he swore in five more to aid him 
 in the enterprise, and then what must they do but have
 
 XXIX.] THE SEARCH. 383 
 
 all their portraits taken in one picture with a Latin 
 motto around tliem. What ! Thou hast seen it ?" 
 
 " He showed it to me in Paul's AValk, and said I 
 should hear of them, and I thought one of them mar- 
 vellously like the fellow I had seen in Itichmoud Park." 
 
 " So thought her Majesty. But more of that anon. 
 On the self-same day as the Queen was to be slain by 
 these sacrilegious wretches, another band was to fall 
 on this place, free the lady and proclaim her, while 
 the Prince of Parma landed from the Netherlands and 
 brought fire and sword with him." 
 
 " And Antony would have brought this upon us?" 
 said Humfrey, still slow to believe it of his old com- 
 rade. 
 
 " All for the true religion's sake," said Cavendish. 
 " They were riuging bells and giving thanks, for the 
 discovery and baffling thereof, when we came down 
 from London." 
 
 " As well they might," said Humfrey. " But how 
 was it detected and overthrown ? Was it through 
 Langston ?" 
 
 " Ah, ha ! we had had the strings in our hands all 
 along. Why, Langston, as thou namest him, though we 
 call him Maude, and a master spy called Gilford, have 
 kept us warned thoroughly of every stage in the busi- 
 ness. Maude even contrived to borrow the picture under 
 colour of getting it .blessed by the Pope's agent, and 
 lent it to Mr. Secretary Walsingham, by whom it \'^as 
 privily shown to the Queen. Thereby she recognised 
 the rogue Barnwell, an Irishman it seems, when she 
 was walking in the Park at Eichmond with only her 
 women and Sir Christopher Hatton, who is better at 
 dancing than at fighting. Not a sign did she give, but 
 she kept liim in check with her royal eye, so that lie
 
 384 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIL^P. 
 
 durst not so much as draw his pistol fiom his cloak; 
 but she owned afterwards to my Lady Norris that she 
 could have kissed you when you came between, and 
 all the more, when you caught her meaning and fol- 
 lowed her bidding silently. You will hear of it again, 
 Humps." 
 
 " However that may be, it is a noble thing to have 
 seen such courage in a woman and a queen. But how 
 could thej^ let it go so near ? I could shudder now to 
 tliink of the risk to her person ! " 
 
 " There goes more to policy than you yet wot of," 
 said Will, in his patronising tone. " In truth, Barn- 
 well had started off unknowm to his comrades, hoping 
 to have the glory of the achievement all to himself by 
 forestalling them, or else Mr. Secretary would have 
 been warned in time to secure the Queen." 
 
 " But wlierefore leave these traitors at large to 
 work mischief ? " 
 
 " See you not, you simple Humfrey, that, as I said 
 methinks some time since, it is well sometimes to give 
 a rogue rope enough and he will haug himself ? Close 
 the trap too soon, and you miss the biggest rat cf all. 
 So we waited until the prey seemed shy and about to 
 escape. Babington had, it seems, suspected Maude or 
 Langston, or whatever you call him, and had ridden out 
 of town, hiding in St. John's Wood with some of his 
 fellows, till they were starved out, and trying to creep 
 into some outbuildings at Harrow, were there taken, 
 and brought into London the morning \ve came away. 
 Ballard, the blackest villain of all, is likewise in ward, 
 and here we are to complete our evidence." 
 
 " Nay, throughout all yon have said, I have heard 
 nothing to explain this morning's work." 
 
 Will laughed outright. " And so you think all this
 
 XXIX.] THE SEARCH. 385 
 
 would have Leen clone without a word from their liege 
 lady, the princess they all wanted to deliver from 
 captivity ! No, no, sir ! 'Twas thus. There's an 
 honest man at Burton, a hrewer, who sends beer week 
 by week for this house, and very good ale it is, as I can 
 testify. I wish I had a tankard of it here to qualify 
 these mulberries. This same brewer is instructed by 
 Gifford, whose uncle lives in these parts, to fit a false 
 bottom to one of his barrels, wherein is a box fitted for 
 the receipt of letters and parcels. Then by some means, 
 through Langston I believe, Babington and Gifford 
 made known to the Queen of Scots and the French 
 ambassador that here was a sure way of sending and 
 receiving letters. The Queen's butler, old Hannibal, 
 was to look in the bottom of the barrel with the yellow 
 hoop, and one Barnes, a familiar of Gifford and Babing- 
 ton, undertook the freight at the other tJiid. The 
 ambassador, M. de Chateauneuf, seemed to doubt at 
 first, and sent a single letter by way of experiment, 
 and that having been duly delivered and answered, the 
 bait was swallowed, and not a week has gone by but 
 letters have come and gone from hence, all being first 
 opened, copied, and deciphered by worthy Mr. Phillipps, 
 and every word of them laid before the Council." 
 
 " Hum ! We should not have reckoned tliat fair play 
 when we went to Master Sniggius's," observed Hum- 
 frey, as he heard his companion's tone of exultation. 
 
 '' Fair play is a jewel that will not pass current in 
 statecraft," responded Cavendish. " Moreover, that 
 the plotter should be plotted against is surely only his 
 desert. But thou art a mere sailor, my Talbot, and 
 these subtilties of policy are not for thee." 
 
 " For the which Heaven be praised !" said Humfrey. 
 " Yet having, as you say, read all tht^se letters by th(* 
 
 2 c
 
 386 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CIUP. 
 
 way, 1 see not wherefore ye are come down to seek foi 
 more." 
 
 Will here imitated the Lord Treasurer's nod as well 
 as in him lay, not perhaps himself knowing the darker 
 recesses of this same plot. He did know so much as 
 that every stage in it had been revealed to "Walsingham 
 and Burghley as it proceeded. He did not know that 
 the entire scheme had been hatched, not by a blind and 
 fanatical partisan of Mary's, doing evil that what he sup- 
 posed to be good might come, but by Gilford and Morgan, 
 Walsingham's agents, for the express purpose of causing 
 Mary totally to ruin herself, and to compel Elizabeth 
 to put her to death, and that the unhappy Babington 
 and his friends were thus recklessly sacrificed. The 
 assassin had even been permitted to appear in Eliza- 
 beth's presence in order to terrify her into the convic- 
 tion that her life could only be secured by Mary's 
 death. They, too, did evil that good might come, 
 thinking Mary's death alone could ensure them from 
 Pope and Spaniard ; but surely they descended into a 
 lower depth of iniquity than did their victims. 
 
 Will himself was not certain what was wanted 
 among the Queen's papers, unless it might be the actual 
 letters from Babington, copies of which had been given 
 by Phillipps to the Council, so he only looked sagacious ; 
 and Humfrey thought of the Castle Well, and felt the 
 satisfaction there is in seeing a hunted creature escape. 
 He asked, however, about Cuthbert Langston, saying, 
 " He is — woi'se luck, as you may have heard — akin to 
 my father, who always pitied him as misguided, but 
 thought him as sincere in his folly as ever was this 
 imlucky Babington." 
 
 " So he seems to have been till of late. He hovered 
 about in sundry disguises, as you knciw, much to the
 
 XXIX.] THE SEARCH. 387 
 
 torment of us all ; but finally he seems to have taken 
 some umbrage at the lady, thinking she flouted his 
 services, or did not pay him high enough for them, and 
 Gifford bought him over easily enough ; but he goes 
 with us by the name of Maude, and the best of it is 
 that the poor fools thought he was hoodwinking us all 
 the time. They never dreamt that we saw through 
 them like glass. Babington was himself, with Mr. 
 Secretary only last week, offering to go to France on 
 business for him — the traitor ! Hark ! there are more 
 sounds of horse hoofs. Who comes now, I marvel !" 
 
 This was soon answered by a serving-man, who 
 hurried out to tell Humfrey that his father was arrived, 
 and in a few moments the young man was blessed and 
 embraced by the good Eichard, while Diccon stood by, 
 considerably repaired in flesh and colour by his brief 
 stay under his mother's care. 
 
 Mr. Eichard Talbot was heartily welcomed by Sir 
 Amias Paulett, who regretted that his daughter was 
 out of reach, but did not make any offer of facilitating 
 their meeting. 
 
 Richard explained that he was on his way to 
 London on behalf of the Earl. Eeports and letters, 
 not very clear, had reached Sheffield of young Babing- 
 ton being engaged in a most horrible conspiracy against 
 the Queen and country, and my Lord and my Lady, 
 who still preserved a great kindness for their former 
 ward, could hardly believe it, and had sent their useful 
 and trustworthy kinsman to learn the truth, and to 
 find out whether any amount of fine or forfeiture would 
 avail to save his life. 
 
 Sir Amias thought it would be a fruitless errand, 
 and so did Eichard himself, when he had heard as 
 nmch of the history as it suited Paulett and Wade to
 
 388 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 toll, and though they esteemed and trusted him, they 
 did not care to go beneath that outer surface of the 
 plot which was filling all London with fury. 
 
 When, having finished their after-dinner repose, they 
 repaired to make farther search, taking Cavendish to 
 assist, they somewhat reluctantly thought it due to Mr. 
 Talbot to invite his presence, but he declined. He and 
 his son had much to say to one another, he observed, 
 and not long to say it in. 
 
 " Besides," he added, when he found himself alone 
 with Humfrey,having despatched Diccon on some errand 
 to the stables, " 'tis a sorry sight to see all the poor 
 Lady's dainty hoards turned out by strangers. If it 
 must be, it must, but it would irk me to be an idle 
 gazer thereon." 
 
 " I would only," said Humfrey, " be assured that 
 they would not light on the proofs of Cicely's birth." 
 
 '•' Thou mayst be at rest on that score, my son. 
 The Lady saw them, owned them, and bade thy mother 
 keep them, saying ours were safer hands than hers. Thy 
 mother was sore grieved, Humfrey, when she saw thee 
 not ; but she sends thee her blessing, and saith thou 
 dost right to stay and watch over poor little Cis." 
 
 " It were well if I were watching over her," said 
 Humfrey, " but she is mewed up at Tixall, and I am 
 only keeping guard over poor Mistress Seaton and the 
 rest." 
 
 " Thou hast seen her V 
 
 " Yea, and she was far more our own sweet maid 
 , than when she came back to us at Bridgefield." 
 
 And Humfrey told his father all he had to tell of 
 what he had seen and heard since he had been at 
 Chartley. His adventures in London had already been 
 made known by Diccon, Mr. Talbot was aghast, per-
 
 XXIX.] THE SEARCH. 389 
 
 haps most of all at finding that his cousin Cuthbert 
 was a double traitor. From the Eoman Catholic point 
 of view, there had been no treason in his former machi- 
 nations on behalf of Mary, if she were in his eyes his 
 rightful sovereign, but the betrayal of confidence reposed 
 in him was so horrible that the good Master Eichard 
 refused to believe it, till he had heard the proofs again 
 and again, and then he exclaimed, 
 
 " That such a Judas should ever call cousin with 
 us !" 
 
 There could be little hope, as both agreed, of saving 
 the unfortunate victims ; but Eichard was all the more 
 bent on fulfilling Lord Shrewsbury's orders, and doing 
 his utmost for Babington. As to Humfrey, it would 
 be better that he should remain where he was, so that 
 Cicely might have some protector near her in case of 
 any sudden dispersion of Mary's suite. 
 
 " Poor maiden ! " said her foster-father, " she is in a 
 manner ours, and we cannot but watch over her; but 
 after all, I doubt me whether it had not been better 
 for her and for us, if the waves had beaten the little 
 life out of her ere I carried her home." 
 
 " She hath been the joy of my life," said Humfrey, 
 low and hoarsely. 
 
 " And I fear me she will be the sorrow of it. Not 
 by her fault, poor wench, but what hope canst thou 
 have, my son ?" 
 
 " None, sir," said Humfrey, " except of giving up all 
 if I can so defend her from aught." He spoke in a quiet 
 matter-of-fact way that made his father look with some 
 inquiry at his gTave settled face, quite calm, as if saying 
 nothing new, but expressing a long- formed quiet purpose. 
 
 Nor, though Humfrey was his eldest son and heir, 
 did Eichard Talbot try to cross it.
 
 390 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 He asked whether he might see Cicely before going 
 on to London, but Sir Aniias said that in that case 
 slie would not be allowed to return to the Queen, and 
 that to have had any intercourse with the prisoners 
 might overthrow all his designs in London, and he 
 therefore only left with Humfrey liis commendations to 
 her, with a pot of fresh honey and a lavender-scented 
 set of kerchiefs from Mistress Susan.
 
 XXX.] TiTE-A-xilTE. 391 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 T^TE-A-TETK 
 
 During that close imprisonment at Tixall Cicely 
 learnt to know her mother both in her strength and 
 weakness. They were quite alone, except that Sir 
 Walter Ashton daily came to perform the office of 
 taster and carver at their meals, and on the first even- 
 ing his wife dragged herself upstairs to superintend the 
 arrangement of their bedroom, and to supply them 
 with toilette requisites according to her own very 
 limited notions and possessions. The Dame was a 
 very homely, hard-featured lady, deaf, and extremely 
 fat and heavy, one of the old uncultivated rustic gentry 
 who had lagged far behind the general civilisation of 
 tlie country, and regarded all refinements as effeminate 
 French vanities. She believed, likewise, all that was 
 said against Queen Mary, whom she looked on as 
 barely restrained from plunging a dagger into Elizabeth's 
 heart, and letting Parma's hell-hounds loose upon Tix- 
 all. To have such a guest imposed on her was no 
 small grievance, and nothing but her husband's absolute 
 mandate could have induced her to come up with the 
 m.iids who brought sheets for the bed, pillows, and the 
 like needments. Mary tried to make her requests as 
 moderate as necessity would permit ; but when they
 
 392 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 had been shouted into her ears by one of the maids, 
 she shook her head at most of them, as articles unknown 
 to her. Nor did she ever appear again. The arrange- 
 ment of the bed-chamber was performed by two maid- 
 servants, the Knight himself meanwhile standing a 
 grim sentinel over the two ladies in the outer apart- 
 ment to hinder their holding any communication through 
 the servants. All requests had to be made to him, and 
 on the first morning Mary made a most urgent one 
 for writing materials, books, and either needlework or 
 spinning. 
 
 Pen and ink had been expressly forbidden, the only 
 book in the house was a thumbed and torn primer, but 
 Dame Joan, after much grumbling at iine ladies' whims, 
 vouchsafed to send up a distaff, some wool, a piece of 
 unbleached linen, and a skein of white thread. 
 
 Queen Mary executed therewith an exquisite piece 
 of embroidery, which having escaped Dame Joan's first 
 impulse to burn it on the spot, remained for many 
 years the show and the wonder of Tixall. Save for 
 this employment, she said she should have gone mad 
 in her utter uncertainty about her own fate, or that of 
 those involved with her. To ask questions of Ashton 
 was like asking them of a post. He would give her 
 no notion whether her servants were at Chartley or 
 not, whether they were at large or in confinement, far 
 less as to who was accused of the plot, and what had 
 been discovered. All that could be said for him was 
 that his churlishness was passive and according to his 
 ideas of duty. He was a very reluctant and uncom- 
 fortable jailer, but he never insulted, nor wilfully ill- 
 used his unfortunate captive. 
 
 Thus Mary was left to dwell on the little she knew, 
 namely, that Babington and his fellows were arrested
 
 XXX.] TETE-A-TETE. 393 
 
 and that she was supposed to be implicated ; but there 
 her knowledge ceased, except that Humfrey's warning 
 convinced her that Cuthbert Langston had been at 
 least one of the traitors. He had no doubt been of- 
 fended and disappointed at that meeting during the 
 hawking at Tutbury. 
 
 " Yet I need scarcely seek the why or the where- 
 fore," she said. " I have spent my life in a world of 
 treachery. No sooner do I take a step on ground that 
 seems ever so firm, than it proves a quicksand. They 
 will swallow me at last." 
 
 Daily — more than daily — did she and Cicely go 
 over together that hurried conversation on the moor, 
 and try to guess whether Langston intended to hint at 
 Cicely's real birth. He had certainly not disclosed her 
 secret as yet, or Paulett would never have selected her 
 as sprung of a loyal house, but he might guess at the 
 truth, and be waiting for an opportunity to sell it 
 dearly to those who would regard her as possessed of 
 dangerous pretensions. 
 
 And far more anxiously did the Queen recur to 
 examining Cicely on what she had gathered from 
 Humfrey. This was in fact nothing, for he had been 
 on his guard against either telling or hearing anything 
 inconsistent with loyalty to the English Queen, and 
 thus had avoided conversation on these subjects. 
 
 Nor did the Queen communicate much. Cicely 
 never understood clearly what she dreaded, what she 
 expected to be found among her papers, or what had 
 been in the packet thrown into the well. The girl did 
 not dare to ask direct questions, and the Queen always 
 turned off indirect inquiries, or else assured her that she 
 was still a simple happy child, and that it was better for 
 her owu sake that she should know nothing, then caressed
 
 394 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 her, and fondly pitied her for not being admitted to her 
 mother's confidence, but said piteously that she knew 
 not what the secrets of Queens and captives were, not 
 like those of Mistress Susan about the goose to be 
 dressed, or the crimson hose to be knitted for a surprise 
 to her good husband. 
 
 But Cicely could see that she expected the worst, 
 and believed in a set purpose to shed her blood, and 
 she spent much time in devotion, though sorely dis- 
 tressed by the absence of all those appliances which 
 her Church had taught her to rest upon. And these 
 prayers, which often began with floods of tears, so that 
 Cicely drew away into the window with her distaff in 
 order not to seem to watch them, ended with rendering 
 her serene and calm, with a look of high resignation, as 
 having offered herself as a sacrifice and martyr for her 
 Church. 
 
 And yet was it wholly as a Eoman Catholic that 
 she had been hated, intrigued against, and deposed 
 in her own kingdom ? Was it simply as a Eoman 
 Catholic that she was, as she said, the subject of a 
 more cruel plot than that of which she was accused ? 
 
 Mysterious woman that she was, she was never 
 more mysterious than to her daughter in those seven- 
 teen days that they were sluit up together ! It did not 
 so much strike Cicely at the time, when she was carried 
 along with all her mother's impulses and emotions, 
 without reflecting on them, but when in after times 
 she thought over all that then had passed, she felt 
 how little she had understood. 
 
 They suffered a good deal from the heat and close- 
 ness of the rooms, for Mary was like a modern 
 Englishwoman in her craving for free air, and these 
 were the dog-days. They had contrived by the help
 
 XXX.] TETE-A-TETE. 8 Of) 
 
 of a diamond that the Queen carried about with her, 
 after the fashion of the time, to extract a pane or two 
 from the lattices so ingeniously that the master of the 
 house never found it out. And as their two apart- 
 ments looked out different ways, they avoided the full 
 sunshine, for they had neither curtains nor blinds to 
 their windows, by moving from one to the other ; but 
 still the closeness was very oppressive, and in the heat 
 of the day, just after dinner, they could do nothing but 
 lie on the table, wdiile the Queen told stories of her old 
 life in France, till sometimes they both went to sleep. 
 Most of her dainty needlework was done in the long 
 light mornings, for she hardly slept at all in the hot 
 nights. Cis scarcely saw her in bed, for she prayed 
 long after the maiden had fallen asleep, and was up 
 with the light and embroidering by the window. 
 
 She only now began to urge Cicely to believe as she 
 did, and to join her Church, taking blame to herself for 
 never having attempted it more seriously. She told of 
 the oneness and the glory of Eoman Catholicism as 
 she had seen it in France, held out its promises and 
 professions, and dwelt on the comfort of the intercession 
 of the Blessed Virgin and the Saints ; assuring Cicely 
 that there was nothing but sacrilege, confusion, and 
 cruelty on the other side. 
 
 Sometimes the maiden was much moved by the 
 tender manner and persuasive words, and she really 
 had so much affection and admiration for her mother as 
 to be willing to do all that she wished, and to believe her 
 the ablest and most clear-sighted of human beings ; but 
 wiienever Mary was not actually talking to her, there 
 was a curious swaying back of the pendulum in her mind 
 to the conviction that what Master Eichard and Mistress 
 Susan believed must be the right thing, that led to
 
 396 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 trustworthy goodness. She had an enthusiastic love 
 for the Queen, but her faith and trust were in them and 
 in Humfrey, and she could see rehgious matters from 
 their point of view better than from that of her mother. 
 
 So, though the Queen often felt herself carrying her 
 daughter along, she always found that there had been 
 a slipping back to the old standpoint every time she 
 began again. She was considering with some anxiety 
 of the young maiden's future. 
 
 " Could I but send thee to my good sister, the 
 Duchess of Lorraine, she would see thee well and 
 royally married," she said. " Then couldst thou be 
 known by thine own name, and rank as Princess of Scot- 
 land. If I can only see my Courcelles again, she would 
 take thee safely and prove all — and thy hand will be 
 precious to many. It may yet bring back the true 
 faith to England, when my brave cousin of Guise has 
 put down the Bearnese, and when the poor stumbling- 
 block here is taken away." 
 
 " Oh speak not of that, dear madam, my mother." 
 
 " I must speak, child. I must think how it will 
 be with thee, so marvellously saved, and restored to 
 be my comfort. I must provide for thy safety and 
 honour. Happily the saints guarded me from ever 
 mentioning thee in my letters, so that there is no fear 
 that Elizabeth should lay hands on thee, unless 
 Langston should have spoken — the which can hardly 
 be. But if all be broken up here, I must find thee a 
 dwelling with my kindred worthy of thy birth." 
 
 " Mr. and Mrs. Talbot would take me home," mur- 
 mured Cicely. 
 
 " Girl ! After aU the training I have bestowed on 
 thee, is it possible that thou wouldst fain go back to 
 make cheeses and brew small beer with those Yorkshire
 
 XXX.] TETE-A-TETE. 397 
 
 boors, rather than reign a princess ? I thought thy 
 heart was nobler." 
 
 Cicely hung her head ashamed. " I was very 
 hapjiy there," she said in excuse. 
 
 " Happy — ay, with the milkmaid's bliss. There 
 may be fewer sorrows in such a life as that — ^just as 
 those comely kine of Ashton's that I see grazing in the 
 park have fewer sorrows than human creatures. But 
 what know they of our joys, or what know the 
 commonalty of the joy of ruling, calling brave men 
 one's own, riding before one's men in the field, wielding 
 counsels of State, winning the love of thousands ? 
 Nay, nay, I will not believe it of my child, unless 'tis 
 the base Border blood that is in her which siDeaks." 
 
 Cicely was somewhat overborne by being thus 
 accused of meanness of tastes, when she had heard 
 the Queen talk enviously of that same homely life 
 which now she despised so heartily. She faltered in 
 excuse, " Methought, madam, you would be glad to 
 think there was one loving shelter ever open to me." 
 
 " Loving ! Ah ! I see what it is," said the Queen, 
 in a tone of disgust. " It is the sailor loon that has 
 overthrown it all. A couple of walks in the garden 
 with him, and the silly maid is ready to throw over all 
 nobler thoughts." 
 
 " Madam, he spoke no such word to me." 
 
 " 'Twas the infection, child — only the infection." 
 
 " Madam, I pray you " 
 
 " Whist, child. Thou wilt be a perilous bride for 
 any commoner, and let that thought, if no other, keep 
 thee from lowering thine eyes to such as he. Were I 
 and thy brother taken out of the way, none would 
 stand between tljee and both thrones ! What would 
 English or Scots say to find thee a household Joan,
 
 398 UNKNOWN TO IIISTOEV'. [CHAP. 
 
 wedded to one of Drake's rude pirate fellows ? I 
 tell tliee it would be the worse for him. They have 
 made it treason to wed royal blood without Elizabeth's 
 consent. ~No, no, for his sake, as well as thine own, 
 thou must promise me never thus to debase thy royal 
 lineage." 
 
 " Mother ; neitlier he nor I have thought or spoken 
 of such a matter since we knew how it was with 
 me." 
 
 " And you give me your word ? " 
 
 " Yea, madam," said Cicely, who had really never 
 entertained the idea of marrying Humfrey, implicit 
 as was her trust in him as a brother and protector. 
 
 " That is well. And so soon as I am restored to 
 my poor servants, if I ever am, I will take measures 
 for sending the French remnant to their own land ; nor 
 shall my Courcelles quit thee till she hath seen thee 
 safe in the keeping of Madame de Lorraine or of Queen 
 Louise, who is herself a kinswoman of ours, and, they 
 say, is piety and gentleness itself." 
 
 " As you will, madam," said Cicely, her heart sink- 
 ing at the thought of the strange new world before her, 
 but perceiving that she must not be the means of 
 bringing Humfrey into trouble and danger. 
 
 Perhaps she felt this the more from seeing how 
 acutely her mother suffered at times from sorrow for 
 those involved in her disaster. She gave Babington 
 and his companions, as well as Nau and Curll, up for 
 lost, as the natural consequence of having befriended 
 her ; and she blamed herself remorsefully, after the 
 long experience of the fatal consequences of meddling 
 in her affairs, for having entered into correspondence 
 with the bright enthusiastic boy whom she remembered, 
 and having lured him without doubt to his death.
 
 XXX.] t£te-a-tete. 399 
 
 " Alack ! alack ! " she said, " and yet such is 
 liberty, that I should forget all I have gone through, 
 and do the like again, if the door seemed opened to 
 me. At least there is this comfort, cruel child, thy 
 little heart was not set on him, gracious and hand- 
 some though he were — and thy mother's most devoted 
 knight ! Ah ! poor youth, it wrings my soul to think 
 of him. But at least he is a Catholic, his soul will he 
 safe, and I will have hundreds of masses sung for him. 
 Oh tliat I knew how it goes with them ! This torture 
 of silent suspense is the most cruel of all." 
 
 Mary paced the room with impatient misery, and 
 in such a round the weary hours dragged by, only 
 mitigated by one welcome thunderstorm, for seventeen 
 days, whose summer length made them seem the more 
 endless. Cicely, who had never before in her life been 
 shut up in the house so many hours, was pale, listless, 
 and even fretful towards the Queen, who bore with her 
 petulance so tenderly as more than once to make her 
 weep bitterly for very shame. After one of these fits 
 of tears, Mary pleaded earnestly with Sir Walter 
 Ashton for permission for the maiden to take a turn in 
 the garden every day, but though the good gentleman's 
 complexion bore testimony that he lived in the fresh 
 air, he did not believe in its efficacy ; he said he had 
 no orders, and could do nothing without warrant. But 
 that evening at supper, the serving-maid brought up a 
 large hrew of herbs, dark and nauseous, which Dame 
 Ashton had sent as good for the young lady's 
 megrim. 
 
 "Will you taste it, sir ?" asked the Queen of Sir 
 Walter, with a revival of her lively humour. 
 
 " The foul fiend have me if a drop- comes within 
 my lips," muttered the knight. " I am not bound to
 
 400 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 taste for a tirewoman !" lie added, leaving it in doubt 
 whether his objection arose from distaste to his lady's 
 messes, or from pride ; and he presently said, perhaps 
 half-ashamed of himself, and willing to cast the blame 
 on the other side, 
 
 " It was kindly meant of my good dame, and if you 
 choose to Hout at, rather thau benefit by it, that is no 
 affair of mine." 
 
 He left the potion, and Cicely disposed of it by 
 small instalments at the windows ; and a laugh over 
 the evident horror it excited in the master, did the 
 captives at least as much good as the camomile, 
 centaury, wormwood, and other ingredients of the 
 bo^vd. 
 
 Happily it was only two days later that Sir Walter 
 announced that his custody of the (^ueen was over, 
 and Sir Amias Paulett was come for her. There was 
 little preparation to make, for the two ladies had worn 
 their riding-dresses all the time ; but on reaching the 
 great door, where Sir Amias, attended by Humfrey, was 
 awaiting them, they were astonished to see a whole 
 troop on horseback, all armed with bead-pieces, swords 
 and pistols, to the number of a hundred and forty. 
 
 "Wherefore is this little army raised?" she asked. 
 
 " It is by order of the Queen," replied Ashton, with 
 Ids accustomed surly manner, " and need enough in 
 the time of such treasons !" 
 
 The Queen turned to him with tears on her cheeks. 
 " Good gentlemen," she said, " I am not witting of 
 anything against the Queen. Am I to be taken to the 
 Tower V 
 
 " No, madam, back to Chartley," replied Sir Amias. 
 
 " I knew they would never let me see my cousin," 
 sighed the Queen. " Sir," as Paulett placed her on
 
 XXX.] t^te-a-t]£te. 401 
 
 her horso, " of your pity tell me whether I shall find 
 all my poor servants there," 
 
 " Yea, madam, save Mr. Nau and Mr. Ciirll, who 
 are answering for themselves and for you. Moreover, 
 Curll's wife was delivered two days since." 
 
 This intelligence filled Mary with more anxiety 
 than she chose to manifest to her unsympathising 
 surroundings ; Cis meanwhile had been assisted to 
 mount by Humfrey, who told her that Mrs. Curll was 
 thought to be doing well, but that there were fears for 
 the babe. It was impossible to exchange many words, 
 for they were immediately behind the Queen and her 
 two warders, and Humfrey could only tell her that his 
 father had been at Chartley, and had gone on to London ; 
 but there was inexpressible relief in hearing the sound 
 of his voice, and knowing she had some one to think for 
 her and protect her. The promise she had made to the 
 Queen only seemed to make him more entirely her 
 brother by putting that other love out of the question. 
 
 There was a sad sight at the gate, — a whole multitude 
 of wretched-looking beggars, and poor of all ages and 
 degrees of misery, who all held out their hands and 
 raised one cry of "Alms, alms, gracious Lady, alms, for 
 the love of heaven !" 
 
 Mary looked round on them with tearful eyes, and 
 exclaimed, " Alack, good folk, I have nothing to give 
 you ! I am as much a beggar as yourselves !" 
 
 The escort dispersed them roughly, Paulett assuring 
 her that they were nothing but " a sort of idle folk," 
 viio were only encouraged in laziness by her bounty, 
 which was very possibly true of a certain proportion 
 of them, but it had been a sore grief to her that since 
 Cuthbert Langston's last approach in disguise she had 
 been prevented from giving alms. 
 
 2 D
 
 402 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CEAP. 
 
 In due time Cliartley was reached, and the first 
 thing the Queen did on dismounting was to hurry to 
 visit poor Barbara Curll, who had — on her increasiug 
 ilhiess — been removed to one of the guest-chambers, 
 ■where the Queen now found her, still in much distress 
 about her husband, who was in close imprisonment in 
 Walsingham's house, and had not been allowed to send 
 her any kind of message ; and in still more immediate 
 anxiety about her new-born infant, who did not look 
 at all as if its little life would last many hours. 
 
 She lifted up her languid eyelids, and scarcely smiled 
 when the Queen declared, " See, Barbara, I am come 
 back again to you, to nurse you and my god-daughter 
 into health to receive your husband again. Nay, have 
 no fears for him. They cannot hiu't him. He has 
 done nothing, and is a Scottish subject beside. My 
 son shall write to claim him," she declared with such 
 an assumed air of confidence that a shade of hope 
 crossed the pale face, and the fear for her child became 
 the more pressing of the two griefs. 
 
 " We will christen her at once," said Mary, turning 
 to the nearest attendant. " Bear a request from me to 
 Sir Amias that his chaplain may come at once and 
 baptize my god-child." 
 
 Sir Amias was waiting in the gallery in very ill- 
 humour at the Queen's delay, which kept his supper 
 waiting. Moreover, his party had a strong dislike to 
 pri\ate baptism, holding that the important point was 
 the public covenant made by responsible persons, and 
 the notion of the sponsorship of a Eoman Catholic 
 likewise shocked him. So he made ungracious answer 
 that he would have no baptism save in church before 
 the congregation, with true Protestant gossips. 
 
 " So saith he ?" exclaimed Mary, when the reply
 
 XXX.] TEfE-A-TETE. 403 
 
 was reported to lier. "Nay, my poor little one, thou 
 slialt not be shut out of the Kingdom of Heaven for his 
 churlishness." And taking the infant on her knee, she 
 dipped her hand in the bowl of water that had been 
 prepared for the chaplain, and baptized it by her own 
 name of Mary. 
 
 The existing Prayer-book had been made expressly 
 to forbid lay baptism and baptism by women, at the 
 special desire of the reformers, and Sir Amias was 
 proportionately horrified, and told her it was an offence 
 for the Archbishop's court. 
 
 " Very like," said Mary. " Your Protestant courts 
 love to slay both body and soul. Will it please you 
 to open my own chambers to me, sir ? " 
 
 Sir Amias handed the key to one of her servants, 
 but she motioned him aside. 
 
 " Those who put me forth must admit me," she 
 said. 
 
 The door was opened by one of the gentlemen of 
 the household, and they entered. Every repository had 
 been ransacked, every cabinet stood open and empty, 
 every drawer had been pulled out. Wearing apparel 
 and the like remained, but even this showed signs of 
 having been tossed over and roughly rearranged by 
 masculine fingers. 
 
 Mary stood in the midst of the room, which had 
 a strange air of desolation, an angry light in her eyes, 
 and her hands clasped tightly one into the other. 
 Paulett attempted some expression of regret for the 
 disarray, pleading his orders. 
 
 " It needs not excuse, sir," said Mary, " I understand 
 to whom I owe this insult. There are two things that 
 your Queen can never take from me — royal blood and 
 the Catholic faith. One day some of you will be sorry .
 
 404 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 for what you have now put upon me ! I would be 
 alone, sir," and she proudly motioned him to the door, 
 with a haughty gesture, showing her still fully Queen 
 in her own apartments. Paulett obeyed, and when he 
 was gone, the Queen seemed to abandon the command 
 over herself she had preserved all this time. She 
 threw herself into Jean Kennedy's arms, and wept 
 freely and piteously, while the good lady, rejoicing at 
 heart to have recovered " her bairn," fondled and 
 soothed her with soft Scottish epithets, as though the 
 worn woman had been a child again. " Yea, nurse, 
 mine own nurse, I am come back to thee; for a little 
 while — only a little while, nurse, for they will have 
 my blood, and oh ! I woiild it were ended, for I am 
 aweary of it all." 
 
 Jean and Elizabeth Curll tried to cheer and console 
 her, alarmed at this unwonted depression, but she only 
 said, " Get me to bed, nurse, I am sair forfaugliten." 
 
 She was altogether broken down by the long 
 suspense, the hardships and the imprisonment she had 
 undergone, and she kept her bed for several days, 
 hardly speaking, but apparently reposing in the relief 
 afforded l)y the recovered care and companionship of 
 her much-loved attendants. 
 
 There she was when Paulett came to demand the 
 keys of the caskets where her treasure was kept. 
 Melville had refused to yield them, and all the Queen 
 said was, " Eobbery is to be added to the rest," a 
 sentence which greatly stung the knight, but he actu- 
 ally seized all the coin that he found, including what 
 belonged to Nau and Curll, and, only retaining enough 
 for present expenses, sent the rest off to London.
 
 XXXI.] EVIDENCE. 405 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 EVIDENCE. 
 
 In the meantime the two Eichard Talbots, father 
 and son, had safely arrived in London, and had been 
 made welcome at the house of their noble kinsman. 
 
 Nau and Curll, they heard, were in Walsingham's 
 house, subjected to close examination ; Babington and 
 all his comrades were in the Tower. The Council was 
 continually sitting to deliberate over the fate of the latter 
 unhappy men, of whose guilt there was no doubt ; and 
 neither Lord Talbot nor Will Cavendish thought there 
 was any possibility of Master Eichard gaining permis- 
 sion to plead how the unfortunate Babington had been 
 worked on and deceived. After the sentence should 
 be pronounced. Cavendish thought that the request of 
 the Earl of Shrewsbury might prevail to obtain per- 
 m.ission for an interview between the prisoner and 
 one commissioned by his former guardian. Will was 
 daily attending Sir Francis Walsingham as his clerk, 
 and was not by any means unwilling to relate anything 
 he had been able to learn. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was, it seemed, grectUy agitated 
 and distressed. The shock to her nerves on the day 
 when she had so bravely overawed Barnwell witli the 
 power of her eye had been such as not to be easily
 
 406 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cHAP. 
 
 surmounted. She was restless and full of anxiety, 
 continually starting at every sound, and beginning 
 letters to the Queen of Scots which were never finished. 
 She had more than once inquired after the brave sailor 
 youths who had come so opportunely to her rescue ; 
 and Lord Talbot thought it would be well to present 
 Diccon and his father to her, and accordingly took 
 them with liim to Greenwich Palace, where they had 
 the benefit of looking on as loyal subjects, while her 
 Majesty, in royal fashion, dined in public, to the sound 
 of drums, trumpets, fifes, and stringed instruments. 
 But though dressed with her usual elaborate care, she 
 looked older, paler, thinner, and more haggard than 
 when Diccon had seen her three weeks previously, and 
 neither her eye nor mouth had the same steadiness. 
 She did not eat with relish, but almost as if she were 
 forcing herself, lest any lack of appetite might be ob- 
 served and commented upon, and her looks continually 
 wandered as though in search of some lurking enemy ; 
 for in truth no woman, nor man either, could easily 
 forget the suggestion which had recently been brought 
 to her knowledge, that an assassin might " lurk in her 
 gallery and stab her with his dagger, or if she should 
 walk in her garden, he might shoot her with his dagg- 
 er if she should walk abroad to take the air, he might 
 assault her with his arming sword and make sure 
 work." Even though the enemies were safe in prison, 
 she knew not but that dagger, dagg, or arming sword 
 might still be ready for her, and she believed that any 
 fatal charge openly made against Mary at the trial might 
 drive her friends to desperation and lead to the use of 
 dagg or dagger. She was more unhinged than ever 
 before, and commanded herself with ditficulty when 
 going through all the scenes of her public life as usual.
 
 XXXI.] EVIDENCE. 40 7 
 
 The Talbots soon felt her keen eye on them, and 
 a look of recognition passed OA'er her face as she saw 
 Diccou. As soon as the meal was over, and the table 
 of trestles removed, she sent a page to command Lord 
 Talbot to present them to her. 
 
 " So, sir," she said, as Eichard the elder knelt before 
 her, " you are the father of two brave sons, whom you 
 have bred up to do good service ; but I only see one 
 of them here. Where is the elder ?" 
 
 " So please your Majesty, Sir Amias Paulett desired 
 to retain him at Chartley to assist in guarding the 
 Queen of Scots." 
 
 " It is well. Paulett knows a trusty lad when he 
 sees him. And so do I. I would have the youths 
 both for my gentlemen pensioners — the elder wdien he 
 can be spared from his charge, this stripling at once." 
 
 " We are much beholden to your Majesty," said 
 Eichard, bending his head the lower as he knelt on one 
 knee ; for such an appointment gave both training and 
 recommendation to young country gentlemen, and was 
 much sought after. 
 
 " Methinks," said Elizabeth, who had the royal 
 faculty of remembering faces, " you have yourself so 
 served us, Mr. Talbot ?" 
 
 " I was for three years in the band of your Ma- 
 jesty's sister, Queen Mary," said Eichard, " but I 
 quitted it on her death to serve at sea, and I have 
 since been in charge at Sheffield, under my Lord of 
 Shrewsbury." 
 
 " We have heard that he hath found you a faithful 
 servant," said the Queen, " yea, so well affected as 
 even to have refused your daughter in marriage to this 
 same Babington. Is this true ? " 
 
 " It is, so please your Majesty."
 
 408 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAR 
 
 "Aud it was because you already perceived his 
 villainy ?" 
 
 "There were many causes, Lladam," said Eichard, 
 catching at the chance of saying a word for the un- 
 happy lad, " but it was not so much villainy that I 
 perceived in him as a nature that might be easily 
 practised upon by worse men than himself." 
 
 " N'ot so much a villain ready made as the stuff 
 villains are made of," said the Queen, satisfied with her 
 own repartee. 
 
 " So please your Majesty, the metal that in good 
 hands becomes a brave sword, in evil ones becomes a 
 treacherous dagger." 
 
 "Well said. Master Captain, and therefore we must 
 destroy alike the dagger aud the hands that perverted 
 it." 
 
 " Yet," ventured Eichard, " the dagger attempered 
 by your Majesty's clemency might yet do noble ser- 
 vice." 
 
 Elizabeth, however, broke out fiercely with one of 
 her wonted oaths. 
 
 " How now ? Thou wouldst not plead for Lhe 
 rascal ! I would have you to know that to crave 
 pardon for such a fellow is well-nigh treason in iUelf. 
 You have license to leave us, sir." 
 
 " I should scarce have brought you, Eichard," said 
 Lord Talbot, as soon as they had left the presence 
 chamber, " had I known you would venture on such 
 folly. Know you not how incensed she is ? Naught 
 but your proved loyalty and my father's could have 
 borne you off this time, and it would be small marvel 
 to me if the lad's appomtment were forgotten." 
 
 " I could not choose but run the risk," said Eichard. 
 ^What else came I to Londoji for ?"
 
 XXXI j EVIDENCE. 409 
 
 " Well," said his cousin, " you are a brave man, 
 Richard Talbot. I know those who had rather scale a 
 Spanish fortress than face Queen Elizabeth in her 
 wratk Her tongue is sharper than even my step- 
 dame's, though it doth not run on so long." 
 
 Lord Talbot was not quite easy when that evening 
 a gentleman, clad in rich scarlet and gold, and armed 
 to the teeth, presented himself at Shrewsbury House 
 and inquired for Mr. Talbot of Bridgefield. However, 
 it proved to be the officer of the troop of gentlemen 
 pensioners come to enroll Diccon, tell him the require- 
 ments, and arrange when he should join in a capacity 
 something like that of an esquire to one of the seniors 
 of the troop. Humfrey was likewise inquired for, but 
 it was thought better on all accounts that he should 
 continue in his present situation, since it was especially 
 needful to have trustworthy persons at Chartley in the 
 existing crisis. Master Eichard was well satisfied to 
 find that his son's immediate superior would be a 
 gentleman of a good Yorkshire family, whose father 
 was known to him, and who promised to have a care 
 of Master Richard the younger, and preserve him, as 
 far as possible, from the perils of dicing, drinking, and 
 running into bad company. 
 
 Launching a son in this manner and equipping him 
 for service was an anxious task for a father, while day 
 after day the trial was deferred, the examinations being 
 secretly carried on before the Council till, as Cavendish 
 explained, what was important should be disclosed. 
 
 Of course this implied what should be fatal to 
 Queen Mary. The priest Ballard was racked, but he 
 was a man of great determination, and nothing was 
 elicited from him. The other prisoners, and Nau and 
 Curll, were questioned again and again under threats
 
 410 UNKNOWN TO HISTOItY. [cilAP. 
 
 and promises before the Council, and tie letters that 
 had been copied on theil" transit through the beer barrels 
 were read and made the subject of cross-examination — 
 still all in private, for, as Cavendish said, " perilous stuff 
 to the Queen's- Majesty might come out." 
 
 He allowed, however, day after day, that though 
 there was quite enough to be fatal to Ballard, Babiug- 
 ton, Savage, and Barnwell, whatever else was wanting 
 was not forthcoming. At last, however, Cavendish 
 returned full of a certain exultation : " We have it," 
 he said, — " a most undoubted treasonable letter, which 
 will catch her between the shoulders and the head." 
 
 He spoke to Lord Talbot and Kichard, who were 
 standing togetlier in a window, and who knew only too 
 well who was referred to, and what the expression 
 signified. On a further query from his step-brother, 
 Cavendish explained that it was a long letter, dated 
 July 1 5, arranging in detail the plan for " the Lady's " 
 own rescue from Chartley at the moment of the landing 
 of the Spaniards, and likewise showing her privy to 
 the design of the six gentlemen against the life of the 
 Queen, and desiring to know their names. Nau had, 
 he said, verified the cipher as one used in the coitc- 
 spondence, and Babington, when it was shown to him, 
 had declared that it had been given to him in the 
 street by a stranger serving-man in a blue coat, and 
 that it had removed all doubt from his mind, as it was 
 an answer to a letter of his, a copy of which had been 
 produced, but not the letter itself. 
 
 " Which we have not found," said Cavendish. 
 
 " Not for all that search of yours at Chartley ?" said 
 Iiichard. " Methought it was thorough enough ! " 
 
 " The Lady must have been marvellously prudent as 
 to the keeping of letters," said Will, " or else she must
 
 XXXI.] EVIDENCE. 411 
 
 have received some warniug ; for there is absolutely 
 naught to be found in her repositories that will serve 
 oiu' purpose." 
 
 " Our purpose !" repeated Eichard, as he recollected 
 many little kindnesses that William Cavendish when a 
 boy had received from the prisoner at Sheffield. 
 
 " Yea, Master Eichard," he returned, unabashed. 
 " It is absolutely needful that we should openly prove 
 this woman to be what we know her to be in secret. 
 Her Majesty's life will never be safe for a moment 
 while she lives ; and what would become of us all did 
 she overlive the Queen ! " 
 
 " Well, Will, for all your mighty word ice, you are 
 but the pen in Mr. Secretary's hand, so there is no 
 need to argue the matter with you," said Eichard. 
 
 The speech considerably nettled Master WiUiam, 
 especially as it made Lord Talbot laugh. 
 
 " Father !" said Diccon afterwards, " Humfrey tried 
 to warn Mr. Babington that we liad seen this Lang- 
 ston, who hath as many metamorjihoses as there be in 
 Ovidius Naso, coming privily forth from Sir Francis 
 Walsingham's closet, but he would not listen, and 
 declared that Langston was holding Mr. Secretary in 
 play." 
 
 " Deceiving and being deceived," sighed his father. 
 " That is ever the way, my son ! Eem ember that if 
 thou playest false, other men will play falser with thee 
 and bring thee to thy ruin. I would not leave thee 
 here save that the gentlemen pensioners are a more 
 honest and manly sort of folk than yonder gentlemen 
 with their state craft, wherein they throw over all truth 
 and honour as well as mercy." 
 
 This couversation took place as the father and son 
 were making their way to a house in Westminster,
 
 412 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 where Antony Babington's wife was with her mother, 
 Lady Eatcliffe. It had been a match made by Lady 
 Shrewsbury, and it was part of Eichard's commission 
 to see and confer with the family. It was not a satis- 
 factory interview. The wife was a duU childish little 
 thing, not yet sixteen ; and though she cried, she had 
 plainly never lived in any real sympathy or companion- 
 ship with her husband, who had left her with hei 
 parents, while leading the life of mingled amusement 
 and intrigue which had brought him to his present 
 state ; and the mother, a hard-featured woman, evidently 
 thought herself cheated and ill used. She railed at 
 Babington and at my Lady Countess by turns ; at the 
 one for his ruinous courses and neglect of her daughter, 
 at the other for having cozened her into giving her poor 
 child to a treacherous Papist, who would be attainted in 
 blood, and thus bring her poor daughter and grandchild 
 to poverty. The old lady really seemed to have lost all 
 pity for her son-in-law in indignation on her daughter's 
 account, and to care infinitely less for the saving of his 
 life than for the saving of his estate. Nor did the 
 young wife herself appear to possess much real affection 
 for poor Antony, of whom she had seen very little. 
 There must have been great faults on his side ; yet 
 certainly Eichard felt that there was some excuse for 
 him in the mother-in-law, and that if the unfortunate 
 young man could have married Cicely his lot might 
 have been different. Yet the good Captain felt all 
 the more that if Cis had been his own he still would 
 never have given her to Babington.
 
 XXXIL] WESTMINSTEU IIAJJa, 413 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 
 WESTMINSTER HALL. 
 
 Beneath the noble roof of Westminster Hall, with the 
 morning sun streaming in high aloft, at seven in the 
 morning of the 1 4th of September, the Court met for the 
 trial of Antony Babington and his confederates. The 
 Talbot name and recommendation obtained ready ad- 
 mission, and Lord Talbot, Eichard, 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 
 Cobhani and Buckhurst, Sir Francis KnoUys, Sir 
 Cliristopher 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,
 
 414 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 he would come forward and plead his former knowledge 
 of young Babington as a rash and weak-headed youth, 
 easily played upon by designing p(;rsons, 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 miti- 
 gation for the poor youth, it would be worth the risk. 
 
 The seven conspirators were brought in, and Eichard 
 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 col- 
 our, 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 encourage- 
 ment 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 beariDg 
 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, swag- 
 gering, richly-clad Captain Fortescue in this tonsured 
 man in priestly garb, deadly pale, and unable to stand, 
 from tlie effects of torture, yet with undaunted, penetrat- 
 ing eyes, all unsubdued. 
 
 After the proclamation, Oyez, Oyez, and the com- 
 mand to keep silence, Sandys, the Clerk of the Crown,
 
 XXXII.] WESTMINSTER HALL. 415 
 
 began the proceedings. " John Balhard, Antony Bab- 
 ington, John Savage, Eobert Barnwell, Chidiock Tich- 
 borne, Henry Donne, Thomas Salisbury, hold up your 
 hands and answer." The indictment was then read 
 at great length, charging them with conspiring to slay 
 the Queen, to deliver Mary, Queen of Scots, from 
 custody, to stir up rebellion, to bring the Spaniards 
 to invade England, and to change the religion of the 
 country. The question was first put to Ballard, Was 
 he guilty of these treasons or not guilty ? 
 
 Ballard's reply was, " That I procure .1 the delivery 
 of the Queen of Scots, I am guilty ; and that I went 
 about to alter the religion, I am guilty ; but that I 
 intended to slay her Majesty, I am not guilty." 
 
 " Not with his own hand," muttered Cavendish, 
 " but for the rest " 
 
 "Pity that what is so bravely spoken should be 
 false," thought Eichard, "yet it may be to leave the 
 way open to defence." 
 
 Sandys, however, insisted that he must plead to the 
 whole indictment, and Anderson, the Chief-Justice of 
 Common Pleas, declared that he must deny the whole 
 generally, or confess it generally ; while Hatton put in, 
 " Ballard, under thine own hand are all things confessed, 
 therefore now it is much vanity to stand vaingloriously 
 in denying it." 
 
 " Then, sir, I confess I am guilty," he said, with 
 great calmness, though it was the resignation of all 
 hope. 
 
 The same question was then put to Babington. 
 He, with " a mild countenance, sober gesture," and all 
 his natural grace, stood up and spoke, saying " that the 
 time for concealment was past, and that he was ready 
 to avow how from his earliest infancy he had believed
 
 416 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 England to have fallen from the true religion, and had 
 trusted to see it restored thereto. Moreover, he had 
 ever a deep love and compassion for the Queen of 
 Scots. Some," he said, " who are yet at large, and 
 who are yet as deep in the matter as I " 
 
 " Gifford, Morgan, and another," whispered Caven- 
 dish significantly. 
 
 " Have they escaped ?" asked Diccon. 
 
 " So 'tis said." 
 
 " The decoy ducks," thought Eichard. 
 
 Babington was explaining that these men had 
 proposed to him a great enterprise for the rescue and 
 restoration of the Queen of Scots, and the re-establish- 
 ment of the Catholic religion in England by the sword 
 of the Prince of Parma. A body of gentlemen were to 
 attack Chartley, free Mary, and proclaim her Queen, 
 and at the same time Queen Elizabeth was to be put 
 to death by some speedy and skilful method. 
 
 " My Lords," he said, " I swear that all that was in 
 me cried out against the wickedness of thus privily 
 slaying her Majesty." 
 
 Some muttered, " The villain ! he lies," but the 
 kindly Piichard sighed inaudibly, " True, poor lad ! 
 Thou must have given th}'' conscience over to strange 
 keepers to be thus led astray." 
 
 And Babington went on to say that they had 
 brought this gentleman, Father Ballard, who had 
 wrought with him to prove that his scruples were 
 weak, carnal, and ungodly, and that it v»^ould be a 
 meritorious deed in the sight of Heaven thus to remove 
 the heretic usurper. 
 
 Here the judges sternly bade him not to blaspheme, 
 and he replied, with that " soberness and good grace " 
 which seems to have struck all the beholders, that ho
 
 XXXII.] WESTiMINSTEK HALL. 417 
 
 craved patience and pardon, meaning only to ex- 
 plain how he had been led to the madness which he 
 now repented, understanding himself to have been in 
 gTievous error, though not for the sake of any temporal 
 reward ; but being blinded to the guile, and assured that 
 the deed was both lawful and meritorious. He tlius 
 had been brought to destruction through the persuasions 
 of this Ballard. 
 
 " A very fit author for so bad a fact," responded 
 Hatton. 
 
 " Very true, sir," said Babington ; " for from so bad 
 a ground never proceed any better fruits. He it was 
 who persuaded me to kill the Queen, and to commit 
 tlie other treasons, whereof I confess myself guilty." 
 
 Savage pleaded guilty at once, with the reckless 
 hardihood of a soldier accustomed to look on death as 
 the fortune of war. 
 
 Barnwell denied any intention of killing the Queen 
 (much to Diccon's surprise), but pleaded guilty to the 
 rest. Donne said that on being told of the plot be had 
 prayed that whatever was most to the honour and 
 glory of Heaven might be done, and being pushed hard 
 by Hatton, turned this into a confession of being guilty. 
 Salisbury declared that he had always protested against 
 killing the Queen, and that he would not have done so 
 for a kingdom, but of the rest he was guilty. Tich- 
 borne showed that but for an accidental lameness he 
 would have been at his home in Hampshire, but he 
 could not deny his knowledge of the treason. 
 
 All having pleaded guilty, no trial was permitted, 
 such as would have brought out the different degrees 
 of guilt, which varied in all the seven. 
 
 A long speech was, however, made by the counsel 
 for tlie Crown, detailing the plot as it had been ar- 
 
 2 E
 
 418 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 ranged for the public knowledge, and reading aloud a 
 letter from Babington to Queen Mary, describing his 
 plans both for her rescue and the assassination, saying, 
 " he had appointed six noble gentlemen for the despatch 
 of the wicked competitor." 
 
 Eichard caught a look of astonishment on the un- 
 happy young • man's face, but it passed into hopeless 
 despondency, and the speech went on to describe the 
 picture of the conspirators and its strange motto, con- 
 cluding with an accusation that they meant to sack 
 London, burn the ships, and " cloy the ordnance." 
 
 A shudder of horror went through the assembly, 
 and perhaps few except Eichard Talbot felt that the 
 examination of the prisoners ought to have been public. 
 The form, however, was gone through of asking whether 
 they had cause to render wherefore they should not be 
 condemned to die. 
 
 The first to speak was Ballard. His eyes glanced 
 round with an indomitable expression of scorn and 
 indignation, which, as Diccon whispered, he could 
 have felt to his very backbone. It was like that of a 
 trapped and maimed lion, as the man sat in his chair 
 with crushed and racked limbs, but with a spirit un- 
 tamed in its defiance. 
 
 " Cause, my Lords V he replied. " The cause I have 
 to render will not avail here, but it may avail before 
 another Judgment-seat, where the question will be, who 
 used the weapons of treason, not merely against wliom 
 they were employed. Inquiry hath not been made 
 bere who suborned the priest, Dr. Gifford, to fetch me 
 over from Paris, that we might togetlier overcome the 
 icruples of these young men, and lead them forward in 
 a scheme for the promotion of the true religion and the 
 right and lawful succession. No question hath here
 
 XXXII.] WESTMINSTER HALL. 4l9 
 
 been put in open court, who framed the conspiracy, nor 
 for what purpose. No, my Lords ; it would baflle the 
 end you would bring about, yea, and blot the reputation 
 of some who stand in high places, if it came to light 
 that the plot was devised, not by the Catholics who 
 were to be the instruments thereof, nor by the Lady in 
 whose favour all was to be done, — not by these, the 
 mere victims, but by him who by a triumph of policy 
 thus sent forth his tempters to enclose them all within 
 his net — above all the persecuted Lady whom all true 
 Catholics own as the only lawful sovereign within 
 these realms. Such schemes, when they succeed, are 
 termed policy. My Lords, I confess that by the justice 
 of England we have been guilty of treason against 
 Queen Elizabeth ; but by the eternal law of the justice 
 of God, we have suffered treachery far exceeding that 
 for which we are about to die." 
 
 " I marvel that they let the fellow speak so far," 
 was Cavendish's comment. 
 
 " Nay, but is it so ?" asked Diccon with startled 
 ^-yes. 
 
 " Hush ! you have yet to learn statecraft," returned 
 his friend. 
 
 His father's monitory hand only just saved the boy 
 from bursting out with something that would have 
 rather astonished Westminster Hall, and caused him to 
 be taken out by the ushers. It is not wonderful that 
 no report of the priest's speech has been preserved. 
 
 The name of Antony Babington was then called. 
 Probably he had been too much absorbed in the 
 misery of his position to pay attention to the preceding 
 speech, for his reply was quite independent of it. He 
 prayed the Lords to believe, and to represent to her 
 Majesty, that he had received with horror the suggestion
 
 420 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CILVP 
 
 of compassing lier death, and had only been brought to 
 believe it a terrible necessity by the persuasions of this 
 Ballard. 
 
 On this Hatton broke forth in indignant com- 
 passion, — " Ballard ! Ballard ! what hast thou done ? 
 A sort of brave youth, otherwise endowed with good 
 gifts, by thy inducement hast thou brought to theii 
 utter destruction and confusion !" 
 
 This apparently gave some hope to Babington, for he 
 answered — "Yes, I protest that, before I met this Bal- 
 lard, I never meant nor intended for to kill the Queen ; 
 but by his persuasions I was induced to believe that 
 she being excommunicate it was lawful to murder her." 
 
 For the first time Ballard betrayed any pain. 
 " Yes, Mr. Babington," he said, " lay all the blame 
 upon me; but I wish the shedding of my blood might 
 be the saving of your life. Howbeit, say what you 
 will, I will say no more." 
 
 " He is the bravest of them all !" was Diccon's 
 comment. 
 
 " Wot you that he was once our spy ?" returned 
 Cavendish with a sneer ; while Sir Christopher, with 
 the satisfaction of a little nature in uttering reproaches, 
 returned — " Nay, Ballard, you must say more and shall 
 say more, for you must not commit treasons and then 
 huddle them up. Is this your Religio Catholica ? Nay, 
 rather it is Biaholica." 
 
 Ballard scorned to answer this, and the Clerk passed 
 on to Savage, who retained his soldierly fatalism, and 
 only shook his head. Barnwell again denied any pur- 
 pose of injuring the Queen, and when Hatton spoke of 
 his appearance in Eichmond Park, he said all had been 
 for conscience sake. So said Henry Donne, but with 
 far more piety and dignity, adding, "Fiat volunsta
 
 XXXII.] WESTMINSTER HALL. 421 
 
 Dei ; " and Thomas Salisbury was the only one who 
 made any entreaty for pardon. . 
 
 Speeches followed from the Attorney-General, and 
 from Sir Christopher Hatton, and then the Lord Chief 
 Justice Anderson pronounced the terrible sentence. 
 
 Eichard Talbot sat with his head bowed between 
 his hands. His son had begun listening with wide- 
 stretched eyes and mouth, as boyhood hearkens to the 
 dreadful, and with the hardness of an unmerciful time, 
 too apt to confound pity with weakness ; but when 
 his eye fell on the man he had followed about as an 
 elder playmate, and realised all it conveyed, his cheek 
 blanched, Ids jaw fell, and he hardly knew how his 
 lather got him out of the court. 
 
 There was clearly no hope. The form of the trial 
 was such as to leave no chance of escape from the 
 utmost penalty. No witnesses had been examined, no 
 degrees of guilt acknowledged, no palliations admitted. 
 Perhaps men who would have brought the Spanish 
 havoc on their native country, and have murdered their 
 sovereign, were beyond the pale of compassion. All 
 London clearly thought so ; and yet, as Richard Talbot 
 dwelt on their tones and looks, and remembered how 
 they had been deluded and tempted, and made to 
 believe their deed meritorious, he could not but feel 
 exceeding pity for the four younger men. Ballard, 
 Savage, and Barnwell might be justly doomed ; even 
 Babington had, by his own admission, entertained a 
 fearfully evil design ; but the other three had evidently 
 dipped far less deeply into the plot, and Tichborne 
 had only concealed it out of friendship. Yet the ruth- 
 less judgment condemned all alike ! And why ? To 
 justify a yet more cruel blow ! No wonder honest 
 Richard Talbot felt sick at heart.
 
 422 DNKKOWN TO HISTORY. fCHAP. 
 
 . CHAPTEE XXXIIL 
 
 IN THE TOWER. 
 
 " Here is a lette? from Mr. Secretary to the Lieu- 
 tenant of the Tower, Master Eichard, bidding him 
 admit you to speech of Babington," said Will Cavendish. 
 ••He was loath to give it, and nothing but my Lord 
 Shrewsbury's interest would have done it, on my oath 
 that you are a prudent and discreet man, who hath 
 been conversant in these matters for many years." 
 
 " Yea, and that long before you were. Master Will," 
 said Eichard, always a little entertained by the young 
 gentleman's airs of patronage. " However, I am be- 
 holden to you." 
 
 " That you may be, for you are the only person 
 who hath obtained admission to the prisoners." 
 
 " N^ot even their wives ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Ticliborne is in the country — so best for 
 her — and Mrs. Babington hath never demanded it. I 
 trow there is not love enough between them to make 
 them seek such a meeting. It was one of my mother's 
 matches. Mistress Cicely would have cleaved to him 
 more closely, though I am glad you saw through the 
 fellow too well to give her to him. She would be a 
 landless widow, whereas this Eatcliffe wife has a fair 
 portion for her child."
 
 XXXIII.] IN THE TOWEK, 423 
 
 "Then Dethick will be forfeited?" 
 
 " Ay. They say the Queen hath promised it to 
 Raleigh." 
 
 " And there is no hope of mercy ? " 
 
 " Not a tittle for any man of them ! Nay, so far 
 from it, her Majesty asked if there were no worse nor 
 more extraordinary mode of death for them." 
 
 " I should not have thought it of her." 
 
 " Her Majesty hath been affrighted, Master Richard, 
 sorely affrighted, though she put so bold a face upon 
 it, and there is nothing a woman, who prides herself 
 on her courage, can so little pardon." 
 
 So Richard, sad at heart, took boat and ascended 
 the Thames for his melancholy visit. The gateway was 
 guarded by a stalwart yeoman, halbert in hand, who 
 detained him while the officer of the guard was called. 
 On showing the letter from Sir Francis Walsingham, 
 Mr. Talbot was conducted by this personage across the 
 first paved court to the lodgings of the Lieutenant 
 under so close a guard that he felt as if he were about 
 to be incarcerated himself, and was there kept waiting 
 in a sort of guard-room while the letter was delivered. 
 
 Presently the Lieutenant, Sir Owen Hopton, a well- 
 bred courteous knight, appeared and saluted him with 
 apologies for his detention and all these precautions, 
 saying that the orders were to keep a close guard and to 
 hinder all communication from without, so that nothing 
 short of this letter would have obtained entrance for 
 the bearer, whom he further required to set down his 
 name and designation in full. Then, after asking how 
 long the visitor wished to remain with the prisoners — 
 for Tichborne and Babington were quartered together 
 — he called a warder and committed Mr. Talbot to his 
 guidance, to remain for two hours locked up in the celL
 
 424 UNKNOWN TO HISTOIIY. [CHAP 
 
 " Sir," added Sir Owen, " it is superfluous to tell 
 you that on coming out, you must either give me your 
 word of honour that you convey nothing from the 
 prisoners, or else submit to be searched." 
 
 Eichard smiled, and observed that men were wont 
 to trust his word of honour, to which the knight 
 heartily replied that he was sure of it, and he then 
 followed the warder up stone stairs and along vaulted 
 passages, where the clang of their footsteps made his 
 heart sink. The prisoners were in the White Tower, 
 the central body of the grim building, and the warder, 
 after unlocking the door, announced, with no unneces- 
 sary rudeness, but rather as if he were glad of any 
 comfort to his charges, " Here, sirs, is a gentleman to 
 visit you." 
 
 They had both risen at the sound of the key turn- 
 ing in the lock, and Antony Babington's face Lighted 
 up as he exclaimed, " Mr. Talbot ! I knew you would 
 come if it were possible." 
 
 " I come by my Lord's desire," replied Eichard, the 
 close wringing of his hand expressing feeling to which 
 he durst not give way in words.' 
 
 He took in at the moment that the room, though 
 stern and strong, was not squalid. It was lighted fully 
 by a window, iron-barred, but not small, and according 
 to custom, the prisoners had been permitted to furnish, 
 at their own expense, sufficient garniture for comfort, 
 and as both were wealthy men, they were fairly pro- 
 vided, and they were not fettered. Both looked paler 
 than when Eichard had seen them in Westminster 
 Hall two days previously. Antony was as usual 
 neatly arrayed, with well-trimmed hair and beard, but 
 Tichborne's hung neglected, and there was a hollow, 
 haggard look about his eyes, as if of dismay at his
 
 XXXIII.] IN THE TOWER. 425 
 
 approaching fate. Neither was, however, forgetful of 
 courtesy, and as Babington presented Mr.. Talbot to his 
 friend, the gTeeting and welcome would have befitted 
 the halls of Dethick or Tichborne. 
 
 " Sirs," said the young man, with a sad smile irradi- 
 ating for a moment the restless despair of his counte- 
 nance, " it is not by choice that I am an intruder on 
 your privacy ; I will abstract myself so far as is pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " I have no secrets from my Chidiock," cried 
 Babington. 
 
 " But Mr. Talbot may," replied his friend, " there- 
 fore I will only first inquire whether he can tell 
 ns aught of the royal lady for whose sake we suffer. 
 They have asked us many questions, but answered 
 none." 
 
 Richard was able to reply that after the seclusion 
 at Tixall she had been brought back to Chartley, and 
 there was no difference in the manner of her custody, 
 moreover, that she had recovered from her attack of 
 illness, tidings he had just received in a letter from 
 Humfrey. He did not feel it needful to inflict a pang 
 on the men who were to die in two days' time by 
 letting them know that she was to be immediately 
 biDiight to trial on the evidence extracted from them. 
 On hearing that her captivity was not straitened, both 
 looked reheved, and Tichborne, thanking him, lay 
 down on his own bed, turned his face to the wall, and 
 drew the covering over his head. 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Babington, " is there no hope for 
 him — he who has done naught but guard too faith- 
 fully my unhappy secret ? Is he to die for his faith 
 and honour ?" 
 
 '* Alas, Antony ! I am forbidden to give theo hope
 
 426 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 for any. Of that we must not speak. The time is 
 short enough for what needs to be spoken." 
 
 " I knew that there was none for myself," said 
 
 Antony, " but for those whom " There was a 
 
 gesture from Tichborne as if he could not bear this, 
 and he went on, " Yea, there is a matter on which I 
 must needs speak to you, sir. The young lady — 
 where is she ?" — he spoke earnestly, and lowering his 
 voice as he bent his head. 
 
 " She is still at Chartley." 
 
 " That is well But, sir, she must be guarded. I fear 
 me there is one who is aware of her parentage." 
 
 " The Scottish archer ?" 
 
 " No, the truth." 
 
 " You knew it ?" 
 
 '■ Not when I made my suit to her, or I should 
 never have dared to lift my eyes so far." 
 
 "I suppose your knowledge came from Langston," 
 said Richard, more perturbed than amazed at the dis- 
 closure. 
 
 " Even so. Yet I am not certain whether he knows 
 or only guesses ; but at any rate be on your guard 
 for her sake. He has proved himself so unspeakable 
 a villain that none can guess what he will do next. 
 He — he it is above all — yea, above even Gilford and 
 Ballard, who has brought us to this pass." 
 
 He was becoming fiercely agitated, but putting a 
 force upon himself said, " Have patience, good Mr. 
 Talbot, of your kindness, and I will tell you all, that 
 you may understand the coilings of the serpent who 
 led me hither, and if possible save her from them." 
 
 Antony then explained that so soon as he had 
 become his own master he had followed the inclina- 
 tions which led him. to the church of his mother and
 
 XXXIII.] IN THE TOWER. 427 
 
 of Queen Mary, the two beings be bad always regarded 
 witb the most fervent affection and love. His mother's 
 kindred had brought him in contact with the Epman 
 Catholic priests who circulated in England, at the 
 utmost peril of their lives, to keep up the faith of the 
 gentry, and in many cases to intrigue for Queen Mary. 
 Among these plotters he fell in with Cuthbert Lang- 
 ston, a Jesuit of the third order, though not a priest, 
 and one of the most active agents in corresponding 
 with Queen Mary. His small stature, colourless com- 
 plexion, and insignificant features, rendered him almost 
 a blank block, capable of assuming any variety of 
 disguise. He also knew several languages, could 
 imitate different dialects, and counterfeit male and 
 female voices so that very few could detect him. He 
 had soon made himself known to Babington as the 
 huckster Tibbott of days gone by, and had then dis- 
 closed to him that Cicely was certainly not the 
 daughter of her supposed parents, telling of her rescue 
 from the wreck, and hinting that lier rank was exalted, 
 and that he knew secrets respecting her which he was 
 about to make known to the Queen of Scots. With 
 this purpose among others, Langstou had adopted the 
 disguise of the woman selling sj^ars with the password 
 " Beads and Bracelets," and being well known as an 
 agent of correspondence to the suite of the captive 
 Queen, he had been able to direct Gorion's attention 
 to the maiden, and to let him know that she was the 
 same with the infant who had been put on board the 
 Bride of Bunhar at Dumbarton. 
 
 How mvich more did Langston guess ? He had 
 told Babington the story current among the outer circle 
 of Mary's followers of the maiden being the daughter 
 of the Scotch archer, and had taught him her true
 
 428 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 name, encouraging too, his aspirations towards her dur- 
 ing the time of his courtship. Babington believed 
 Langston to have been at that time still a sincere 
 partizan of Queen Mary, but all along to have enter- 
 tained a suspicion that there was a closer relationship 
 between Bride Hepburn and the Queen than was 
 avowed, though to Babington himself he had only given 
 mysterious hints. 
 
 But towards the end of the captivity at Tutbury, he 
 had made some further discovery, which confirmed his 
 suspicions, and had led to another attempt to accost 
 Cicely, and to make the Queen aware of his knowledge, 
 perhaps in order to verify it, or it might be to gain power 
 over her, a reward for the introduction, or to extort 
 bribes to secrecy. For looking back, Antony could now 
 perceive that by this time a certain greed of lucre had 
 set in upon the man, who had obtained large sums of 
 secret service money from himself ; and avarice, together 
 with the rebuff he had received from the Queen, had 
 doubtless rendered him accessible to the temptations of 
 the arch-plotters Gifford and Morgan. Eichard coidd 
 believe this, for the knowledge had been forced on him 
 that there were an incredible number of intriguers at 
 that time, spies and conspirators, often in the pay of 
 both parties, impartially betraying the one to the other, 
 and sometimes, through miscalculation, meeting the fate 
 they richly deserved. Many a man who had begun 
 enthusiastically to work in undergTound ways for what 
 he thought the righteous cause, became so enamoured 
 of the undermining process, and the gold there to be 
 picked up, that from a wrong-headed partizan he be- 
 came a traitor — often a double-faced one — and would 
 work secretly in the interest of whichever cause would 
 pay him best.
 
 XXXIII.] IN THE TOWER. 429 
 
 Poor Babington had been far too youthfully simple 
 to guess what he now perceived, that he had been 
 made the mere tool and instrument of these traitors. 
 He had been instructed in Gifford's arrangement with 
 the Burton brewer for conveying letters to Mary at 
 Chartley, and had been made the means of informing 
 her of it by means of his interview with Cicely, when 
 he had brought tlie letter in the watch. The letter 
 had been conveyed to him by Langston, the watch 
 had been his own device. It was after this meet- 
 ing, of which Eichard now heard for the first time, 
 that Langston had fully told his belief respecting 
 the true birth of Bride Hepburn, and assured Bab- 
 ington that there was no hope of his wedding her, 
 though the Queen might allow him to delude himself 
 with the idea of her favour in order to bind liim to 
 her service. 
 
 It was then that Babington consented to Lady 
 Shrewsbury's new match with the well-endowed Eleanor 
 Eatcliffe. If he could not have Cicely, he cared not 
 whom he had. He had been leading a wild and ex- 
 travagant life about town, when (as poor Tichborne 
 afterwards said on the scaffold) the flourishing estate 
 of Babington and Tichborne was the talk of Fleet 
 Street and the Strand, and he had also many calls 
 for secret service money, so that all his thought was 
 to have more to spend in the service of Queen Mary 
 and her daughter. 
 
 " Oh, sir 1 I have been as one distraught all this 
 past year," he said. " How often since I have been 
 shut up here, and I have seen how I have been duped 
 and gulled, have your words come back to me, that to 
 enter on crooked ways was the way to destruction for 
 myself and others, and that I miglit only be serving
 
 430 UNKNOWN TO IIISTOIIV. [CHAP. 
 
 worse men than myself ! And yet th(iy were priests 
 who misled me !" 
 
 " Even in your own religion there are many priests 
 who would withhold you from such crimes," said 
 Piichard. 
 
 " There are ! I know it ! I have spoken with them. 
 They say no priest can put aside the eternal laws of God's 
 justice. So these others, Chidiock here, Donne and 
 Salisbury, always cried out against the slaying of the 
 Queen, though — wretch that I was — and gulled by 
 Ballard and Savage, I deemed the exploit so noble and 
 praiseworthy that I even joined Tichborne with me 
 in that accursed portraiture ! Yea, you may well deem 
 me mad, but it was Gifford who encouraged me in 
 having it made, no doubt to assure our ruin. Oh, Mr. 
 Talbot ! was ever man so cruelly deceived as me ?" 
 
 " It is only too true, Antony. My heart is full of 
 rage and indignation when I think thereof. And yet, 
 my poor lad, what concerns thee most is to lay aside all 
 such thoughts as may not tend to repentance before 
 God." 
 
 " I know it, I know it, sir. All the more that we 
 shall die without the last sacraments. Commend us 
 to the prayers of our Queen, sir, and of her. But to 
 proceed with what imports you to know for her sake, 
 while I have space to speak." 
 
 He proceeded to tell how, between dissipation and 
 intrigue, he had lived in a perpetual state of excitement, 
 going backwards and forwards between London and 
 Lichfield to attend to the correspondence with Queen 
 ]\Iary and the Spanish ambassador in France, and to 
 arrange the details of the plot ; always being worked 
 up to the highest pitch by Gifford and Ballard, while 
 Langston continued to be the areat assistant in all the
 
 XXXIII.] IN THE TOWER. 431 
 
 correspondence. All the time Sir Francis Walsingham, 
 who was really aware of all, if not the prime mover in 
 the intrigue, appeared perfectly unsuspicious ; often 
 received Babington at his house, and discussed a plan of 
 sending him on a commission to France, while in point 
 of fact every letter that travelled in the Burton barrels 
 was deciphered by Phillipj^s, and laid before the Secre- 
 tary before being read by the proper owners. In none 
 of these, however, as Babington could assure ]\Ir. Talbot, 
 had Cicely been mentioned, — the only danger to her 
 was through Langston. 
 
 Things had come to a climax in July, when Bab- 
 ington had been urged to obtain from Mary such 
 definite approbation of his plans as might satisfy his 
 confederates, and had in consequence written the 
 letter and obtained the answer, copies of which had 
 been read to him at his private examination, and 
 which certainly contained fatal matter to both him 
 and the Queen. 
 
 They had no doubt been called forth with that 
 intent, and a doubt had begun to arise in the victim's 
 mind whether the last reply had been really the Queen's 
 own. It had been delivered to him in the street, not 
 by the usual channel, but by a blue-coated serving- 
 man. Two or three days later Humfrey had told him 
 of Langston's interview with Walsingham, which he 
 had at the time laughed to scorn, thinking himself able 
 to penetrate any disguise of that Proteus, and like"\\dse 
 believing that he was blinding "Walsingham. 
 
 He first took alarm a few days after Humfrey's de- 
 parture, and wrote to Queen Mary to warn her, convinced 
 that the traitor must be Langston. Ballard became 
 himself suspected, and after lurking about in various 
 diso'uises was arrested in Babin^fton's own lod<j;in"s. To
 
 432 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 disarm suspicion, Antony went to Walsingham to talk 
 about the French Mission, and tried to resume his usual 
 habits, but in a tavern, he became aware that Langstoti, 
 under some fresh shape, was watching him, and hastily 
 throwing down the reckoning, he fled without his cloak 
 or sword to Gage's house at Westminster, where he took 
 horse, bid liimself in St. John's Wood, and finally was 
 taken, half starved, in an outhouse at Harrow, belong- 
 ing to a farmer, whose mercy involved him in the like 
 doom. 
 
 This was the substance of the story told by the 
 unfortunate young man to Richard Talbot, whom he 
 owned as the best and wisest friend he had ever had — 
 going back to the warnings twice given, that no cause is 
 served by departing from the right ; no kingdom safely 
 won by worshipping the devil : " And sure I did wor- 
 ship him when I let myself be led by Gifford," he said. 
 
 His chief anxiety was not for his wife and her child, 
 who he said would be well taken care of by the Kat- 
 cliffe family, and who, alas ! had never won his heart. 
 In fact he was relieved that he was not permitted to 
 see the young thing, even had she wished it ; it could 
 do no good to either of tliem, though he had written a 
 letter, which she was to deliver, for the Queen, com- 
 mending her to her Majesty's mercy. 
 
 His love had been for Cicely, and even that had 
 never been, as Eichard saw, such purifying, restraining, 
 self-sacrificing affection as was Humfrey's. It was 
 half romance, half a sort of offshoot from his one great 
 and absorbing passion of devotion to the Queen of 
 Scots, which was still as strong as ever. He entrusted 
 Eichard with his humblest commendations to her, and 
 strove to rest in the belief that as many a conspirator 
 before — such as Norfolk, Throckmorton, Parry — had
 
 XXXIII.] IN THE TOWER. 433 
 
 perished on lier behalf while she remained untouched, 
 that so it might again be, since surely, if she were to 
 be tried, he would have been kept alive as a witness. 
 The peculiar custom of the time in State prosecutions 
 of hanging the witnesses before the trial had not 
 occurred to him. 
 
 But how would it be with Cicely ? " Is what this 
 fellow guessed the very truth ? " he asked. 
 
 Eichard made a sign of affirmation, saying, " Is it 
 only a guess on his part ?" 
 
 Babington believed the man stopped short of abso- 
 lute certainty, though he had declared himself to have 
 reason to believe that a child must have been born 
 to the captive queen at Lochleven ; and if so, where 
 else could she be ? Was he waiting for clear proof to 
 make the secret known to the Council ? Did he intend 
 to make profit of it and obtain in the poor girl a sub- 
 ject for further intrigue ? Was he withheld by con- 
 sideration for Eichard Talbot, for whom Babington 
 declared that if such a villain could be believed in any 
 respect, he had mucli family regard and deep gratitude, 
 since Eichard had stood liis friend when all his family 
 had cast him off in much resentment at his change of 
 purpose and opinion. 
 
 At any rate he had in his power Cicely's welfare 
 ani liberty, if not the lives of her adopted parents, 
 since in the present juncture of affairs, and of universal 
 suspiciou, the concealment of the existence of one who 
 stood so near the throne might easily be represented as 
 high treason. Where was he ? 
 
 No one knew. For appearance sake, Gifford liad 
 fie/i bsyoud seas, happily only to fall into a prison of 
 the Duke of Guise : and they must hope that Langstou 
 might have followed the same course. Meantime, 
 
 2f
 
 434 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Eichard could but go on as before, Cicely being now 
 in her own mother's hands. The avowal of her 
 identity must remain for the present as might be de- 
 termined by her who had the right to decide. 
 
 " I would I could feel hope for any I leave behind 
 me," said poor Antony. " I trow you will not bear the 
 maiden my message, for you will deem it a sin that I 
 have loved her, and only her, to the last, though I have 
 been false to that love as to all else beside. Tell 
 Humfrey how I long that I had been like liim, though 
 he too must love on without hope." 
 
 He seut warm greetings to good Mistress Susan 
 Talbot and craved her prayers. He had one other 
 care, namely to commend to ]\Ir. Talbot an old body 
 servant, Harry Gillingham by name, who had attended 
 on him in his boyhood at Sheffield, and had been with 
 him all his life, being admitted even now, under super- 
 vision from the warders, to wait on him when dressing 
 and at his meals. The poor man was broken-hearted, 
 and so near desperation that his master wished much 
 to get him out of London before the execution. So, 
 as Mr. Talbot meant to sail for Hull by the next day's 
 tide in the Mastiff, he promised to take the poor fellow 
 with him back to Bridgefield. 
 
 All this had taken much time. Antony did not 
 seem disposed to go farther into his own feelings in 
 the brief space that remained, but he took up a paper 
 from the table, and indicating Tichborne, who still 
 affected sleep, he asked whether it was fit that a man, 
 who could write thus, should die for a plot against 
 which he had always protested. Eichard read these 
 touching lines : — '-
 
 XXXIII.] IN THE TOWER. 435 
 
 My prime of youth is but a frost of care, 
 
 My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, 
 My crop of corn is but a fiekl of tares, 
 
 And all my goods is but vain hope of gain. 
 The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun ; 
 And now I live, and now my life is done. 
 
 My spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung ; 
 
 The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green j 
 My youth is past, and yet I am but young ; 
 
 I saw the world, antl yet I was not seen. 
 My thread is cut, and yet it is not sj)un ; 
 And now I live, and now my life is done. 
 
 I sought for death, and found it in the wombe ; 
 
 I lookt for life, and yet it was a shade ; 
 I trode the ground, and knew it was my tombe, 
 
 And now I dye, and now I am but made. 
 The glass is full, and yet my glass is run ; 
 And now I live, and now my life is done. 
 
 Little used to poetry, these lines made the good 
 man's eyes fill with tears as he looked at the two 
 goodly young men about to be cut oft" so early — one 
 indeed guilty, but the victim of an iniquitous act of 
 deliberate treachery. 
 
 He asked if Mr. Tichborne wished to entrust to 
 him augiit that could be done by word of mouth, and 
 a few commissions were given to him. Then Antony 
 bethought him of thanks to Lord and Lady Shrews- 
 bury for all they had done for him, and above all for 
 sending Mr. Talbot ; and a message to ask pardon for 
 having so belied the loyal education they had given 
 him. The divided religion of the country had been 
 his bane : his mother's charge secretly to follow her 
 faith had been the beginning, and then had followed 
 the charms of stratagem on behalf of Queen Mary. 
 
 Perhaps, after all, his death, as a repentant man still
 
 436 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 single minded, saved him from lapsing into the double 
 vileness of the veteran intriguers whose prey he had 
 been. 
 
 " I commend me to the Mercy Master Who sees my 
 heart," he said. 
 
 Herewith the warder returned, and at his request 
 summoned Gillingham, a sturdy grizzled fellow, looking 
 grim with grief. Babington told him of the arrange- 
 ment made, and that he was to leave London early in 
 the morning with Mr. Talbot, but the man immediately 
 dropped on his knees and swore a solemn oath that 
 nothing should induce him to leave the place while his 
 master breathed. ^ 
 
 " Thou foolish knave," said Antony, " thou canst do 
 me no good, and wilt but make thyself a more piteous 
 wretch than thou art already. Why, 'tis for love of 
 thee that I would have thee spared the sight." 
 
 "Am I a babe to be spared ?" growled the man. 
 
 And all that he could be induced to promise was 
 that he would repair to Bridgefield as soon as all was 
 over — " Unless," said he, " I meet one of those accursed 
 rogues, and then a halter would be sweet, if I had first 
 had my will of them." 
 
 " Hush, Harry, or Master Warder will be locking 
 thee up next," said Antony. 
 
 And then came the farewell. It was at last a long, 
 speechless, sorrowful embrace ; and then Antony, slip- 
 ping from it to his knees, said — " Bless me ! Oh bless 
 me : thou who hast been mine only true friend. Bless 
 me as a father !" 
 
 " May God in Heaven bless thee !" said Eichard, 
 solemnly laying his hand on his head. " May He, Who 
 knoweth how thou hast been led astray, pardon thee ! 
 May He, Who hath felt the agonies and shame of the
 
 XX XIII.] IN THE TOWEK. 437 
 
 Cross, redi'em thee, and suffer thee not for any pains of 
 death to fall from Him !" 
 
 He was glad to hear afterwards, when broken- 
 hearted Gillingham joined him, that the last words 
 heard from Antony Babington's lips were — "Farce 
 mihd, Domine Jesu ! "
 
 438 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 FOTHERIXGIIAY. 
 
 "Is this ray last journey ?" said Queen IMury, with a 
 strange, sad smile, as she took her seat in the heavy 
 lumhering coach which had been appointed for her 
 conveyance from Chartley, her rheumatism having set 
 in too severely to permit her to ride. 
 
 " Say not so ; your Grace has weathered many a 
 storm before," said Marie de Courcelles. " This one 
 will also pass over." 
 
 " Ah, my good Marie, never before have I felt this 
 foreboding and sinking of the heart. I have always 
 hoped before, but I have exhausted the casket of Pan- 
 dora. Even hope is flown !" 
 
 Jean Kennedy tried to say something of " Darkest 
 before dawn." 
 
 " The dawn, it may be, of the eternal day," said the 
 Queen. " Nay, my friends, the most welcome tidings 
 that could greet me would be that my weary bondage 
 was over for ever, and that I should wreck no more 
 gallant hearts. AVhat, mi/jnonnc, art thou weeping ? 
 There will be freedom again for thee when that day 
 comes." 
 
 " madam, I want not freedom at such a 
 price!" And yet Cicely had never recovered her
 
 XXXIV.] FOTHEEINGHAY. 439 
 
 looks since those seventeen days at Tickhill. She still 
 looked white and thin, and her dark eyebrows lay in a 
 heavy line, seldom lifted by the merry looks and sniilea 
 that used to flash over her face. Life had begun to 
 press its weight upon her, and day after day, as Hum- 
 frey watched her across the chapel, and exchanged a 
 word or two with her while crossing tlie yard, had he 
 grieved at her altered mien ; and vexed himself with 
 wondering whether she had after all loved Babington, 
 and were mourning for him. 
 
 Truly, even without the passion of love, there had 
 been much to shock and appal a young heart in the 
 fate of the playfellow of her childhood, the suitor of 
 her youth. It was the first death among those she had 
 known intimately, and even her small knowledge of the 
 cause made her feel miserable and almost guilty, for 
 had not poor Antony plotted for her mother, and had 
 not she been held out to him as a delusive inducement ? 
 Moreover, she felt the burden of a deep, pitying love 
 and admiration not wholly joined with perfect trust 
 and reliance. She had been from the first startled by 
 untruths and concealments. There was mystery all 
 round her, and the future was dark. There were terrible 
 forebodings for her mother ; and if she looked beyond 
 for herself, only uncertainty and fear of being com- 
 manded to follow Marie de Courcelles to a foreign 
 court, perhaps to a convent ; while she yearned with 
 an almost sick longing for home and kind Mrs. Talbot's 
 motherly tenderness and trustworthiness, and the veiy 
 renunciation of Humfrey that she had spoken so easily, 
 had made her aware of his full worth, and wakened 
 in her a longing for the right to rest on his stout arm 
 and faithful heart. To look across at him and know 
 him near often seemed her best support, and was she
 
 440 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 to be cut off from him for ever ? The devotions of the 
 Queen, though she had been deprived of her almoner, 
 liad been much increased of late as one preparing for 
 death ; and with them were associated all her house- 
 hold of the Eoman Catholic faith, leaving out Cicely 
 and the two Mrs. Curlls. The long oft-repeated Latin 
 orisons, such as the penitential Psalms, would certainly 
 have been wearisome to the girl, but it gave her a pang 
 to be pointedly excluded as one who had no part nor 
 lot with her mother. Perhaps this was done by calcu- 
 lation, in order to incline her to embrace her mother's 
 faith ; and the time was not spent very pleasantly, as 
 she had nothing but needlework to occupy her, and 
 no soci'ety save that of the sisters Curll. Barbara's 
 spirits were greatly depressed by the loss of her infant 
 and anxiety for her husband. His evidence might be 
 life or death to the Queen, and his betrayal of her confi- 
 dence, or his being tortured for his fidelity, were terrible 
 alternatives for his wife's imagination. It was hard to 
 say whether she were more sorry or glad when, on leav- 
 ing Chartley, she was forbidden to continue her attend- 
 ance on the Queen, and set free to follow him to London. 
 The poor lady knew nothing, and dreaded everything. 
 She could not help discussing her anxieties when alone 
 with Cicely, thus rendering perceptible more and more 
 of the ramifications of plot and intrigue — past and 
 present— at which she herself only guessed a part. 
 Assuredly the finding herself a princess, and sharing the 
 captivity of a queen, had not proved so like a chapter 
 of the Morte d' Arthur as it had seemed to Cicely at 
 Buxton. 
 
 It was as unlike as was riding a white palfrey 
 through a forest, guided by knights in armour, to the 
 being packed with all the ladies into a heavy jolting
 
 XXXIV.'J FOTHERINGHAY, 441 
 
 conveyance, guarded before and behind by armed ser* 
 vants and yeomen, among whom Humfrey's form could 
 only now and then be detected. 
 
 The Queen had chosen her seat where she could 
 best look out from the scant amount of window. 
 She gazed at the harvest-fields full of sheaves, the or- 
 chards laden with ruddy apples, the trees assuming their 
 autumn tints, with lingering eyes, as of one who fore- 
 boded that these sights of eartli were passing from her. 
 
 Two nights were spent on the road, one at Leicester ; 
 and on the fourth day, the captain in charge of the 
 castle for the governor Sir William Fitzwilliam, who 
 had come to escort and receive her, came to the carriage 
 window and bade her look up. " This is Periho Lane," 
 he said, " whence your Grace may have the first sight 
 of the poor house which is to have the honour of re- 
 ceiving you." 
 
 " Perio ! I perish," repeated Mary ; " an ominous 
 road." 
 
 The place showed itself to be of immense strength. 
 The hollow sound caused by rolling over a draw- 
 bridge was twice heard, and the carriage crossed two 
 courts before stopping at the foot of a broad flight of 
 stone steps, where stood Sir William Fitzwilliam and 
 Sir Amias Paulett ready to hand out the Queen. 
 
 A few stone steps were mounted, then an enormous 
 hall had to be traversed. The little procession had 
 formed in pairs, and Humfrey was able to give his 
 hand to Cicely and walk with her along tlie vast space, 
 on which many windows emblazoned with coats of arms 
 shed their light — the western ones full of the bright 
 September sunshine. One of these, emblazoned with the 
 royal shield in crimson mantlings, cast a blood-red stain 
 on the white stone pavement. Mary, who was walking;
 
 442 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CILVP. 
 
 first, holding by the arm of Sir Andrew Melville, 
 paused, shuddered, pointed, and said, " See, Andrew, 
 there will my blood be shed." 
 
 " Madam, madam ! speak not thus. By the help 
 of the saints you will yet win through your troubles." 
 
 " Ay, Andrew, but only by one fate ; " and she 
 looked upwards. 
 
 Her faithful followers could not Ijut notice that 
 there was no eager assurance that no ill was intended 
 her, such as they had often heard from Shrewsbury and 
 Sadler. 
 
 Cicely looked at Humfrey with widely-opened eyes, 
 and the half-breathed question, "What does it mean ?" 
 
 He shook his head gravely and said, " I cannot 
 tell," but he could not keep his manner from betraying 
 that he expected the worst. 
 
 Meanwhile Mary was conducted on to her apart- 
 ments, up a stair as usual, and forming another side 
 of the inner court at right angles to the Hall. There 
 was no reason to complain of these, Mary's furniture 
 having as usual been sent forward with her inferior 
 servants, and arranged by them. She was weary, and 
 sat down at once on her chair, and as soon as Paulett 
 had gone through his usual formalities with even more 
 than his wonted stiffness, and had left her, she said, 
 " I see what we are come here for. It is that yonder 
 hall may be the place of my death." 
 
 Cheering assurances and deprecations of evil augury 
 were poured on her, but she put them aside, saying, 
 " Nay, my friends, trow you not that I rejoice in the 
 close of my weary captivity ? " 
 
 She resumed her usual habits very calmly, as far 
 as her increased rheumatism would permit, and showed 
 anxiety that a large piece of embroidery should be
 
 XXXIV.] FOTHERINGHAY. 443 
 
 completed, and thus about a fortnight passed. Then 
 came the first tolien of the future. Sir Amias Paulett, 
 Sir Walter Mildmay, and a notary, sought her presence 
 and presented her with a letter from Queen Elizabeth, 
 informing her that there were heavy accusations 
 against her, and that as she was residing under the 
 protection of the laws of England, she must be tried 
 by those laws, and must make answer to the conmiis- 
 sioners appointed for the purpose. Mary put on all 
 her queenly dignity, and declared that she would never 
 condescend to answer as a subject of the Queen of 
 England, but would only consent to refer their differ- 
 ences to a tribunal of foreign princes. As to her 
 being under the protection of English law, she had 
 come to England of her own free will, and had been 
 kept there a prisoner ever since, so that she did not 
 consider herself p7^otected by the law of England. 
 
 Meanwhile fresh noblemen commissioned to sit on 
 the trial arrived day by day. There was trampling of 
 horses and jingling of equipments, and the captive 
 suite daily heard reports of fresh arrivals, and saw 
 glimpses of new colours and badges flitting across the 
 court, while conferences were held with Mary in the 
 hope of inducing her to submit to the English juris- 
 diction. She was sorely perplexed, seeing as she did 
 that to persist in her absolute refusal to be bound by 
 English law would be prejudicial to her claim to the 
 English crown, and being also assured by Burghley 
 that if she refused to plead the trial would still take 
 place, and she would be sentenced in her absence. 
 Her spirit rose at this threat, and she answered 
 disdainfully, but it worked with her none the less 
 when the treasurer had left her. 
 
 " Oh," she cried that night, " woidd but Elizabeth
 
 444 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 be content to let me resign my rights to my son, 
 making them secure to him, and then let me retii'e to 
 some convent in Lorraine, or in Germany, or wherever 
 she would, so w^ould I never trouble her more !" 
 
 "Will you not write this to her?" asked Cicely. 
 
 " What would be the use of it, child ? They would 
 tamper with the letter, pledging me to what I never 
 would undertake. I know how they can cut and 
 garble, add and take away ! Never have they let me 
 see or speak to her as woman to woman. All I have 
 said or done has been coloured." 
 
 " Mother, I would that I could go to her ; Humfrey 
 has seen and spoken to her, why should not I?" 
 
 " Thou, poor silly maid ! They would drive Cis 
 Talbot away with scorn, and as to Bride Hepburn, 
 why, she w"0uld but run into all her mother's dangers." 
 
 " It might be done, and if so I will do it," said 
 Cicely, clasping her hands together. 
 
 " No, child, say no more. My worn-out old life is 
 not worth the risk of thy young freedom. But I love 
 thee for it, mine ain bairnie, mon enfant a inoi. If 
 thy brother had thy spirit, child " 
 
 " I hate the thought of him ! Call him not my 
 brother !" cried Cicely hotly. " If he were worth one 
 brass farthing he would have unfurled the Scottish 
 lion long ago, and ridden across the Border to deliver 
 his mother." 
 
 " And how many do you think would have followed 
 that same lion?" said Mary, sadly. 
 
 " Then he should have come alone with his good 
 horse and his good sword !" 
 
 " To lose both crowns, if not life ! No, no, lassie ; he 
 is a pawky chiel, as they say in the north, and cares 
 not to risk aught for the mother he hath never seen,
 
 XXXIV.] FOTHERINGHAY. 445 
 
 and of whom he hath been tau^^ht to believe strano-e 
 tales." 
 
 The more the Queen said in excuse for the in- 
 difference of her son, the stronger was the purpose 
 that grew up in the heart of the daughter, while 
 fresh commissioners arrived every day, and further 
 conversations were held with the Queen. Lord 
 Shrewsbury was known to be summoned, and Cicely 
 spent half her time in watching for some well-known 
 face, in the hope that he might bring her good foster- 
 father in his train. More than once she declared that 
 she saw a cap or sleeve with the well-beloved silver dog, 
 when it turned out to be a wyvern or the royal lion him- 
 self. Queen Mary even laughed at her for thinking her 
 mastiff had gone on his hind legs when she once even 
 imafrined him in the Warwick Bear and ragged staff. 
 
 At last, however, all unexpectedly, while the Queen 
 was in conference with Hatton, there came a message 
 by the steward of the household, that Master Eichard 
 Talbot had arrived, and that permission had been 
 granted by Sir Amias for him to speak with Mistress 
 Cicely. She sj)rang up joyously, but Mrs. Kennedy 
 demurred. 
 
 " Set him up !" quoth she. " My certie, things are 
 come to a pretty pass that any one's permission save 
 her Majesty's should be speired for one of her women, 
 and I wonder that you, my mistress, should be the 
 last to think of her honour !" 
 
 " Mrs. Kennedy, dear Mrs. Jean," entreated 
 Cicely, " hinder me not. If I wait till I can ask her, 
 I may lose my sole hope of speaking with him. I 
 know she would not be displeased, and it imports, 
 indeed it imports." 
 
 " Come, Mrs. Kennett," said the steward, who by
 
 446 UNKNOWN TO IIISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 no means shared liis master's sourness, " if it were a 
 young gallant that craved to see thy fair mistress, I 
 could see why you should doubt, but beiug her father 
 and brother, there can surely be no objection." 
 
 " The young lady knows what I mean," said the 
 old gentlewoman with great dignity, " but if she will 
 answer it to the Queen " 
 
 " I will, 1 will," cried Cicely, whose colour had 
 risen with eagerness, and she was immediately mar- 
 shalled by the steward beyond the door that closed in 
 the royal captive's suite of apaftments to a gallery. 
 At the door of communication three yeomen were 
 always placed under an officer. Humfrey was one of 
 those who took turns to command this guard, but he 
 was not now on duty. lie was, however, standing 
 beside his father awaiting Cicely's coming. 
 
 Eagerly she moved up to Master Eichard, bent her 
 knee for his blessing, and raised her face for his 
 paternal kiss with the same fond gladness as if she 
 had been his daughter in truth. He took one hand, 
 and Humfrey the other, and they followed the steward, 
 who had promised to procure them a private interview, 
 so difficult a matter, in the fulness of the castle, that 
 he had no place to offer them save the deep embrasure 
 of a great oriel window at the end of the gallery. 
 They would be seen there, but there was no fear of 
 their being heard without their own consent, and till 
 the chapel bell rang for evening prayers and sermoi\ 
 there would be no interruption. And as Cicely found 
 herself seated between Master Eichard and the win- 
 dow, with Humfrey opposite, she was sensible of a 
 repose and lien etre she had not felt since she quitted 
 Bridgefield. She had already heard on the way that 
 all was well there, and that my Lord was not come,
 
 XXXIV.] rOTHERINGHAY. 447 
 
 though named in the commission as being Earl Marshal 
 of England, sending his kinsman of Bridgefield in his 
 stead with letters of excuse. 
 
 " In sooth he cannot bear to come and sit in judg- 
 ment on one he hath known so long and closely," said 
 Eichard ; " but he hath bidden me to come lather and 
 remain so as to bring him a full report of all." 
 
 "How doth my Lady Countess take that?" asked 
 Humfrey. 
 
 " I question whether the Countess would let him 
 go if he wished it. She is altogether changed in 
 mind, and come round to her first love for this Lady, 
 declaring that it is all her Lord's fault that the custody 
 was taken from them, and that she could and would 
 have liindered all this." 
 
 " That may be so," said Humfrey. " If all be true 
 that is whispered, there have been dealings which would 
 not have been possible at Sheffield." 
 
 " So it may be. In any wise my Lady is bitterly 
 grieved, and they send for thy mother every second day 
 to pacify her." 
 
 "Dear mother!" murmured Cis; "when shall I see 
 her again ? " 
 
 " I would that she had thee for a little space, my 
 wench," said Eichard ; " thou hast lost thy round ruddy 
 cheeks. Hast been sick ?" 
 
 " Nay, sir, save as we all are — sick at heart ! But 
 all seems well now you are here. Tell me of little 
 JSTed. Is he as good scholar as ever ? " 
 
 " Verily he is. We intend by God's blessing to 
 bring him up for the ministry. I hope in another 
 year to take him to Cambridge. Thy mother is knit- 
 ting his hosen of gray and black already." 
 
 Other questions and answers followed about Bridge-
 
 448 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 field tidings, which still evidently touched Cicely as 
 closely as if she had been a born Talbot. There was a 
 kind of rest in dwelling on these before coming to the 
 sadder, more pressing concern of her other life. It was 
 not till the slow striking of the Castle clock warned 
 them that they had less than an hour to spend together 
 that they came to closer matters, and Eichard transferred 
 to Cicely those last sad messages to her Queen, which 
 he had undertaken for Babington and Tichborne. 
 
 " The Queen hath shed many tears for them," she 
 said, " and hath writ to the French and Spanish am- 
 bassadors to have masses said for them. Poor Antony ! 
 Did he send no w^ord to me, dear father ?" 
 
 The man being dead, Mr. Talbot saw no objection 
 to telling her how he had said he had never loved any 
 other, though he had been false to that love. 
 
 "Ah, poor Antony !" said Cis, with her grave sim- 
 plicity. " But it would not have been right for me to 
 be a hindrance to the marriage of one who could never 
 have me." 
 
 " While he loved you it would," said Humfrey 
 hastily. " Yea," as she lifted up her eyes to him, " it 
 would so, as my father will tell you, because he could 
 not truly love that other woman." 
 
 Richard smiled sadly, and could not but assent to 
 his son's honest truth and faith. 
 
 " Then," said Cis, with the same straightforward- 
 ness, sprung of their old fraternal intercourse, "you 
 must quit all love for me save a brother's, Humfrey ; 
 for my Queen mother made me give her my word on 
 my duty never to wed you." 
 
 " I know," returned Humfrey calmly. " I have 
 known all that these two years; but what has that to 
 do with my love ?"
 
 XXXIV.] FOTHERINGHAY. 449 
 
 " Come, come, children," said Eicbard, hardening 
 himself though his eyes were moist ; " I did not come 
 here to hear you two discourse like the folks in a 
 pastoral ! We may not waste time. Tell me, child, if 
 thou be not forbidden, hath she any purpose for thee ?" 
 
 " sir, I fear that what she would most desire is 
 to bestow me abroad with some of her kindred of 
 Lorraine. But I mean to strive hard against it, and 
 pray her earnestly. And, father, I have one great 
 purpose. She saith that these cruel statesmen, who 
 are all below in this castle, have hindered Queen 
 Elizabeth from ever truly hearing and knowing all, and 
 from speaking with her as woman to woman. Father, 
 I will go to London, I will make my way to the Queen, 
 and when she hears who I am — of her own blood and 
 kindred — she must listen to me ; and I will tell her 
 what my mother Queen really is, and how cruelly she 
 has been played upon, and entreat of her to see her 
 face to face and talk with her, and judge whether she 
 can have done all she is accused of." 
 
 " Thou art a brave maiden, Cis," exclaimed Humfrey 
 with deep feeling. 
 
 " Will you take me, sir ?" said Cicely, looking up to 
 Master Eichard. 
 
 " Child, I cannot say at once. It is a perilous 
 purpose, and requires much to be thought over." 
 
 " But you will aid me?" she said earnestly. 
 
 " If it be thy duty, woe be to me if I gainsay thee," 
 said Eichard ; " but there is no need to decide as yet. 
 We must await the issue of this trial, if the trial ever 
 take place." 
 
 " Will Cavendish saith," put in Humfrey, " that a 
 trial there will be of some sort, whether the Lady con- 
 sent to plead or not." 
 
 2 G
 
 450 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIL^P. 
 
 " Until that is ended we can do nothing," said his 
 father. "Meantime, Cicely child, we shall be here at 
 hand, and be sure that I will not be slack to aid thee 
 in what may be thy duty as a daughter. So rest thee 
 in that, my wench, and pray that we may be led to 
 know the right." 
 
 And Richard spoke as a man of high moral courage 
 in making this promise, well knowing that it might 
 involve himself in great danger. The worst that could 
 befall Cicely might be imprisonment, and a life of con- 
 straint, jealously watched ; but his own long conceal- 
 ment of her birth might easily be construed into 
 treason, and the horrible consequences of such an accu- 
 sation were only too fresh in his memory. Yet, as he 
 said afterwards to his son, " There was no forbidding 
 the maiden to do her utmost for her own mother, 
 neither was there any letting her run the risk alone." 
 
 To which Humfrey heartily responded. 
 
 " The Queen may forbid her, or the purpose may 
 pass away," added Eichard, " or it may be clearly use- 
 less and impossible to make the attempt ; but I cannot 
 as a Christian man strive to dissuade her from doing 
 what she can. And as thou saidst, Humfrey, she is 
 changed. She hath borne her modestly and discreetly, 
 ay and truly, through all. The childishness is gone 
 out of her, and I mark no lightness of purpose in her." 
 
 On that afternoon Queen Mary announced that she 
 had yielded to Hatton's representations so far as to 
 consent to appear before the Commissioners, provided 
 her protest against the proceedings were put on record. 
 
 " Nay, blame me not, good ]\Ielville," she said. " I 
 am wearied out with their arguments. What matters 
 it how they do the deed on which they are bent ? It 
 was an ill thing when King Harry the Eighth brought
 
 XXXIV.] FOTHEKINGHAY. 451 
 
 in tliis fashion of forcing the law to give a colour to 
 his will ! In the good old times, the blow came with- 
 out being first baited by one and another, and made a 
 spectacle to all men, in the name of justice, forsooth ! " 
 
 Mary Seaton faltered something of her Majesty's 
 innocence shining out like the light of day. 
 
 "Flatter not thyself so far, ma viie" said Mary. 
 " Were mine innocence clearer than the sun they would 
 blacken it. All that can come of this same trial is 
 that I may speak to posterity, if they stifle my voice 
 here, and so be known to have died a martyr to my 
 faith. Get we to our prayers, girls, rather than feed 
 on vain hopes De pvfundis claniavi."
 
 -452 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CUAP 
 
 CHATTEE XXXV. 
 
 BEFORE THE COMMISSIONEES. 
 
 Who would be permitted to witness the trial ? As 
 small matters at hand eclipse great matters farther off, 
 this formed the immediate excitement in Queen Mary's 
 little household, when it was disclosed that she was to 
 appear only attended by Sir Andrew Melville and her 
 two Maries before her judges. 
 
 The vast hall had space enough on the ground for 
 numerous spectators, and a small gallery intended for 
 musicians was granted, with some reluctance, to the 
 ladies and gentlemen of the suite, who, as Sir Amias 
 Paulett observed, could do no hurt, if secluded there. 
 Thither then they proceeded, and to Cicely's no small 
 delight, found Humfrey awaiting them there, partly as 
 a guard, partly as a master of the ceremonies, ready to 
 explain the aiTangements, and tell the names of the 
 personages who appeared in sight. 
 
 " There," said he, " close below us, where you can- 
 not see it, is the chair with a cloth of state over it." 
 
 " For our Queen ? " asked Jean Kennedy. 
 
 " No, madam. It is there to represent the Majesty 
 of Queen Elizabeth. That other chair, half-way down 
 the hall, with the canopy from the beam over it, is for 
 the Queen of Scots."
 
 XXXV.] BEFORE THE COMMISSIONERS. 453 
 
 Jean Kennedy sniffed the air a little at this, but 
 her attention was directed to the gentlemen who began 
 to fill the seats on either side. Some of them had be- 
 fore had interviews with Queen Mary, and thus were 
 known by sight to her own attendants ; some had been 
 seen by Humfrey during his visit to London ; and even 
 now at a great distance, and a different table, he had 
 been taking his meals with them at the present juncture. 
 
 The seats were long benches against the Avail, for 
 the Earls on one side, the Barons on the other. The 
 Lord Chancellor Bromley, in his red and white gown, 
 and Burghley, the Lord Treasurer, with long white 
 beard and hard impenetrable face, sat with them. 
 
 " That a man should have such a beard, and yet 
 dare to speak to the Queen as he did two days ago," 
 whispered Cis. 
 
 " See," said Mrs. Kennedy, " who is that burly 
 figure with the black eyes and grizzled beard ?" 
 
 " That, madam," said Humfrey, " is the Earl of 
 Warwick." 
 
 " The brother of the minion Leicester ? " said Jean 
 Kennedy. " He hath scant show of his comeliness." 
 
 " Nay ; they say he is become the best favoured," 
 said Humfrey ; " my Lord of Leicester being grown 
 heavy and red-faced. He is away in the Nether- 
 lands, or you might judge of him." 
 
 " And who," asked the lady, " may be yon, with the 
 strangely-plumed hat and long, yellow hair, like a half- 
 tamed Borderer?" 
 
 "He?" said Humfrey. "He is my Lord of Cum- 
 berland. I marvelled to see him back so soon. He is 
 here, there, and everywhere ; and when I was in Lon- 
 don was commanding a fleet bearing victuals to relieve 
 the Dutch in Helvoetsluys. Had I not other work in
 
 454 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cHAP. 
 
 liaud, I wo\ild gladly sail with him, though there be 
 something fantastic in his humour. But here come the 
 Knights of the Privy Council, who are to my mind 
 more noteworthy than the Earls." 
 
 The seats of these knights were placed a little below 
 and beyond those of the noblemen. The courteous Sir 
 Ealf Sadler looked up and saluted the ladies in the 
 gallery as he entered. " He was always kindly," said 
 Jean Kennedy, as she returned the bow. " I am glad 
 to see him here." 
 
 " But oh, Humfrey !" cried Cicely, " who is yonder, 
 with the short cloak standing on end with pearls, and 
 the quilted satin waistcoat, jewelled ears, and frizzed 
 head ? He looks fitter to lead off a dance than a 
 trial." 
 
 " He is Sir Christopher Hatton, her Majesty's Vice- 
 Chamberlain," replied Humfrey. 
 
 " Who, if rumour saith true, made his fortune by a 
 galliard," said Dr. Bourgoin. 
 
 " Here is a contrast to him," said Jean Kennedy. 
 "See that figure, as puritanical as Sir Amias himself, with 
 the long face, scant beard, black skull-cap, and plain 
 crunped ruff. His visage is pulled into so solemn a 
 length that were we at home in Edinburgh, I should 
 expect to see him ascend a pulpit, and deliver a screed 
 to us all on the iniquities of dancing and playing on 
 the lute !" 
 
 " That, madam," said Humfrey, " is Mr. Secretaiy, 
 Sir Francis Walsingham." 
 
 Here Elizabeth Curll leant forward, looked, and 
 shivered a little. " Ah, Master Humfrey, is it in that 
 man's power that my poor brother lies ?" 
 
 " 'Tis true, madam," said Humfrey ," but indeed you 
 need not fear. I heard from Will Ca\'endish last night
 
 XXXV.] BEFORE THE COMMISSIONEKS. 455 
 
 that Mr. Curll is well. They have not touched either 
 of the Secretaries to hurt them, and if aught have been 
 avowed, it was by Monsieur Nau, and that on the 
 mere threat. Do you see old Will yonder, Cicely, just 
 within Mr. Secretary's call — with the poke of papers 
 and the tablet ?" 
 
 " Is that Will Cavendish ? How precise and stiff 
 he hath grown, and why doth he not look up and gi-eet 
 us ? He knoweth ns far better than doth Sir Ealf 
 Sadler ; dotli he not know we are here ? " 
 
 " Ay, Mistress Cicely," said Dr. Bourgoiu from be- 
 hind, " but the young gentleman has his fortune to 
 make, and knows better than to look on the seamy 
 side of Court favour." 
 
 " Ah ! see those scarlet robes," here exclaimed Cis. 
 "Are they the judges, Humfrey ?" 
 
 " Ay, the two Chief-Justices and the Chief Baron of 
 the Exchequer. There they sit in front of the Earls, 
 and three more judges in front of the Barons." 
 
 " And there are more red robes at that little table 
 in front, besides the black ones." 
 
 " Those are Doctors of Law, and those in black with 
 coifs are the Attorney and Solicitor General. The rest 
 are clerks and writers and the like." 
 
 " It is a mighty and fearful array," said Cicely witli 
 a long breath. 
 
 "A mighty comedy wherewith to mock at justice," 
 said Jean. 
 
 " Prudence, madam, and caution," suggested Dr. 
 Bourgoin. "And hush!" 
 
 " A crier here sliouted aloud, " Oyez, oyez, oyez ! 
 Mary, Queen of Scotland and Dowager of France, come 
 into the Court !" 
 
 Then from a door in the centre, leaning on Sir
 
 45(5 UNKNOWN TO HI8T0IIY. [CHAP. 
 
 Andrew Melville's arm, came forward the Queen, in a 
 black velvet dress, her long transparent veil hanging 
 over it from her cap, and followed by the two Maries, one 
 carrying a crimson velvet folding-chair, and the other 
 a footstool. She turned at first towards the throne, but 
 she was motioned aside, and made to perceive that her 
 place was not there. She drew her slender figure up 
 with offended dignity. " I am a queen," she said ; " I 
 married a king of France, and my seat ought to be 
 there." 
 
 However, with this protest she passed on to her 
 appointed place, looking sadly round at the assembled 
 judges and lawyers. 
 
 " Alas !" she said, " so many counsellors, and not 
 one for me." 
 
 Were there any Englishmen there besides Eichard 
 Talbot and his son who felt the pathos of this appeal ? 
 One defenceless woman against an array of the legal 
 force of the whole kingdom. It may be feared that 
 the feelings of most were as if they had at last secured 
 some wild, noxious, and incomprehensible animal iu 
 their net, on whose struggles they looked with the un- 
 pitying eye of the hunter. 
 
 The Lord Chancellor began by declaring that the 
 Queen of England convened the Court as a duty in one 
 who might not bear the sword in vain, to examine into 
 the practices against her own life, giving the Queen of 
 Scots the opportunity of clearing herself. 
 
 At the desire of Burghley, the commission was read 
 by the Clerk of the Court, and Mary then made her 
 public protest against its legality, or power over her. 
 
 It was a wonderful thing, as those spectators in the 
 gallery felt, to see how brave and how acute was the 
 defence of that solitary lady, seated there with all those
 
 XXX. v.] BEFORE THE COMMISSIONERS. 457 
 
 learned men against her; her papers gone, nothing left 
 to her but her brain and her tongue. No loss of dig- 
 nity nor of gentleness was shown in her replies ; . they 
 were always simple and direct. The difficulty for her 
 was all the greater that she had not been allowed to 
 know the form of the accusation, before it was hurled 
 against her in full force by Mr. Serjeant Gawdy, who 
 detailed the whole of the conspiracy of Ballard and 
 Babington in all its branches, and declared her to have 
 known and approved of it, and to have suggested the 
 manner of executing it. 
 
 Breathlessly did Cicely listen as the Queen rose up. 
 Humfrey watched her almost more closely than the 
 royal prisoner. When there was a denial of all know- 
 ledge or intercourse with Ballard or Babington, Jean 
 Kennedy's hard-lined face never faltered ; but Cicely's 
 brows came together in concern at the mention of 
 the last name, and did not clear as the Queen ex- 
 plained that though many Catholics might indeed write 
 to her with offers of service, she could have no know- 
 ledge of anything they might attempt. To confute 
 this, extracts from their confessions were read, and 
 likewise that letter of Babiugton's which he had 
 written to her detailing liis plans, and that lengthy 
 answer, brought by the blue-coated serving-man, in 
 which the mode of carrying her off from Chartley was 
 suggested, and which had the postscript desiring to 
 know the names of the six who were to remove the 
 usurping competitor. 
 
 The Queen denied this letter flatly, declaring that 
 it might have been written with her alphabet of 
 ciphers, but was certainly none of hers. '■ There may 
 have been designs against the Queen and for procuring 
 my liberty," she said, " but I, shut up in close prison,
 
 458 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 was not aware of them, and how can I be made to 
 answer for them ? Only lately did I receive a letter 
 asking my pardon if schemes were made on my behalf 
 without my privity, nor can anything be easier than 
 to counterfeit a cipher, as was lately proved by a 
 youi]g man in France. Verily, I greatly fear that if 
 these same letters were traced to their deviser, it 
 would prove to be the one who is sitting here. Think 
 you," she added, turning to Walsingham, " think you, 
 Mr. Secretary, that I am ignorant of your devices used 
 so craftily against me ? Your spies surrounded me on 
 every side, but you know not, perhaps, that some of 
 your spies have been false and brought intelligence to 
 me. And if such have been his dealings, my Lords," 
 she said, appealing to the judges and peers, " how can 
 I be assured that he hath not counterfeited my ciphers 
 to bring me to my death ? Hath he not already 
 practised against my life and that of my son ?" 
 
 Walsingham rose in his place, and lifting up his 
 hands and eyes declared, " I call God to record that 
 as a private person I have done nothing unbeseeming 
 an honest man, nor as a public person have I done 
 anything to dishonour my place." 
 
 Somewhat ironically Mary admitted this disavowal, 
 and after some unimportant discussion, the Court 
 adjourned until the next day, it being already late, 
 according to the early habits of the time. 
 
 Cicely had been entirely carried along by her 
 mother's pleading. Tears had started as Queen Mary 
 wept her indignant tears, and a glow had risen in her 
 cheeks at the accusation of Walsingham. Ever and 
 anon she looked to Humfrey's face for sympathy, but 
 lie sat gravely listening, his two hands clasped over 
 the hilt of his sword, and his chin resting on them, as
 
 XXXV.] BEFORE THE COMMISSIONERS. 459 
 
 if to prevent a muscle of his face from moving. When 
 they rose up to leave the galleries, and there was the 
 power to say a word, she turned to him earnestly, 
 
 "A piteous sight," he said, "and a right gallant 
 defence." 
 
 He did not mean it, but the words struck like lead 
 on Cicely's heart, for they did not amount to an 
 acquittal before the tribunal of his secret conviction, 
 any more than did Walsingham's disavowal, for who 
 could tell what Mr. Secretary's conscience did think 
 unbecoming to his office ? 
 
 Cicely found her mother on her couch giving a free 
 course to her tears, in the reaction after the strain and 
 effort of her defence. Melville and the Maries were 
 assuring her that she had most bravely confuted her 
 enemies, and that she had only to hold on with equal 
 courage to the end. Mrs. Kennedy and Dr. Bourgoin 
 came in to join in the same encouragements, and the 
 commendation evidently soothed her. " However it 
 may end," she said, " Mary of Scotland shall not go 
 down to future ages as a craven spirit. But let us 
 not discuss it further, my dear friends, my head aches, 
 and I can bear no further word at present." 
 
 Dr. Bourgoin made her take some food and then 
 lie down to rest, while in an outer room a lute was 
 played and a low soft song was sung. She had not 
 slept all the previous night, but she fell asleep, hold- 
 ing the hand of Cicely, who was on a cushion by her 
 side. The girl, having been likewise much disturbed, 
 slept too, and only gradually awoke as her mother was 
 sitting up on her couch discussing the next day's 
 defence with Melville and Bourgoin. 
 
 " I fear me, madam, there is no holding to the pro- 
 fession of entire ignorance," said Melville.
 
 460 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " They have no letters from Babington to- me to 
 show," said the Queen. " I took care of thxit by the 
 help of this good bairn. I can defy them to produce 
 the originals out of all my ransacked cabinets." 
 
 " They have the copies both of them and of your 
 Majesty's replies, and Nau and Curll to verify them." 
 
 " What are copies worth, or what are dead and 
 tortured men's confessions worth ?" said Mary. 
 
 " Were your Majesty a private person they would 
 never be accepted as evidence," said Melville; "but " 
 
 " But because I am a Queen and a Catholic there 
 is no justice for me," said Mary. " Well, what is the 
 defence you would have me confine myself to, my sole 
 privy counsellors ?" 
 
 Here Cis, to show she was awake, pressed her 
 mother's hand and looked up in her face, but Mary, 
 though returning the glance and the pressure, did not 
 send her away, while Melville recommended strongly 
 that the Queen should continue to insist on the im- 
 perfection of the evidence adduced against her, which 
 he said might so touch some of the lawyers, or the 
 nobles, that Burghley and Walsingham might be afraid 
 to proceed. If this failed her, she must allow her 
 knowledge of the plot for her own escape and the 
 Spanish invasion, but strenuously deny the part which 
 concerned Elizabeth's life. 
 
 " That it is which they above all desire to fix on 
 me," said the Queen. 
 
 Cicily's brain was in confusion. Surely she had 
 heard those letters read in the hall. Were they false 
 or genuine ? The Queen had utterly denied them 
 there. Now slie seemed to think the only point was 
 to prove that these were not the originals. Dr. Bour- 
 goin seemed to feel the same difiticulty.
 
 XXXV.] BEFOKE THE COMMISSIONERS. 461 
 
 "M.idame will pardon me," he said; "I have not 
 been of her secret councils, but can she not, if rightly 
 dealt with, prove those two letters that were read to 
 have been forged by her enemies ?" 
 
 " What I could do is this, my good Bourgoiu," 
 said Mary ; " were I only confronted with Nau and 
 Curll, I could prove that the letter I received from 
 Babington bore nothing about the destroying the 
 usurping competitor. The poor faithful lad was a 
 fool, but not so great a fool as to tell me such tilings. 
 And, on the other hand, hath either of you, my friends, 
 ever seen in me such symptoms of midsummer mad- 
 ness as that I should be asking the names of the six 
 who were to do the deed ? What cared I for their 
 names ? I — who only wished to know as little of the 
 matter as possible !" 
 
 " Can your Majesty prove that you knew nothing ?" 
 asked Melville. 
 
 Mary paused. " They cannot prove by fair means 
 that I knew anything," said she, " for I did not. Of 
 course I was aware that Elizabeth must be taken out 
 of the way, or the heretics would be rallying round 
 her ; but there is no lack of folk who delight in work 
 of that sort, and why should I meddle with the know- 
 ledge ? With the Prince of Parma in London, sha, if 
 she hath the high courage she boasteth of, would soon 
 cause the Spanish pikes to us8 small ceremony with 
 her ! Why should I concern myself about poor Antony 
 and his five gentlemen ? But it is the same as it was 
 twenty years ago. What I know will have to be, and 
 yet choose not to hear of, is made the head and front 
 of mine offending, that the real actors may go free ! 
 A.nd because I have writ naught that they can bring 
 against me, they take my letters and add to and garblo
 
 462 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAR 
 
 tliem, till none knows where to have them. Would 
 that we were in France ! There it w^as a good sword-cut 
 or pistol-sliot at once, and one took one's chance of a 
 return, without all this hypocrisy of law and justice to 
 weary one out and make men double traitors." 
 
 "Methought Walsingham winced when your Ma- 
 jesty went to the point with hun," said Bourgoin. 
 
 " And. you put up with his explanation ? " said 
 Melville. 
 
 " Truly I longed to demand of what practices Mr. 
 Secretary in his office, — not as a private person — 
 would be ashamed ; but it seemed to me that they 
 might call it womanish spite, and to that the Queen of 
 Scots will never descend !" 
 
 " Pity but that we had Babington's letter ! Then 
 might we put him to confusion by proving the addi- 
 tions," said Melville. 
 
 " It is not possible, my good friend. The letter is 
 at the bottom of the Castle well ; is it not, mignonne ? 
 Mourn for it not, Andrew. It would have been of 
 little avail, and it carried with it stuff that Mr. Secre- 
 tary would give almost his precious place to possess, 
 and that might be fatal to more of us. I hoped that 
 there might have been safety for poor Babington in 
 the destruction of that packet, never guessing at the 
 villainy of yon Burton brewer, nor of those who set 
 him on. Come, it serves not to fret ourselves any 
 more. I must answer as occasion serves me ; speaking 
 not so much to Elizabeth's Commission, who have fore- 
 doomed me, as to all Christendom, and to the Scots 
 and English of all ages, who will be my judges." 
 
 Her judges ? Ay ! but how ? With the same 
 enthusiastic pity and indignation, mixed with the same 
 misgiving as her own daughter fel(T. Not wholly inno-
 
 XXXV.] BEFOEE THE COMMISSIONERS. 463 
 
 cent, not wholly guilty, yet far less guilty than those 
 who had laid their own crimes on her in Scotland, or 
 who plotted to involve her in meshes partly woven by 
 herself in England. The evil done to her was fi-ightful, 
 but it would have been powerless had she been wholly 
 blameless. Alas ! is it not so with all of us ? 
 
 The second day's trial came on. Mary Seaton was 
 so overpowered with the strain she had gone through 
 that the Queen would not take her into the hall, but 
 let Cicely sit at her feet instead. On this day none of 
 the Crown lawyers took part in the proceedings ; for, 
 ^s Cavendish whispered to Humfrey, there had been 
 high words between them and my Lord Treasurer and 
 Mr. Secretary ; and they had declared themselves in- 
 capable of conducting a prosecution so inconsistent 
 with the forms of law to which they were accustomed. 
 The pedantic fellows wanted more direct evidence, he 
 said, and Humfrey honoured them. 
 
 Lord Burghley then conducted the proceedings, and 
 they had thus a more personal character. The Queen, 
 however, acted on Melville's advice, and no longer 
 denied all knowledge of the conspiracy, but insisted 
 that she was ignorant of the proposed murder of Eliza- 
 beth, and argued most pertinently that a copy of a 
 deciphered cipher, without the original, was no proof 
 at all, desiring further that Nau and Curll should be 
 examined in her presence. She reminded the Com- 
 missioners how their Queen herself had been called in 
 question for Wyatt's rebellion, in spite of her inno- 
 cence. " Heaven is my witness," she added', " that 
 much as I desire the safety and glory of the Catliolic 
 religion, I would not purchase it at the price of blood. 
 I would rather play Esther than Judith." 
 
 Her defence was completed by her taking off the
 
 464 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 ring wliich Elizabeth had sent to her at Lochleven. 
 "This," she said, hokling it up, "your Queen sent to 
 nie in token of amity and protection. You best know 
 how that pledge has been redeemed." Therewith she 
 claimed another day's hearing, with an advocate granted 
 to her, or else that, being a Princess, she might be 
 believed on the word of a Princess. 
 
 This completed her defence, except so far that when 
 Burghley responded in a speech of great length, she 
 interrupted, and battled point by point, always keeping 
 in view the strong point of the insufficient evidence 
 and her own deprivation of the chances of confuting 
 what was adduced against her. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when he concluded. 
 There was a pause, as though for a verdict by the 
 Commissioners. Instead of this, Mary rose and re- 
 peated her appeal to be tried before the Parliament of 
 England at Westminster. No reply was made, and 
 the Court broke up.
 
 XXX vl] a vejsturk 465 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A VENTURE. 
 
 " Mother, dear mother, do but listen to me.** 
 
 " I must listen, child, when thou callest me so from 
 your heart ; but it is of no use, my poor little one. 
 They have referred the matter to the Star Chamber, 
 that they may settle it there with closed doors and no 
 forms of law. Thou couldst do nothing ! And could 
 I trust thee to go wandering to London, like a maiden 
 in a ballad, all alone ?" 
 
 " Nay, madam, I should not go alone. My father, 
 I mean Mr. Talbot, would take me." 
 
 " Come, bairnie, that is presuming overmuch on the 
 good man's kindness." 
 
 " I do not speak without warrant, madam. I told 
 him what I longed to do, and he said it might be mv 
 duty, and if it were so, he would not gainsay me ; but 
 that he could not let me go alone, and would go with 
 me. And he can get access for me to the Queen. He 
 has seen her himself, and so has Humfrey ; and Diccon 
 is a gentleman pensioner." 
 
 " There have been ventures enough for me already," 
 said Mary. " I will bring no more faithful heads into 
 peril." 
 
 " Then will you not consent, mother ? He will 
 2 H
 
 466 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 quit the castle to-morrow, and I am to see him in the 
 morning and give him an answer. If you would let 
 me go, he would crave license to take me home, saying 
 that I look paler than my wont." 
 
 " And so thou dost, child. If I could be sure of 
 ever seeing thee again, I should have proposed thy 
 sjoincr home to o'ood Mistress Susan's tendance for a 
 little space. But it is not to be thought of. I could 
 not risk thee, or any honest loving heart, on so des- 
 perate a stake as mine ! I love thee, mine ain, true, 
 leal lassie, all the more, and I honour him ; but it may 
 not be ! Ask me no more." 
 
 Mary was here interrupted by a request from Sir 
 Christopher Hatton for one of the many harassing 
 interviews that beset her during the days following the 
 trial, when judgment was withheld, according to the 
 express command of the vacillating Elizabeth, and the 
 case remitted to the Star Chamber. Lord Burghley 
 considered this hesitation to be the effect of judicial 
 blindness — so utterly had hatred and fear of the future 
 shut liis eyes to all sense of justice and fair play. 
 
 Cicely felt all youth's disappointment in the rejec- 
 tion of its grand schemes. But to her surprise at night 
 Mary addressed her again, " My daughter, did that true- 
 hearted foster-father of thine speak in sooth ? " 
 
 " He never doth otherwise," returned Cicely. 
 
 " For," said her mother, " I have thought of a way 
 of gaining thee access to the Queen, far less perilous to 
 him, and less likely to fail. I will give thee letters to 
 M. De Chateauneuf, the French Ambassador, whom I 
 have known in old times, with full credentials. It 
 might be well to have with thee those that I left with 
 Mistress Talbot. Then he will gain thee admittance, 
 and work for thee as one sent from Franco, and protected
 
 XXXVI.] A VENTURE. 4.07 
 
 by the rights of the Embassy. Thus, Master Eichard 
 need never appear in the matter at all, and at any 
 rate thou wouldst be secure. Chateauneuf would find 
 means of sending thee abroad if needful." 
 
 " Oh I I would return to you, madam my mother, 
 or wait for you in London." 
 
 " That must be as the wills above decree," said Mary 
 sadly. " It is folly in me, but I cannot help grasping at 
 the one hope held out to me. There is that within me 
 that ivill hope and strive to the end, though I am using 
 my one precious jewel to weight the line I am casting 
 across the gulf. At least they cannot do thee great 
 harm, my good child." 
 
 The Queen sat up half the night writing letters, one 
 to Elizabeth, one to Chateauneuf, and another to the 
 Duchess of Lorraine, which Cis was to deliver in case 
 of her being sent over to the Continent. But the Queen 
 committed the conduct of the whole affair to M. De 
 Chateauneuf, since she could completely trust his discre- 
 tion and regard for her ; and, moreover, it was possible 
 that the face of affairs might undergo some great altera- 
 tion before Cicely could reach London. Mr. Talbot must 
 necessarily go home first, being bound to do so by his 
 commission to the Earl. " And, hark thee," said the 
 Queen, " what becomes of the young gallant ?" 
 
 " I have not heard, madam," said Cicely, not liking 
 the tone. 
 
 " If my desires still have any effect," said Mary, 
 •'he will stay here. I will not have my damosel 
 errant squired by a youth under five-and-tweuty." 
 
 " I promised you, madam, and he wots it," said 
 Cicely, with spirit. 
 
 " He wots it, doth he ?" said the Queen, in rather a 
 provoking voice. " No, no, mignonne; with all respect
 
 468 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP 
 
 to their honour and discretion, we do not put flint auJ 
 steel together, when we do not wish to kindle a fire. 
 Nay, little one, I meant not to vex thee, when thou 
 art doing one of the noblest deeds daughter ever did 
 for mother, and for a mother who sent thee away from 
 her, and whom thou hast scarce known for more than 
 two years !" 
 
 Cicely was sure to see her foster-father after morn- 
 ing prayers on the way from the chapel across the 
 inner court. Here she was able to tell him of the 
 Queen's consent, over which he looked grave, having 
 secretly persuaded himself that Mary would think the 
 venture too great, and not hopeful enough to be made. 
 He could not, however, wonder that the unfortunate 
 lady should catch at the least hope of preserving her 
 life ; and she had dragged too many down in the whirl- 
 pool to leave room for wonder that she should consent 
 to peril her own daughter therein. Moreover, he 
 would have the present pleasure of taking her home 
 with him to his Susan, and who could say wliat would 
 happen in the meantime ? 
 
 " Tliou hast counted the cost ?" he said. 
 
 " Yea, sir," Cis answered, as the young always do ; 
 adding, " the Queen saitli that if we commit all to the 
 French Ambassador, M. De Chateauneuf, who is her 
 very good friend, he will save you from any peril." 
 
 " Hm ! I had rather be beholden to no French- 
 man," muttered Eichard, " but we will see, we will see. 
 I must now to Paulett to obtain consent to take thee 
 with me. Thou art pale and changed enough indeed 
 to need a blast of Hallamshire air, my poor maid." 
 
 So Master Eichard betook him to the knight, a man 
 of many charges, and made known that finding his 
 daughter somewhat puling and sickly, he wished,
 
 XXXVI.] A VENTURE. 4G9 
 
 having, as she tokl him, the consent of the Queen of 
 Scots, to take her home with him for a time. 
 
 " You do well, Mr. Talhot," said Sir Amias. " In 
 sooth, I have only marvelled that a pious and godly man 
 like you should have consented to let her abide so long, 
 at her tender age, among these papistical, idolatrous, 
 and bloodthirsty women." 
 
 " I think not that she hath taken harm," said 
 Richard. 
 
 " I have done my poor best ; I have removed the 
 priest of Baal," said the knight ; " I have caused godly 
 ministers constantly to preach sound doctrine in the 
 ears of all who would hearken ; and I have uplifted 
 my testimony whensoever it was possible. But it is 
 not well to expose the young to touching the accursed 
 tiling, and this lady hath shown herself greatly affected 
 to your daughter, so that she might easily be seduced 
 from the truth. Yet, sir, bethink you is it well to re- 
 move the maiden from witnessing that whicli will be a 
 warning for ever of the judgment that falleth on con- 
 spiracy and idolatry?" 
 
 " You deem the matter so certain ?" said Ei chard. 
 
 " Beyond a doubt, sir. This lady will never leave 
 these walls alive. There can be no peace for England 
 nor safety for our blessed and gracious Queen while she 
 lives. Her guilt is certain ; and as Mr. Secretary said 
 to me last night, he and the Lord Treasurer are deter- 
 mined that for no legal quil^bles, nor scruples of mercy 
 from our ever -pitiful Queen, shall she now escape. 
 Her Majesty, however her womanisli heart may doubt 
 now, will rejoice when the deed is done. Methinks I 
 showed you the letter she did me the honour to write, 
 thanking me for the part I took in conveying the lady 
 suddenly to Tixall,"
 
 470 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP, 
 
 Eicliartl had already read that let*"sr three times, so 
 he avowed his knowledcje of it. 
 
 "You will not remove your son likewise?" added 
 Sir Amias. " He hath an acquaintance with this lady's 
 people, which is useful in one so thoroughly to be 
 trusted ; and moreover, he will not be tampered with. 
 For, sir, I am never without dread of some attempt 
 being made to deal with this lady privily, in which 
 case I should be the one to bear all the blame. Where- 
 fore I have made request to have another honourable 
 gentleman joined with me in this painful wardship." 
 
 Eichard had no desire to remove his son. He 
 shared Queen Mary's feelings on the inexpediency of 
 Humfrey forming part of the escort of the young lady, 
 and thouglit it was better for both to see as little of 
 one another as possible. 
 
 Sir Amias accordingly, on his morning visit of in- 
 spection, intimated to the Queen that Mr. Talbot wished 
 his daughter to return home with him for the recovery 
 of her health. He spoke as if the whole suite were at 
 his own disposal, and Mary resented it in her dignified 
 manner. 
 
 " The young lady hath already requested license 
 from us," she said, " and we have granted it. She will 
 return when her health is fully restored." 
 
 Sir Amias had forbearance enough not to hint that 
 unless the return were speedy, she would scarcely find 
 the Queen there, and the matter was settled. Master 
 Eichard would not depart until after dinner, when other 
 gentlemen were going, and this would enable Cicely to 
 make up her mails, and there would still be time to 
 ride a stage before dark.. Her own horse was in the 
 stables, and her goods would be bestowed in cloak bags 
 on the saddles of the grooms who had accompanied Mr.
 
 XXXVT.] A VENTURE. 47 1 
 
 Talbot ; for, small as was the estate of Bridgefield, for 
 safety's sake he could not have gone on so long an 
 expedition without a sufficient guard. 
 
 The intervening time was spent by the Queen in 
 instructing her daughter how to act in various con- 
 tingencies. If it were possible to the French Ambas- 
 sador to present her as freshly come from the Soissons 
 convent, where she was to have been reared, it would 
 save Mr. Talbot from all risk ; but tlie Queen doubted 
 whether she could support the character, so English 
 was her air, though there vxre Scottish and English 
 nuns at Soissons, and still more at Louvaine and 
 Douay, who might have brought her up. 
 
 " I cannot feign, madam," said Cicely, alarmed. "Oh, 
 I hope I need only speak truth !" and her tone sounded 
 much more like a confession of incapacity than a 
 moral objection, and so it was received : " Poor child, 
 I know thou canst not act a part, and thy return to 
 the honest mastiffs will not further thee in it ; but I 
 have bidden Chateauneuf to do what he can for thee — 
 and after all the eyes will not be very critical." 
 
 If there still was time, Cicely was to endeavour 
 first of all to obtain of Elizabeth that Mary might be 
 brought to London to see her, and be judged before 
 Parliament with full means of defence. If this were 
 no longer possible, Cicely might attempt to expose 
 Walsingham's contri^•ance ; but this would probably 
 be too dangerous. Chateauneuf must judge. Or, as 
 another alternative, Queen Mary gave Cicely the ring 
 already shown at the trial, and with that as her pledge, 
 a solemn offer was to be made on her behalf to retire 
 into a convent in Austria, or in one of the Poman 
 Catholic cantons of Switzerland, out of the reach of 
 Spain and France, and there take the veil, resigning all
 
 472 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP, 
 
 her rights to her son. All her money had been taken 
 away, but she told Cicely she had given orders to 
 Chateanneuf to supply from her French dowiy all 
 that might be needed for the expenses that must be 
 incurred. 
 
 Now that the matter was becoming so real, Cicely's 
 heart quailed a little. Castles in the air that look 
 heroic at the first glance would not so remain did not 
 they show themselves terrible at a nearer approach, 
 and the maiden wondered whether Queen Elizabeth 
 would be much more formidable than my Lady 
 Countess in a rage ! 
 
 And what would become of herself ? Would she 
 be detained in the bondage in which the poor sisters of 
 the Grey blood had been kept ? Or would her mother 
 carry her off to these strange lands ? ... It was all 
 strange, and the very boldness of her offer, since it had 
 been thus accepted, made her feel helpless and passive 
 in the grasp of the powers that her simple wish had 
 set moving. 
 
 The letters were sewn up in the most ingenious 
 manner in her dress by Mary Seaton, in case any 
 search should be made; but the only woman Sir 
 Amias would be able to employ in such a matter 
 was purblind and helpless, and they trusted much to 
 his implicit faith in the Talbots. 
 
 There was only just time to complete her prepara- 
 tions before she was summoned ; and with an almost 
 convulsive embrace from her mother, and whispered 
 benedictions from Jean Kennedy, she left the dreary 
 walls of Fotheringhay. 
 
 JIumfrey rode with them through the Chase. Both 
 he and Cicely were very silent. When the time came 
 for parting, Cicely said, as she laid her hand in his,
 
 xxxvl] a venture. 473 
 
 " Dear brother, for my sake do all thou canst for her 
 with honour." 
 
 " That will I," said Humfrey. " Would that I were 
 going with thee, Cicely !" 
 
 " So would not I," she returned ; " for then there 
 would be one true heart the less to watch over her." 
 
 " Come, daughter !" said Ei chard, who had engaged 
 one of the gentlemen in conversation so as to leave 
 them to themselves. "We must be jogging. Fare 
 thee well, my son, till such time as thy duties permit 
 thee to follow us."
 
 474 UNKNOWi^ TO lUbTOfiY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIL 
 
 MY lady's remorse. 
 
 " And tave you brought her back again ! my lass ! 
 my lass !" cried Mistress Susan, surprised and delighted 
 out of her usual staid composure, as, going out to greet 
 her husband, an unexpected figure was seen by his 
 side, and Cicely sprang into her arms as if they were 
 truly a haven of rest. 
 
 Susan looked over her head, even in the midst of 
 the embrace, with the eyes of one hungering for her 
 first-born son, but her husband shook his head. " No, 
 mother, we have not brought thee the boy. Thou 
 must content thyself with her thou hast here for a 
 little space." 
 
 " I hope it bodes not ill," said Susan. 
 
 " It bodes," said Eichard, " that I have brought 
 thee back a good daughter with a pair of pale cheeks, 
 which must be speedily coloured anew in our northern 
 breezes." 
 
 " Ah, how sweet to be here at home," cried Cicely, 
 turning round in rapturous greeting to all the serving 
 men and women, and all the dogs. " We want only 
 tlie boys ! Where is Ned ?" 
 
 Tlieir arrival having been unannounced, Ned was 
 with ]\Iaster Sniggius, whose foremost scholar he now
 
 XXXVII.] MY lady's hemoese. 475 
 
 was, and who kept him much later than the other lads 
 to prepare him for Cambridge ; but it was the return to 
 this tender foster-mother that seemed such extreme 
 bliss to Cicely. All was most unlike her reluctant 
 return two years previously, when nothing but her 
 inbred courtesy and natural sweetness of disposition 
 had prevented her from being contemptuous of the 
 country home. Now every stone, every leaf, seemed 
 precious to her, and she showed herself, even as she 
 ascended the steps to the hall, determined not to be 
 the guest but the daughter. There was a little move- 
 ment on the parents' part, as if they bore in mind that 
 she came as a princess ; but she flew to draw up 
 Master Eichard's chair, and put his wife's beside it, nor 
 would she sit, till they had prayed her to do so ; and 
 it was all done with such a graceful bearing, the noble 
 carriage of her head had become so much more remark- 
 able, and a sweet readiness and responsiveness of manner 
 had so grown upon her, that Susan looked at her in 
 wondering admiration, as something more her own and 
 yet less her own than ever, tracing in her for the first 
 time some of the charms of the Queen of Scots. 
 
 All the household hovered about in delight, and 
 confidences could not be exchanged just then : the 
 travellers had to eat and drink, and they were only just 
 beoinniu" to do so when Ned came home. He was of 
 slighter make than his brothers, and had a more 
 scholarly aspect : but his voice made itself heard before 
 him. " Is it true ? Is it true that my father is come ? 
 And our Cis too ? Ha!" and he rushed in, hardly 
 giving himself time for the respectful greeting to his 
 father, before he fell upon Cis with undoubting brotherly 
 delight, 
 
 " Is Humfrey come?" he asked as soon as he could
 
 476 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 take breath. " No ? I thought 'twas too good to be 
 all true." 
 
 " How did you hear ?" 
 
 " Hob the hunter brought up word that the 
 Queen's head was off. What ? " as Cicely gave a start 
 and little scream. " Is it not so ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, boy," said his father. " What put 
 that folly into his head?" 
 
 " Because he saw, or thought he saw, Humfrey and 
 Cis riding home with you, sir, and so thought all was 
 over with the Queen of Scots. My Lady, tliey say, 
 had one of her shrieking fits, and my Lord sent down 
 to ask whether I knew aught ; and when he found 
 that I did not, would have me go home at once to bid 
 you come up immediately to the Manor ; and before I 
 had gotten out Dapple, there comes another message to 
 say that, in as brief space as it will take to saddle them, 
 there will be beasts here to bring up you and my 
 mother and Cis, to tell my Lady Countess all that has 
 befallen." 
 
 Cis's countenance so changed that kind Susan said, 
 " I will make thine excuses to my Lady. Thou art 
 weary and ill at ease, and I cannot have thee set forth 
 at once again." 
 
 " The Queen would never have sent such sudden 
 and hasty ordei^," said Cicely. " Mother, can you not 
 stay with me ? — I have so much to say to you, and my 
 time is short." 
 
 The Talbots were, however, too much accustomed 
 to obedience to the peremptory commands of their 
 feudal chiefs to venture on such disobedience. Susan's 
 proposal had been a great piece of audacity, on which 
 she would hardly have ventured but for her conscious- 
 ness that tlie maiden was no Talbot at all.
 
 XXXVII.] MY lady's kemokse. 477 
 
 Yet to Cis the dear company of her mother Susan, 
 even in the Countess's society, seemed too precious to 
 be resigned, and she had likewise been told that Lady 
 Shrewsbury's mind had greatly changed towards j\Iary, 
 and that since the irritation of the captive's presence 
 had been removed, she remembered only the happier and 
 Idndlier portion of their past intercourse. There had 
 l)een plenty of quarrels with her husband, but none so 
 desperate as before, and at this present time the Earl and 
 Countess were united against the surviving sons, who, 
 with Gilbert at their head, were making large demands 
 on them. Cicely felt grateful to the Earl for his absence 
 from Fotheringhay, and, though disappointed of her 
 peaceful home evening, declared she would come up 
 to the Lodge rather than lose sight of " mother." The 
 stable people, more considerate than their Lord and 
 Lady, proved to have sent a horse litter for the con- 
 veyance of the ladies called out on the wet dark 
 October evening, and here it was that Cis could enjoy 
 her first precious moment of privacy with one for 
 whom she had so long yearned. Susan rejoiced in the 
 heavy lumbering conveyance as a luxury, sparing the 
 maiden's fatigue, and she was commencing some in- 
 quiries into the indisposition which had procured this 
 holiday, when Cicely broke in, " mother, nothing 
 aileth me. It is not for that cause — but oh ! mother, 
 I am to go to see Queen Elizabeth, and strive with her 
 for her — for my mother's life and freedom." 
 
 " Thou ! poor little maid. Doth thy father — what 
 am I saying ? Doth my husband know ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. He will take me. He saith it is my duty." 
 
 " Then it must be well," said Susan in an altered 
 voice on hearing this. "Erom whom* came the pro- 
 posal ?"
 
 478 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " I made it," said Cicely in a low, feeble voice, 
 on the verge of tears. " Oh, dear mother, thou wilt 
 not tell any one how faint of heart I am ? I did 
 mean it in sooth, but I never guessed how (h'eadful it 
 would grow now I am pledged to it." 
 
 "Thou art pledged, then, and canst not falter?" 
 
 " Never," said Cicely; " I would not that any should 
 know it, not even my father ; but mother, mother, 1 
 could not help telling you. You will let no one 
 guess ? I know it is unwortliy, but " 
 
 " Not unworthy to fear, my poor child, so long as 
 tliou dost not waver." 
 
 " It is, it is unworthy of my lineage. My mother 
 queen would say so," cried Cis, drawing herself up. 
 
 " Giving way would be unworthy," said Susan, 
 "but turn thou to thy God, my child, and He will 
 give thee strength to carry through whatever is the 
 duty of a faithful daughter towards this poor lady ; and 
 my husband, thou sayest, holds that so it is ? " 
 
 " Yea, madam ; he craved license to take me home, 
 since I have truly often been ailing since those dread- 
 ful days at Tixall, and he hath promised to go to 
 London with me." 
 
 "And is this to be done in tliine own true name ?" 
 asked Susan, trembling somewhat at the risk to her 
 husband, as well as to the maiden. 
 
 " I tr©w that it is," said Cis, " but the matter is to 
 be put "into the hands of M. de Chateauneuf, the 
 French Ambassador. I have a letter here," laying her 
 hand on her bosom, " which, the Queen declares, will 
 thoroughly prove to him who I am, and if I go as 
 under his protection, none can do my father any 
 harm." * 
 
 Susan hoped so, but she trusted to understand all
 
 XXXVII.] MY lady's kemorse. 479 
 
 better from her husband, though her heart failed her 
 as much as, or even perhaps more than, did that of 
 poor little Cis. Master Richard had sped on before 
 their tardy conveyance, and had had time to give the 
 heads of his intelligence before they reached the Manor- 
 house, and when they were conducted to my Lady's 
 chamber, they saw him, by the light of a large fire, 
 standing before the Earl and Countess, cap in hand, 
 much as a groom or gamekeeper would now stand 
 before his master and mistress. 
 
 The Earl, however, rose to receive the ladies ; but 
 the Countess, no great observer of ceremony towards 
 otlier people, whatever she might exact from them 
 towards .herself, cried out, " Come hither, come hither, 
 Cicely Talbot, and tell me how it fares with the poor 
 lady," and as the maiden came forward in the dim 
 light — "Ha! What! Is't she?" she cried, with a 
 sudden start. On my faith, what has she done to 
 thee ? Thou art as like her as the foal to the mare." 
 
 This exclamation disconcerted the visitors, but 
 luckily for them the Earl laughed and declared that 
 he could see no resemblance in Mistress Cicely's dark 
 brows to the arched ones of the Queen of Scots, to 
 which his wife replied testily, " Who said there was ? 
 The maid need not be uplifted, for there's nothing- 
 alike between them, only she hath caught the trick of 
 her bearing so as to startle me in the dark, my head 
 running on the poor lady. I could have sworn 'twas 
 she coming in, as she was when she first came to our 
 care fifteen years agone. Pray Heaven she may not 
 haunt the place ! How fareth she in health, wench ? " 
 
 " Well, madam, save when the rheumatic pains take 
 her," said Cicely. 
 
 " And still of sood courage ?"
 
 480 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " That, madam, nothing can daunt." 
 
 Seats, though only joint stools, were given to the 
 ladies, but Susan found herself no longer trembling at 
 the effects of the Couutess's insolence upon Cicely, 
 who seemed to accept it all as a matter of course, and 
 almost of indifference, though replying readily and 
 with a gentle grace, most unlike her childish petulance. 
 
 Many close inquiries from the Earl and Countess 
 were answered by Eichard and the young lady, until 
 they had a tolerably clear idea of the situation. The 
 Countess wept bitterly, and to Cicely's great amazement 
 began bemoaning herself that she was not still the 
 poor lady's keeper. It was a shame to put her where 
 there were no women to feel for her. Lady Shrews- 
 bury had apparently forgotten that no one had been so 
 virulent agamst the Queen as herself. 
 
 And when it was impossible to deny that things 
 looked extremely ill, and that Burghley and Walsing- 
 ham seemed resolved not to let slip this opportunity of 
 ridding themselves of the prisoner, my Lady burst out 
 with, "Ah ! there it is ! She will die, and my promise 
 is broken, and she will haunt me to my dying day, all 
 along of that venomous toad and spiteful viper, Mary 
 Talbot." 
 
 A passionate lit of weeping succeeded, mingled 
 with vituperations of her daughter Mary, far more than 
 of herself, and amid it all, during Susan's endeavours 
 at soothing, Cicely gathered that the cause of the 
 Countess's despair was that in tlie time of her friend- 
 sliip and ainity, she had uttered an assurance that the 
 Queen need not fear death, as she would contrive 
 means of safety. And on her own ground, in her own 
 Castle or Lodge, there could be little doubt that she 
 wculd have been able to have done so. The Earl,
 
 XXXVII.] MY lady's kemokse. 481 
 
 indeed, shook liis head, but repented, for she Liiighed 
 at him half angrily, half hysterically, for thinking he 
 could have prevented anything that she was set upon. 
 
 And now she said and fully believed that the mis- 
 understanding which had resulted in the removal of 
 the prisoner had been entirely due to the slanders and 
 deceits of her own daughter Mary, and her husband 
 Gilbert, with whom she was at this time on the worst 
 of terms. And thus she laid on them the blame of the 
 Queen's death (if that was really decreed), but though 
 she outwardly blamed every creature save herself, such 
 agony of mind, and even terror, proved that in very 
 truth there must have been the conviction at the 
 bottom of her heart that it was her own fault. 
 
 The Earl had beckoned away Master Eichard, botli 
 glad to escape; but Cicely had to remain, and filled with 
 compassion for one whom she had always regarded pre- 
 viously as an enemy, she could not help saying, " Dear 
 madam, take comfort ; I am going to bear a petition 
 to the Queen's Majesty from the captive lady, and if 
 she will hear me all will yet be welL" 
 
 " How ! What ? How ! Thou little moppet ! 
 Knows she what she says, Susan Talbot ?" 
 
 Susan made answer that she had had time to hear 
 no particulars yet, but that Cicely averred that she was 
 going with her father's consent, whereupon Eichard was 
 immediately summoned back to explain. 
 
 The Earl and Countess could hardly believe that he 
 should have consented that his daughter should be thus 
 employed, and he had to excuse himself with what he 
 could not help feeling were only half truths. 
 
 " The poor lady," he said, " is denied all power of 
 sending word or letter to the Queen save through those 
 whom slie views as her enemies, and therefore she longed 
 
 2 I
 
 482 UNKNOWN TO IIISTOIIY. [CHAP. 
 
 earnestly either to see her Majesty, or to hold communi- 
 cation with her through one whom she knoweth to be 
 both simple and her own friend." 
 
 " Yea," said the Countess, " I could well have done 
 this for her could I but have had speech with her. Or 
 she might have sent Bess Pierrepoint, who surely would 
 have been a more fitting messenger." 
 
 " Save that she hath not had access to the Queen of 
 Scots of late," said Eichard. 
 
 " Yea, and her father would scarcely he willing to 
 risk the Queen's displeasure," said the Earl. 
 
 "Art thou ready to abide it. Master Eichard ?" said 
 the Countess, " though after all it could do you little 
 harm." And her tone marked the infinite distance 
 she placed between him and Sir Henry Pierrepoint, the 
 husband of her daughter. 
 
 " That is true, madam," said Eichard ; " and more- 
 over, I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to debar 
 the poor lady from any possible opening of safety." 
 
 " Thou art a good man, Eichard," said the Earl, and 
 therewith both he and the Countess became extremely, 
 nay, almost inconveniently, desirous to forward the 
 petitioner on her way. To listen to them that night, 
 they w^ould have had her go as an emissary of the 
 house of Shrewsbury, and only the previous quarrel 
 with Lord Talbot and his wife prevented them from 
 proposing that she shoukl be led to the foot of the 
 throne by Gilbert himself. 
 
 Cicely began to be somewhat alarmed at plans that 
 would disconcert all the instructions she had received, 
 and only her old habits of respect kept her silent when 
 she thought ]\laster Eichard not ready enough to refuse 
 all these offers. 
 
 At last he succeeded in obtaining license to depart,
 
 XXXVII.] MY lady's remoese. 483 
 
 and no sooner was Cicely again shut up with Mistress 
 Susan in the litter than she exclaimed, " Now will it 
 be most hard to carry out the Queen's orders that I 
 should go first to the French Ambassador. I would 
 that my Lady Countess would not think naught can 
 succeed without her meddling." 
 
 " Thou shouldst liave let father tell thy purpose in 
 his own way," said Susan. 
 
 " Ah! mother,! am an indiscreet simpleton, not fit for 
 such a work as I have taken in hand," said poor Cis. 
 "Here hath my foolish tongue traversed it already !" 
 
 " Fear not," said Susan, as one who well knew the 
 nature of her kinswoman ; " belike she will have cooled 
 to-morrow, all the more because father said naught to 
 the nayward." 
 
 Susan was uneasy enough herself, and very desirous 
 to hear all from her husband in private. And that 
 night he told her that he had very little hope of the 
 intercession being availing. He believed that the 
 Treasurer and Secretary were absolutely determined on 
 Mary's death, and would sooner or later force consent 
 from the Queen ; but there was the possibility that 
 Elizabeth's feelings might be so far stirred that on a 
 sudden impulse she might set Mary at liberty, and 
 place her beyond their reach. 
 
 " And hap what may," he said, " when a daughter 
 offereth to do her vitmost for a mother in peril of death, 
 what right have I to hinder her?" 
 
 " May God guard the duteous !" said Susan. " But 
 oh ! husband, is she worthy, for whom the child is thus 
 to lead you into peril ? " 
 
 " She is her mother," repeated Iiichard, " Had I 
 erred " 
 
 " Which you never could do," broke in the wife.
 
 484 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " I am a sinful mrai," said he. 
 
 " Yea, but there are deeds you never could ha^'e 
 done." 
 
 " By God's grace I trust not ; but hear me out, wife. 
 Mine errors, nay, my crimes, would not do away with 
 the duty owed to me by my sous. How, then, should 
 any sins of this poor Queen withhold her daughter from 
 rendering her all the succour in her power ? And thou, 
 thou thyself, Susan, hast taken her for thine own too 
 long to endure to let her undertake the matter alone 
 and unaided." 
 
 " She would not attempt it thus," said Susan. 
 
 " I cannot tell ; but I should thus be guilty of foil- 
 ing her in a brave and filial purpose." 
 
 " And yet thou dost hold her poor mother a guilty 
 woman ?" 
 
 " Said I so ? Nay, Susan, I am as dubious as ever 
 I was on that head." 
 
 "After hearing the trial?" 
 
 " A word in thine ear, my discreet wife. The trial 
 convinced me far more that place makes honest men 
 act like cruel knaves than of aught else." 
 
 " Then thou boldest her innocent ?" 
 
 " I said not so. I have known too long how she 
 lives by the weaving of webs. I know not how it is, 
 but these great folks seem not to deem that truth in 
 word and deed is a part of their religion. For my part, 
 I should distrust whatever godliness did not lead to 
 truth, but a plain man never knows where to have 
 them. That she and poor Antony Babington were in 
 league to bring hither the Spaniards and restore the 
 Pope, I have no manner of doubt on the word of both, 
 but then they deem it — Heaven help them — a virtuous 
 act ; and it might be lawful in her, seeing that she has
 
 XXXVII.] MY lady's kemorse. 485 
 
 always called herself a free sovereign unjustly detained. 
 What he stuck at and she denies, is the purpose of 
 murdering the Queen's Majesty." 
 
 " Sure that was the head and front of the poor 
 young man's offending." 
 
 " So it was, but not until he had been urged thereto 
 by his priests, and had obtained her consent in a letter. 
 Heaven forgive me if I misjudge any one, but my belief 
 is this — that the letters, whereof only the deciphered 
 copies were shown, did not quit the hands of either the 
 one or the other, such as we heard them at Fotheringhay. 
 So poor Babington said, so saith the Queen of Scots, 
 demanding vehemently to have them read in her pre- 
 sence before Nau and Curll, who could testify to them. 
 Cis deemeth that the true letter from Babington is in 
 a packet which, on learning from Humfrey his sus- 
 picion that there was treachery, the Queen gave her, 
 and she threw down a well at Chartley." 
 
 " That was pity." 
 
 " Say not so, for had the original letter been seized, 
 it would only have been treated in the same manner 
 as the copy, and never allowed to reach Queen Eliza- 
 beth." 
 
 " I am glad poor Cicely's mother can stand clear of 
 that guilt," said Susan. " I served her too long, and 
 received too much gentle treatment from her, to brook 
 the thought that she could be so far left to herself." 
 
 " Mind you, dame," said Eichard, " I am not wholly 
 convinced that she was not aware that her friends would 
 in some way or other bring about the Queen's death, 
 and that she would scarce have visited it very harshly, 
 but she is far too wise — ay, and too tender-hearted, to 
 have entered into the matter beforehand. So I think 
 her not wholly guiltless, though the wrongs she hath
 
 486 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 suffered have been so great that I would do whatever 
 was not disloyal to mine own Queen to aid her to 
 obtain justice." 
 
 " You are doing much, much indeed," said Susan ; 
 " and all this time you have told me nothing of my sou, 
 save what all might hear. How fares he ? is his heart 
 still set on this poor maid ?" 
 
 " And ever will be," said his father. " His is not an 
 outspoken babbling love like poor Master Nau, who 
 they say was so inspired at finding himself in the same 
 city with Bess Pierrepoint that he could talk of nothing 
 else, and seemed to have no thought of his own danger 
 or his Queen's. No, but he hath told me that he wiU 
 give up all to serve her, without hope of requital ; for 
 her mother hath made her forswear him, and though 
 she be not always on his tongue, he will do so, if I 
 mistake not his steadfastness." 
 
 Susan sighed, but she knew that the love, that had 
 begun when the lonely boy hailed the shipwrecked 
 infant as his little sister, was of a calm, but unquench- 
 able nature, were it for weal or woe. She could not 
 but be thankful that the express mandate of both the 
 parents had withheld her son from sharing the danger 
 which was serious enough even for her husband's 
 prudence and coolness of head. 
 
 By the morning, as she had predicted, the ardour 
 of the Earl and Countess had considerably slackened ; 
 and though still willing to forward the petitioner on 
 her way, they did not wish their names to appear in 
 the matter. 
 
 They did, however, make an important offer. The 
 Ifastijf wsLS newly come into harbour at Hull, and they 
 offered Eichard the use of her as a conveyance. He 
 gladly accepted it. The saving of expense was a great
 
 XXXVII.] MY lady's remorse. 487 
 
 object ; for lie was most unwilling to use Queen Mary's 
 order on the French Ambassador, and he likewise 
 deemed it possible that such a means of evasion might 
 be very useful. 
 
 The Mastiff was sometimes used by some of the 
 Talbot family on journeys to London, and had a toler- 
 ably commodious cabin, according to the notions of the 
 time ; and though it was late in the year, and poor Cis 
 was likely to be wretched enough on the voyage, the 
 additional security was worth having, and Cicely would 
 be under the care of Goatley's wife, who made all the 
 voyages with her husband. The Earl likewise charged 
 Richard Talbot with letters and messages of conciliation 
 to his son Gilbert, whose estrangement was a great 
 grief to him, arising as it did entirely from the quarrels 
 of the two wives, mother and daughter. He even 
 charged his kinsman with the proposal to give up 
 Sheffield to Lord and Lady Talbot and retire to Wing- 
 field rather than continue at enmity. Mr. Talbot knew 
 the parties too well to have much hope of prevailing, 
 or producing permanent peace ; but the commission 
 was welcome, as it would give a satisfactory pretext 
 for his presence in London. 
 
 A few days were spent at Bridgefield, Cicely making 
 herself the most loving, helpful, and charming of 
 daughters, and really basking in the peaceful atmo- 
 sphere of Susan's presence ; and then, — ^with many 
 prayers and blessings from that good lady, — they set 
 forth for Hull, taking with them two servants besides 
 poor Babington's man Gillingham, whose superior intel- 
 ligence and knowledge of London would make him 
 useful, though there was a dark brooding look about 
 him that made Eichard always dread some act of 
 revenge on his part toward his master's foes.
 
 488 UNKNOWN TO HlSTOfiY. [CIIAP. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 MASTER TALBOT AND HIS CHARGE. 
 
 The afternoon on which they were to enter the old 
 town of Kingston-upon-HuU closed in with a dense 
 sea-fog, fast turning to drizzling rain. They could see 
 but a little distance on either side, and could not see 
 the lordly old church tower. The beads of dew on the 
 fringes of her pony's ears were more visible to Cicely 
 than anything else, and as she kept along by Master 
 Richard's side, she rejoiced both in the beaten, well- 
 trodden track, and in the pealing bells which seemed 
 to guide them into the haven ; while Richard was re- 
 volving, as he had done all through the journey, where 
 he could best lodge his companion so as to be safe, and 
 at the same time free from inconvenient curiosity. 
 
 The wetness of the evening made promptness of 
 decision the more needful, while the bad weather which 
 his experienced eye foresaw would make the choice 
 more important. 
 
 Discerning tlirough the increasing gloom a lantern 
 moving in tlie street which seemed to him to light a sub- 
 stantial cloaked figure, he drew up and asked if he were 
 in the way to a well-known hostel. Fortune had favoured 
 him, for a voice demanded in return, " Do I hear the 
 voice of good Captain Talbot ? At your service."
 
 XXXVIIL] master TALBOT AND HIS CHARGE. 489 
 
 "Yea, it is I — Eichard Talbot. Is it you, good 
 Master Heatliertliwayte ?" 
 
 " It is verily, sir. Well do I remember you, good 
 trusty Captain, and the goodly lady your wife. Do I 
 see her here ?" returned the clergyman, who had 
 heartily grasped Richard's hand. 
 
 " No, sir, this is my daughter, for whose sake I 
 would ask you to direct me to some lodging for the 
 night." 
 
 "Nay, if the young lady will put up with my 
 humble chambers, and my little daughter for her bed- 
 fellow, I would not have so old an acquaintance go 
 farther." 
 
 Richard accepted the offer gladly, and Mr. Heather- 
 thwayte walked close to the horses, using his lantern 
 to direct them, and sending flashes of light over the 
 gabled ends of the old houses and the muffled pass- 
 engers, till they came to a long flagged passage, when 
 he asked them to dismount, bidding the servants and 
 horses to await his return, and giving his hand to con- 
 duct the young lady along the narrow slippery alley, 
 which seemed to have either broken walls or houses on 
 either side. 
 
 He explained to Richard, by the way, that he had 
 married the godly widow of a shipchandler, but that it 
 had pleased Heaven to take her from him at the end 
 of five years, leaving him two young children, but that 
 her ancient nurse had the care of the house and tlie 
 little ones. 
 
 Curates were not sumptuously lodged in those days. 
 Tlie cells which had been sufficient for monks commis- 
 sioned by monasteries were no homes for men with 
 families ; and where means were to be had, a few rooms 
 had been added without much grace, or old cottages
 
 490 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 adapted — for indeed the requirements of the clergy of 
 the day did not soar above those of the farmer or petty 
 dealer. Master Heatherthwayte pulled a string de- 
 pending from a hole in a door, the place of which lie 
 seemed to know by instinct, and admitted the new- 
 comers into a narrow paved entry, where he called 
 aloud, " Here, Oil ! Dust ! Goody ! Bring a light ! 
 Here are guests !" 
 
 A door was opened instantly into a large kitchen 
 or keeping room, bright with a fire and small lamp. 
 A girl of nine or ten sprang forward, but hung back at 
 the sight of strangers ; a boy of twelve rose awkwardly 
 from conning his lessons by the low, unglazed lamp ; an 
 old woman showed herself from some kind of pantry, 
 
 " Here," said the clergyman, " is my most esteemed 
 friend Captain Talbot of Bridgefield and his daugliter, 
 who will do us the honour of abiding with us this night. 
 Do thou. Goody Madge, and thou, Oil-of-Gladness, make 
 the young lady welcome, and dry her garments, while 
 we go and see to the beasts. Thou, Dust-and- Ashes, 
 mayest come with us and lead the gentleman's horse." 
 
 The lad, saddled with this dismal name, and arrayed 
 in garments which matched it in colour though not in 
 uncleanliness, sprang up with alacrity, infinitely prefer- 
 ring fog, rain, and darkness to his accidence, and never 
 guessing that he owed this relaxation to his father's 
 recollection of Mrs. Talbot's ways, and perception that 
 the young lady would be better attended to without his 
 presence. 
 
 Oil-of-Gladness was a nice little rosy girl in the 
 tightest and primmest of caps and collars, and with the 
 little housewifely hospitality that young mistresses of 
 houses early attain to. There was no notion of equal 
 terms between the Curate's daughter and the Squire's ;
 
 XXXVIII.] MASTER TALBOT AND HIS CHARGE. 491 
 
 the child brought a chair, and stood respectfully to 
 receive the hood, cloak, and riding skirt, seeming 
 delighted at the smile and thanks with which Cicely 
 requited her attentions. The old woman felt the inner 
 skirts, to make sure that they were not damp, and then 
 the little girl brought warm water, and held tlie bowl 
 while her guest washed face and hands, and smoothed 
 her hair with the ivory comb which ladies always carried 
 on a journey. The sweet power of setting people at 
 ease was one Cis had inherited and cultivated by imita- 
 tion, and Oil- of- Gladness was soon chattering away 
 over her toilette. Would the lady really sleep with 
 her in her little bed ? She would promise not to kick 
 if she could help it. Then she exclaimed, " Oh ! what 
 fair tiling was that at the lady's throat ? Was it a 
 jewel of gold ? She had never seen one ; for father 
 said it was not for Christian women to adorn them- 
 selves. Oh no ; she did not mean " and, confused, 
 
 she ran off to help Goody to lay the spotless tablecloth, 
 Cis following to set the child at peace with herself, and 
 unloose the tongue again into hopes that the lady liked 
 conger pie ; for father had bought a mighty conger for 
 twopence, and Goody had made a goodly pie of him. 
 
 By the time the homely meal was ready Mr. Talbot 
 had returned from disposing of his horses and servanis 
 at a hostel, for whose comparative respectability Mr 
 Heatherthwayte had answered. The clergyman himself 
 alone sat down to supper with his guests. He would 
 not hear of letting either of his children do so ; but 
 while Dust-and- Ashes retired to study his tasks for the 
 Grammar School by firelight. Oil -of- Gladness assisted 
 Goody in waiting, in a deft and ready manner pleasant 
 to behold. 
 
 No sooner did Mr. Talbot mention the name Cicely
 
 492 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 than Master Heatherthwayte looked up and said — ■ 
 " Metliinks it was I who spake that name over this 
 young lady in baptism." 
 
 " Even so," said Eichard. " She knoweth all, but 
 she hath ever been our good and dutiful daughter, for 
 which we are the more thankful that Heaven hath 
 given us none other maid child." 
 
 He knew Master Heatherthwayte was inclined to 
 curiosity about other people's affairs, and therefore 
 turned the discourse on the doings of his sons, hoping 
 to keep him thus employed and avert all further con- 
 versation uj)on Cicely and the cause of the journey. 
 The good man was most interested in Edward, only he 
 exhorted Mr. Talbot to be careful with whom he be- 
 stowed the stripling at Cambridge, so that he might 
 shed the pure light of the Gospel, undimmed by 
 Popish obscurities and idolatries. 
 
 He began on his objections to the cross in baptism 
 and the ring in marriage, and dilated on them to his 
 own satisfaction over the tankard of ale that was 
 placed for him and his guest, and the apples and nuts 
 wherewith Cicely was surreptitiously feeding Oil -of - 
 Gladness and Dust-and- Ashes ; wliile the old woman 
 bustled about, and at length made her voice heard in 
 the announcement that the chamber was ready, and the 
 young lady was weary with travel, and it was time she 
 was abed, and Oil likewise. 
 
 Though not very young children. Oil and Dust, at 
 a sign from their father, knelt by his chair, and uttered 
 their evening prayers aloud, after which he blessed and 
 dismissed them — the boy to a shake- down in his own 
 room, the girl to the ecstasy of assisting the guest to 
 undress, and admiring the wonders of the very simple 
 toilette apparatus contained in her little cloak bag.
 
 XXXVIII.] MASTER TALBOT AND HIS CHARGE. 493 
 
 Eichard meantime was responding as best he could 
 to the inquiries he knew would he inevitable as soon 
 as he fell in with the Eeverend Master Heatherthwayte. 
 He was going to London in the Mastiff on some busi- 
 ness connected with the Queen of Scots, he said. 
 
 Whereupon ]\Ir. Heatherthwayte quoted something 
 from the Psalms about the wicked being taken in their 
 own pits, and devoutly hoped she would not escape this 
 time. His uncharitableness might be excused by the 
 fact that he viewed it as an immediate possibility that 
 the Prince of Parma might any day enter the Humber, 
 when he would assuredly be burnt alive, and Oil-of- 
 Gladness exposed to the fate of the children of Haarlem. 
 
 Then he added, " I grieved to hear that you and 
 your household were so much exposed to the witchcrafts 
 of that same woman, sir." 
 
 " I hope she hath done them little hurt," said 
 Eichard." 
 
 " Is it true," he added, " that the woman hath laid 
 claim to the young lady now here as a kinswoman ?" 
 
 " It is true," said Eichard, " but how hath it come 
 to your knowledge, my good friend ? I deemed it 
 known to none out of our liouse ; not even the Earl and 
 Countess guess that slie is no child of ours." 
 
 " Nay, Mr. Talbot, is it well to go on in a deceit ?" 
 
 " Call it rather a concealment," said Eichard. " We 
 have doubted it since, but when we began, it was merely 
 that there was none to whom it seemed needful to 
 explain that the babe was not the little daughter we 
 buried here. But how did you learn it ? It imports 
 to know." 
 
 " Sir, do you remember your old servant Colet, 
 Gervas's wife ? It will be three years next Whitsun- 
 tide that hearing a great outcry as of a woman mal-
 
 494 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 treated as I passed in the street, I made my way into 
 the house and found Gervas verily beating his wife with 
 a broomstick. After I had rebuked him and caused him 
 to desist, I asked him the cause, and he declared it to 
 be that his wife had been gadding to a stinking Papist 
 fellow, who would be sure to do a mischief to his noble 
 captain, Mr. Talbot. Thereupon Colet declares that she 
 had done no harm, the gentleman wist all before. She 
 knew him again tor the captain's kiusman who was in 
 the house the day that the captain brought home the 
 babe." 
 
 "Cuthbert Langston !" 
 
 " Even so, sir. It seems that he had been with this 
 woman, and questioned her closely on all she remem- 
 bered of tlie child, learning from her what I never knew 
 before, that there were marks branded on her shoulders 
 and a letter sewn in her clothes. Was it so, sir ?" 
 
 " Ay, but my wife and I thought that even Colet 
 had never seen them." 
 
 " Nothing can escape a woman, sir. This man drew 
 all from her by assuring her that the maiden belonged 
 to some great folk, and was even akin to the King and 
 Queen of Scots, and tliat she miglit have some great 
 reward if she told her story to them. She even sold 
 liim some three or four gold and ivory beads which she 
 says she found when sweeping out the room where the 
 child was first undressed." 
 
 " Hatli she ever lieard more of the fellow ?" 
 
 "Nay, but Gervas siuce told me tliat he had met 
 some of my Lord's men who told him that your daughter 
 was one of the Queen of Scots' ladies, and said he, ' I 
 held my peace ; but methought. It hatli come of the 
 talebearing of tliat fellow to whom my wife prated.' " 
 
 " Gervas guessed ri^ht," said Hichard. " That Lang-
 
 XXXVIII.] MASTER TALBOT AND HIS CHARGE. 495 
 
 ston did contrive to make known to the Queen of Scots 
 such tokens as led to her owning the maiden as of 
 near kin to her by the mother's side, and to her husband 
 on the father's ; but for many reasons she entreated us 
 to allow the damsel still to bear our name, and be treated 
 as our child." 
 
 " I doubt me whether it were well done of you, sir," 
 said Mr. Heatherthwayte. 
 
 " Of that," said Eichard, drawing up into himself, 
 " no man can judge for another." 
 
 " She hath been with that woman ; she will, have 
 imbibed her Popish vanities !" exclaimed the poor clergy- 
 man, almost ready to start up and separate Oil-of-Glad- 
 ness at once from the contamination. 
 
 " You may be easy on that score," said Eichard 
 drily. " Her faith is what my good wife taught her, 
 and she hath constantly attended the preachings of the 
 chaplains of Sir Amias Paulett, who be all of your own 
 way of thinking." 
 
 "You assure me?" said Mr. Heatherthwayte, "for 
 it is the nature of these folk to act a part, even as did 
 the parent the serpent." 
 
 Often as Eichard liad thought so himself, he was 
 offended now, and rose, " If you think I have brought 
 a serpent into your house, sir, we will take shelter else- 
 where. I will call her." 
 
 ]\Ir. Heatherthwayte apologised and protested, and 
 showed himself willing to accept the assurance that 
 Cicely was as simple and guileless as his own little 
 maid ; and ]\Ir. Talbot, not wishing to be sent adrift 
 with Cicely at that time of night, and certainly not to 
 put such an affront on the good, if over-anxious fatlier, 
 was pacified, but the cordial tone of ease was at an end, 
 and they were glad to separate and retire to rest.
 
 496 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 Richard had much cause for thought. He perceived, 
 what had always been a perplexity to him before, how 
 Langston had arrived at the knowledge that enabled 
 him to identify Cicely with the babe of Lochleven. 
 
 Mr. Talbot heard moanings and wailiugs of wind all 
 night, which to his experience here meant either a three 
 days' detention at Hull, or a land journey. With dawn 
 there were gusts and showers. He rose betimes and 
 went downstairs. He could hear his good host praying 
 aloud in his room, and feeling determined not to vex that 
 Puritan spirit by the presence of Queen Mary's pupil, he 
 wrapped his cloak about him and went out to study the 
 weather, and inquire for lodgings to which he might 
 remove Cicely. He saw nothing he liked, and deter- 
 mined on consulting his old mate, Goatley, who gener- 
 ally acted as skipper, but he had first to return so as 
 not to delay the morning meal. He found, on coming 
 in, Cicely helping Oil -of- Gladness in making griddle 
 cakes, and buttering them, so as to make Mr. Heather- 
 thwayte declare that he had not tasted the like since 
 Mistress Susan quitted Hull 
 
 ]\Ioreover, he had not sat down to the meal more 
 than ten minutes before he discovered, to his secret 
 amusement, that Cicely had perfectly fascinated and 
 charmed the good minister, who would have shuddered 
 had he known that she did so by the graces inherited 
 and acquired from the object of his abhorrence. Invi- 
 tations to abide in their present quarters till it was 
 possible to sail were pressed on them ; and though 
 Pilchard showed himself unwilHng to accept them, they 
 were so cordially reiterated, that he felt it wiser to 
 accede to them rather than spread the mystery fartlier. 
 He was never quite sure whether Mr. Heatherthwayte 
 looked on the young lady as untainted, or whether he
 
 XXXVIII.] MASTER TALBOT AND HIS CHARGE. 497 
 
 wished to secure her in his own instructions ; but he 
 always described her as a modest and virtuous young 
 lady, and so far from thinking her presence dangerous, 
 only wished Oil to learn as much from her as possible. 
 
 Cicely was sorely disappointed, and wanted to ride 
 on at once by land ; but when her foster-father had 
 shown her that the bad weather would be an almost 
 equal obstacle, and that much time would be lost on 
 the road, she submitted with the good temper she had 
 cultivated under such a notable example. She taught 
 Oil-of-Gladness the cookery of one of her mothers and 
 the stitchery of the other ; she helped Dust-and-Aslies 
 with his accidence, and enlightened him on the sports 
 of the Bridgefield boys, so that his father looked round 
 dismayed at the smotliered laughter, when she assured 
 him that she was only telling how her brother Diccon 
 caught a coney, or the like, and in some magical way 
 smoothed down his frowns with her smile. 
 
 Mistress Cicely Talbot's visit was likely to be an 
 unforgotten era with Dust-and-Ashes and Oil-of-Glad- 
 ness. The good curate entreated that she and her 
 father would lodge there on their return, and the invi- 
 tation was accepted conditionally, Mr. Talbot writing 
 to his wife, by the carriers, to send such a load of good 
 cheer from Bridgefield as would amply compensate for 
 the ex])enses of this hospitality. 
 
 2 K
 
 498 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX 
 
 THE FETTERLOCK COURT. 
 
 People did not pity themselves so much for suspense 
 when, instead of receiving an answer in less than an 
 hour, they liad to wait for it for weeks if not months. 
 Mrs. Talbot might be anxious at Bridgefield, and her 
 son at Fotheringhay, and poor Queen Mary, whose life 
 hung in the balance, more heartsick with what old 
 writers well named wanhope than any of them ; but 
 they had to live on, and rise morning after morning 
 without expecting any intelligence, unable to do any- 
 thing but pray for those who might be in perils un- 
 known. 
 
 After the strain and effort of her trial, Mary had 
 become very ill, and kept her bed for many days. 
 Humfrey continued to fulfil his daily duties as com- 
 mander of the guards set upon her, but he seldom saw 
 or spoke with any of her attendants, as Sir Andrew 
 Melville, whom he knew the best of them, had on 
 some suspicion been separated from his mistress and 
 confined in another part of the Castle. 
 
 Sir Amias Paulett, too, was sick with gout and 
 anxiety, and was much relieved when Sir Drew Drury 
 was sent to his assistance. The new warder was a 
 more courteous and easy-mannered person, and did not
 
 XXXIX.] THE FETTEELOCK COUKT. 499 
 
 fret liimself or the prisoner with precautions like his 
 colleague ; and on Sir Amias's reiterated complaint 
 that the guards were not numerous enougli, he . had 
 brought down five fresh men, hired in London, fellows 
 used to all sorts of weapons, and at home in military 
 discipline ; but, as Humfrey soon perceived, at home 
 likewise in the license of camps, and most incongruous 
 companions for the simple village bumpkins, and the 
 precise retainers who had hitherto formed the garrison. 
 He did his best to keep order, but marvelled how Sir 
 Amias would view their excesses when he should come 
 forth again from his sick chamber. 
 
 The Queen was better, though still lame ; and on 
 a fine November noontide she obtained, by earnest 
 entreaty, permission to gratify her longing for free air 
 by taking a turn in what was called the Fetterlock 
 Court, from the Yorkist badge of the falcon and fetter- 
 lock carved profusely on the decorations. This was the 
 inmost strength of the castle, on the highest ground, 
 an octagon court, with the keep closing one side of it, 
 and the others surrounded with huge massive walls, 
 shutting in a greensward with a well. There was 
 a broad commodious terrace in the thickness of the 
 walls, intended as a station whence the defenders could 
 shoot between the battlements, but in time of peace 
 forming a pleasant promenade sheltered from the wind, 
 and catching on its northern side the meridian rays of 
 this Martinmas summer day, so that physician as well 
 as jailer consented to permit the captive there to take 
 the air. 
 
 " Some watch there must be," said Paulett anxiously, 
 when his colleague reported the consent he had given. 
 
 " It will suftice, then," said Sir Drew Drury, " if 
 the officer of the guard — Talbot call you him ? — stands
 
 500 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP= 
 
 at tlie angle of the court, so as to keep her in his view. 
 He is a well-nurtured youth, and will not vex her." 
 
 " Let him have the guard within call," said Paulett, 
 and to this Drury assented, perhaps with a little 
 amusement at the restless ^precautions of the invalid. 
 
 Accordingly, Humfrey took up his station, as unob- 
 trusively as he could, at the corner of the terrace, and 
 presently, through a doorway at the other end saw the 
 Qiiesh, hooded and cloaked, come forth, leaning heavily 
 on the arm of Dr. Bourgoin, and attended by the two 
 Maries and the two elder ladies. She moved slowly, 
 and paused every few steps, gazing round her, inhaling 
 the fresh air and enjoying the sunshine, or speaking a 
 caressing word to little Bijou, who leaped about, and 
 barked, and whined with delight at having her out of 
 doors again. There was a seat ' in the wall, and her 
 ladies spread cushions and cloaks for her to sit on it, 
 warmed as it was by the sun ; and there she rested, 
 watching a starling running about on the turf, his 
 gold-bespangled green plumage glistening. She hardly 
 spoke ; she seemed to be making the most of the 
 repose of the fair calm day. Humfrey would not 
 intrude by making her sensible of his presence, but he 
 watched her from his station, wondering within him- 
 self if slie cared for the peril to which she had exposed 
 the daughter so dear to him. 
 
 Such were his thoughts when an angry bark from 
 Bijou warned him to be on the alert. A man — ay, 
 one of the new men-at-arms — was springing up the 
 ramp leading to the summit of tlie wall almost im- 
 mediately in front of the little group. There was a 
 gleam of steel in his band. With one long rinoinG: 
 whistle, Humfrey bounded from his place, and at the 
 moment when the ruffian was on the point of assailing
 
 XXXIX.] THE FETTERLOCK COUET. 501 
 
 the Queen, he caught him with one hand by the collar, 
 with the other tried to master the arm that held the 
 weapon. It was a sliarp struggle, for the fellow was a 
 trained soldier in the full strength of manhood, and 
 Humfrey was a youth of twenty-three, and unarmed. 
 They went down together, rolling on the ground before 
 Mary's chair ; but in another moment Humfrey was 
 the uppermost. He had his knee on the fellow's chest, 
 and held aloft, though in a bleeding hand, the dagger 
 wrenched from him. The victory had been won in a 
 few seconds, before the two men, whom his whistle had 
 brought, had time to rush forward. They were ready 
 now to throw themselves on the assailant. " Hold !" 
 cried Humfrey, speaking for the first time. " Hurt him 
 not ! Hold him fast till I have him to Sir Amias !" 
 
 Each had an arm of the fallen man, and Humfrey 
 rose to meet the eyes of the Queen sparkling, as she 
 cried, " Bravely, bravely done, sir ! We thank you. 
 Though it be but the poor remnant of a worthless life 
 that you have saved, we thank you. The sight of 
 your manhood has gladdened us." 
 
 Humfrey bowed low, and at the same time there 
 was a cry among the ladies that he was bleeding. It 
 was only his hand, as he showed them. The dagger 
 had been drawn across the palm before he could 
 capture it. The kerchiefs were instantly brought 
 forward to bind it up. Dr. Bourgoin saying that it 
 ought to have Master Gorion's attention. 
 
 " I may not wait for that, sir," said Humfrey. " I 
 must carry this villain at once to Sir Amias and 
 report on the affair." 
 
 " Nay, but you will come again to be tended," 
 said the Queen, wliile Dr. Bourgoin fastened the 
 knot of the temporary baiidage " Ah ! and is it
 
 502 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cHAP 
 
 Humfrey Talbot to whom I owe my life ? There ia 
 one who will thank thee for it more than even I. 
 But come back. Gorion must treat that hand, and 
 then you will tell me what you have heard of her." 
 
 " Naught, alas, madam," "said Humfrey with an 
 expressive shake of the head, but ere he turned away 
 Mary extended her hand to him, and as he bent his 
 knee to kiss it she laid the other kindly on his dark 
 curled head and said, " God bless thee, brave youth." 
 
 She was escorted to the door nearest to her apart- 
 ments, and as she sank back on her day bed she could 
 not help murmuring to Mary Seaton, " A brave laddie. 
 Would that he had one drop of princely blood." 
 
 " The Talbot blood is not amiss," said the lady. 
 
 " True ; and were it but mine own Scottish royalty 
 
 that were in question I should see naught amiss, but 
 
 , with this Englisli right that hath been the bane of us 
 
 all, what can their love bring the poor children save 
 
 woe ?" 
 
 Meantime Humfrey was conducting his prisoner to 
 Sir Amias Paulett. The man was a bronzed, tousjli- 
 looking ruffian, with an air of having seen service, and 
 a certain foreign touch in his accent. He glanced 
 somewhat contemptuously at his captor, and said, 
 " Neatly done, sir ; I marvel if you'll get any 
 thanks." 
 
 " What mean you ?" said Humfrey sharply, but the 
 fellow only shrugged his shoulders. The whole affair 
 had been so noiseless, that Humfrey brought the first 
 intelligence when he was admitted to the sick chamber, 
 where Sir Amias sat in a large chair by the fire. He 
 had left his prisoner guarded by two men at tlie door. 
 
 "How now! What is it?" cried Paulett at first 
 sight of his bandaged hand. " Is she safe ?"
 
 XXXIX.] THE FETTEKLOCK COUET, 503 
 
 " Even so, sir, and untouched," said Humfrey. 
 
 " Thanks be to God !" he exclaimed. " This is what 
 I feared. Who was it ? " 
 
 "One of the new men-at-arms from London — 
 Peter Pierson he called himself, and said he had 
 served in the Netherlands." 
 
 And after a few further words of explanation, 
 Humfrey called in the prisoner and his guards, and 
 before his face gave an account of his attempt upon 
 the helpless Queen. 
 
 " Godless and murderous villain !" said Paulett, 
 " what hast thou to say for thyself that I should not 
 hang thee from the highest tower ?" 
 
 " Naught that will hinder you, worshipful seignior," 
 returned the man with a sneer. " In sooth I see no 
 great odds between taking life with a dagger and with 
 an axe, save that fewer folk are regaled with the 
 spectacle." 
 
 " Wretch," said Paulett, " wouldst thou confound 
 private murder with the open judgment of God and 
 man ?" 
 
 " Judgment hath been pronounced," said the 
 fellow, " but it needs not to dispute the matter. 
 Only if this honest youth had not come blundering in 
 and cut his fingers in the fray, your captive would 
 have been quietly rid of all her troubles, and I should 
 have had my reward from certain great folk you wot 
 of. Ay," as Sir Amias turned still yellower, " you 
 take my meaning, sir." 
 
 " Take him away," said Paulett, collecting himself ; 
 " he would cloak his crime by accusing others of his 
 desperate wickedness." 
 
 "Where, sir?" inquired Humfrey. 
 
 Sir Amias would have preferred hanging the fellow
 
 504 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP,. 
 
 without inquiry, but as Fotheringliay was not under 
 martial law, he ordered him off to the dungeons for 
 the present, wliile the nearest justice of the peace was 
 sent for. The kniglit bade Humfrey remain while the 
 prisoner was walked off under due guard, and made a 
 few more inquiries, adding, with a sigh, " You must 
 double the guard, Master Talbot, and get rid of all 
 those London rogues — sons of Belial are they all, and 
 I'll have none for whom I cannot answer— lor I fear 
 me 'tis all too true what the fellow says." 
 
 "Who would set him on ?" 
 
 " That I may not say. But would you believe it, 
 Humfrey Talbot, I have been blamed — ay, rated like 
 a hound, for that I will not lend myself to a privy 
 murder." 
 
 "Verily, sir?" 
 
 " Yerily, and indeed, young man. 'Tis the part of a 
 loyal subject, they say, to spare her Majesty's womanish 
 feelings and her hatred of bloodshed, and this lady 
 having been condemned, to take her off secretly so as 
 to save the Queen the pain and heart -searchings, of 
 signing the warrant. You credit me not, sir, but I have 
 the letter — to my sorrow and shame." 
 
 No wonder that the poor, precise, hard-hearted, but 
 religious and high-principled man was laid up with 
 a fit of the gout, after receiving the shameful letter 
 which he described, which is still extant, signed by 
 Walsingham and Davison. 
 
 " Strange loyalty," said Humfrey. 
 
 " And too much after the Spanish sort for an 
 English Protestant," said Sir Amias. " I made answer 
 that I would lay down my life to guard this unhappy 
 woman to undergo the justice that is to be done upon 
 her, but murder her, or allow her to be slain in my
 
 XXXIX.] THE FETTERLOCK COURT. 505 
 
 hands, I r.eitlier can nor will, so help me Heaven, 
 as a true though sinful man." 
 
 " Amen," said Humfrey. 
 
 •'■' And no small cause of thanks have I that in 
 yoi, young sir, I have one who may he trusted for 
 faith as well as courage, and I need not say dis- 
 cretion." 
 
 As he spoke, Sir Drew Drury, who had been out 
 riding, returned, anxious to hear the details of this 
 strange event. Sir Amias could not leave his room. 
 Sir Drew accompanied Humfrey to the Queen's apart- 
 ments to hear her account and that of her attendants. 
 It was given with praises of the young gentleman 
 which put him to the blush, and Sir Drew then gave 
 permission for his hurt to be treated by Maitre Gorion, 
 and left him in the antechamber for tlie purpose. 
 
 Sir Amias would perhaps have done more wisely if 
 he had not detained Humfrey from seeing the criminal 
 guarded to his prison. For Sir Drew Drury, going 
 from the Queen's presence to interrogate the fellow 
 before sending for a magistrate, found the cell empty. 
 It had been the turn of duty of one of the new 
 London men-at-arms, and he had been placed as 
 sentry at the door by the sergeant — the stupidest and 
 trustiest of fellows — who stood gaping in utter amaze- 
 ment when he found that sentry and prisoner were 
 both alike missing. 
 
 On the whole, the two warders agreed that it 
 would be wiser to hush up the matter. When Mary 
 heard that the man had escaped, she quietly said, " I 
 understand. They know how to do such things better 
 abroad." 
 
 Things returned to their usi.al state except that 
 Humfrey had permission to go daily to have his hand
 
 506 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [OHAP 
 
 attended to by M. Gorioii, aud the Queen never let 
 pass this opportunity of speaking to him, though the 
 very first time she ascertained that he knew as little 
 as she did of the proceedings of bis fatlier and Cicely. 
 Now, for the first time, did Humfrey understand 
 the charm that had captivated Babington, and that 
 even his father confessed. Ailinj?, a^ing, and suffering 
 as she was, and in daily expectation of her sentence 
 of death, there was still something more wonderfully 
 winning about her, a sweet patlietic cheerfulness, kind- 
 ness, and resignation, that filled liis heart with devotion 
 to her. And then she spoke of Cicely, the rarest and 
 greatest delight that he could enjoy. She evidently 
 regarded him with favour, if not aftection, because he 
 loved the maiden whom she could not but deny to 
 him. Would he not do anything for her ? Ay, 
 anything consistent with duty. And there came a 
 twinge which startled him. Was she making him 
 value duty less ? Never. Besides, how few days he 
 could see her. His hand was healing all too fast, 
 and what might not come any day from London ? 
 Was Queen Mary's last conquest to be that of Humfrey 
 Talbot ?
 
 XL.1 THE SENTENCK 607 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 THE SENTENCE. 
 
 The tragedies of the stage compress themselves into a 
 few hours, but the tragedies of real life are of slow and 
 heavy march, and the heart-sickness of delay and hope 
 and dread alike deferred is one of their chief trials. 
 
 Humfrey's hurt was quite well, but as he was at 
 once trusted by his superiors, and acceptable to the 
 captive, he was employed in many of those lesser com- 
 munications between her and her keepers, for which the 
 two knights did not feel it necessary to harass her with 
 their presence. His post, for half the twenty-four hours, 
 was on guard in the gallery outside her anteroom door ; 
 but he often knocked and was admitted as bearer of 
 some message to her or her household ; and equally 
 often was called in to hear her requests, and sometimes 
 he could not help believing because it pleased her to 
 see him, even if there were nothing to tell her, 
 
 Nor was there anything known until the 19th of 
 November, when the sound of horses' feet in large num- 
 bers, and the blast of bugles, announced the arri\'al of 
 a numerous party. When marshalled into the ordinary 
 dining-hall, they proved to be Lord Buckhurst, a dig- 
 nified-looking nobleman, who bore a sad and grave 
 countenance full of presage, with Mr. Beale, the Clerk
 
 508 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 of the Council, and two or three other officials and 
 secretaries, among whom Humfrey perceived the inevit- 
 able Will Cavendish. 
 
 The two old comrades quickly sought each other 
 out, Will observing, " So here you are still, Humfrey. 
 We are like to see the end of a long story." 
 
 " How so ? " asked Humfrey, with a thrill of horror, 
 '• is she sentenced ?" 
 
 " By the Commissioners, all excepting my Lord 
 Zouch, and by both houses of Parliament ! We are 
 come down to announce it to her. I'll hav(} you into 
 the presence-chamber if I can prevail. It will be a 
 noteworthy thing to see how the daughter of a hundred 
 kings brooks such a sentence." 
 
 "Hath no one spoken for her?" asked Humfrey, 
 thinking at least as much of Cicely as of the victim. 
 
 " The King of Scots hath sent an ambassage," 
 returned Cavendish, " but when I say 'tis the Master 
 of Gray, you know what that means. King James 
 may be urgent to save his mother — nay, he hath written 
 more sharply and shrewishly than ever he did before ; 
 but as for this Gray, whatever he may say openly, we 
 know that he has whispered to the Queen, ' The dead 
 don't bite.' " 
 
 " The villain !" 
 
 " That may be, so far as he himself is concerned, but 
 the counsel is canny, like the false Scot himself. What's 
 this I hear, Humfrey, that you have been playing the 
 champion, and getting wounded in the defence ?" 
 
 " A mere nothing," said Humfrey, opening his hand, 
 however, to show the mark. " I did but get my palm 
 scored in hindering a villainous man-at-arms from 
 slaying the poor lady." 
 
 "Yea, well are thy race named Talbot!" said
 
 XL.] THE SENTENCE. 509 
 
 Cavendish. " Sturdy watch-dogs are ye all, with never 
 a notion that sometimes it may be for the good of all 
 parties to look the other way." 
 
 " If you mean that I am to stand by and see a help- 
 less woman " 
 
 " Hash ! my good friend," said Will, holding up his 
 hand. " I know thy breed far too well to mean any 
 sujh thing. Moreover, thy precisian governor, old 
 l^aulett there, hath repelled, like instigations of 
 Satan, more hints than one that pain might be saved to 
 one queen and publicity to the other, if he would have 
 taken a leaf from Don Philip's book, and permitted the 
 lady to be dealt with secretly. Had he given an ear 
 to the matter six months back, it would have spared 
 poor Antony." 
 
 " Speak not thus. Will," said Humfrey, " or thou 
 wilt make me believe thee a worse man than thou art, 
 only for the sake of showing me how thou art versed 
 in state policy. Tell me, instead, if thou hast seen my 
 father." 
 
 " Thy father ? yea, verily, and I have a packet for 
 thee from him. It is in my mails, and I will give it 
 thee anon. He is come on a bootless errand ! As 
 long as my mother and my sister Mall are both living, 
 he might as well try to bring two catamounts together 
 without hisses and scratches." 
 
 "Where is he lying?" asked Humfrey. 
 
 " In Shrewsbury House, after the family wont, and 
 Gilbert makes him welcome enough, but Mall is angered 
 with him for not lodging his daughter there likewise ! 
 I tell her he is afraid lest she should get hold of the 
 wench, and work up a fresh web of tales against this 
 lady, like those which did so much damage before. 
 'Twould be rare if she made out that Gravity himself,
 
 510 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 in the person of old Paulett, had been entranced by 
 her." 
 
 " Peace with thy gibes," said Humfrey impatiently, 
 " and tell me where my sister is." 
 
 " Where thinkest thou ? Of all strange places in 
 the world, he hath bestowed her with Madame de Sal- 
 monnet, the wife of one of the French Ambassador's 
 following, to perfect her French, as he saith. Canst thou 
 conceive wherefore he doth it ? Hath he any marriage 
 in view for her ? Mall tried to find out, but he is 
 secret. Tell me, Numps, what is it ?" 
 
 " If he be secret, must not I be the same ?" said 
 Humfrey, laughing. 
 
 " Nay, thou owest n:3 some return for all that I 
 have told thee." 
 
 " Marry, Will, that is more like a maiden than a 
 statesman ! But be content, comrade, I know no more 
 than thou what purposes there may be anent my sister's 
 marriage," he added. " Only if thou canst give me my 
 father's letter, I should be beholden to thee." 
 
 They were interrupted, however, by a summons to 
 Humfrey, who was to go to tlie aj^artments of the 
 Queen of Scots, to bear the information that in tlie 
 space of half an hour the Lord Buckhurst and Master 
 Beale would do themselves the honour of speaking with 
 her. 
 
 " So," muttered Cavendish to himself as Humfrey 
 went up the stairs, " there is then some secret. I 
 marvel what it bodes ! Did not tliat crafty villain 
 Langston utter some sort of warning which I spurned, 
 knowing the Bridgefield trustiness and good faith ? 
 This wench hath been miglitily favoured by the lady. 
 I must see to it." 
 
 Meantime Humfrey had been admitted to Queen
 
 XL.] THE SENTENCE. 511 
 
 Mary's room, where she sat as usual at hei needlework. 
 " You bring me tidings, my friend," she said, as he bent 
 his knee before her. " Methought I heard a fresh stir 
 in the Castle; who is arrived?" 
 
 " The Lord Buckhurst, so please your Grace, and 
 Master Beale. They crave an audience of your Grace 
 in half an hour's time." 
 
 " Yea, and I can well guess wherefore," said the 
 Queen. "Well, Fiat volnntar iua! Buckhurst? he is 
 kinsman of Elizabeth on the Boleyn side, methinks ! 
 She would do me grace, you see, my masters, by sending 
 me such tidings by her cousin. They cannot hurt me ! 
 I am far past that ! So let us have no tears, my 
 lassies, but receive them right royally, as befits a mess- 
 age from one sovereign to another ! Remember, it is 
 not before my Lord Buckhurst and Master Beale that 
 we sit, but before all posterities for evermore, who will 
 hear of Mary Stewart and her wrongs. Tell them I 
 am ready, sir. Nay but, my son," she added, with a 
 very different tone of the tender woman instead of the 
 outraged sovereign, " I see thou hast news for me. Is 
 it of the child ?" 
 
 " Even so, madam. I wot little yet, but what I 
 know is hopeful. She is with Madame de Salmonnet, 
 wife of one of the suite of the French Ambassador." 
 
 " Ah ! that speaketh much," said Mary, smiling, 
 " more than you know, young man. Salmonnet is 
 sprung of a Scottish archer, Jockie of the salmon net, 
 whereof they made in France M. de Salmonnet. 
 Chateauneuf must have owned her, and put her under 
 the protection of the Embassy. Hast thou had a letter 
 from thy father ?" 
 
 " I am told that one is among Will Cavendish'3 
 mails, madam, and I hope to have it anon."
 
 512 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAR 
 
 "These men have all unawares brought with them 
 that which may well bear me up through whatever 
 may be coming." 
 
 A second message arrived from Lord Buckhurst 
 himself, to say how grieved he was to be the bearer of 
 heavy tidings, and to say that he would not presume 
 to intrude on her IMajesty's presence until she would 
 notify to him tliat she was ready to receive him. 
 
 " They have become courteous," said Mary. " But 
 why should we dally ? The sooner this is over, the 
 better." 
 
 The gentlemen were then admitted : Lord Buck- 
 hurst grave, sad, stately, and courteous ; Sir Amias 
 Paulett, as usual, grim and wooden in his puritanical 
 stiffness ; Sir Drew Drury keeping in the i)ackground 
 as one grieved ; and Mr. Beale, who had already often 
 harassed the Queen before, eager, forward, and per- 
 emptory, as one whose exultation could hardly be 
 repressed by respect for his superior. Lord Buckhurst. 
 
 Bendimr low before her, th^s nobleman craved her 
 pardon for that which it was his duty to execute ; and 
 liaving kissed her hand, in token of her personal for- 
 giveness, he bade Mr. Beale read the papers. 
 
 The Clerk of the Council stood forth almost without 
 obeisance, till it was absolutely compelled from him by 
 Buckhurst. He read aloud the details of the judg- 
 ment, that Mary had been found guilty by the Com- 
 mission, of conspiracy against the kingdom, and the 
 life of the Queen, with the sentence from the High 
 Court of Parliament that she was to die by being 
 beheaded. 
 
 Mary listened with unmoved countenance, only she 
 stood up and made solemn protest against the authority 
 and power of the Commission either to try or condemn
 
 XL.] THE SENTENCE. 513 
 
 her. Beale was about to reply, but Lord Buckhurst 
 checked him, telling him it was simply his business 
 to record the protest ; and then adding that he was 
 cliarged to warn her to put away all hopes of mercy, 
 and to prepare for death. This, he said, was on behalf 
 of his Queen, who implored her to disburthen her 
 cons'jience by a full confession. " It is not her work," 
 added Buckhurst ; " the sentence is not hers, but this 
 thing is required by her people, inasmuch as her life 
 can never be safe while your Grace lives, nor can her 
 religion remain in any security." 
 
 Mary's demeanour had hitherto been resolute. Here 
 a brightness and look of thankful joy came over her, 
 as she raised her eyes to Heaven and joined her hands, 
 saying, " I thank you, my lord ; you have made it all 
 gladness to me, by declaring me to be an instrument 
 in the cause of ray religion, for which, unworthy as I 
 am, I shall rejoice to shed my blood." 
 
 "Saint and martyr, indeed!" broke out Paulett. 
 " That is fine ! when you are dying for plotting treason 
 and murder !" 
 
 " Nay, sir," gently returned Mary, " I am not so 
 presumptuous as to call myself saint or martyr ; but 
 though you have power over my body, you liave none 
 over my soul, nor can you prevent me from lioping 
 that by the mercy of Him who died for me, my blood 
 and life may be accepted by Him, as olTerings freely 
 made for His Churcli." 
 
 She then begged for the restoration of her Almoner 
 De Preaux. She was told that the request would 
 be referred to the Queen, but that slie should have 
 the attendance of an English Bishop and Dean. 
 Paulett was so angered at the manner in wliich slie 
 had met the doom, that he began to threaten hel 
 
 2 L
 
 514 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 that she would be denied all that could serve to her 
 idolatries. 
 
 " Yea, verily," said she calmly, " I am aware that 
 the English have never been noted for mercy." 
 
 Lord Buckhurst succeeded in getting th3 knight 
 away without any more bitter replies. Humfrey and 
 Cavendish had, of course, to leave the room in their 
 train, and as it was the hour of guard for the former, 
 he had to take up his station and wait with what 
 patience he could until it should please Master William 
 to carry him the packet. He opened it eagerly, standing 
 close beneath the little lamp that illuminated his post, 
 to read it : but after all, it was somewhat disappointing, 
 for Mr. Talbot did not feel tliat absolute confidence in 
 the consciences of gentlemen -in-place which would 
 make him certain of that of Master Cavendish, suppos- 
 ing any notion should arise that Cicely's presence in 
 London could have any purpose connected with the 
 prisoner. 
 
 " To my dear son Humfrey, greeting — 
 
 " I do you to wit that we are here safely arrived 
 in London, though we were forced by stress of weather 
 to tarry seven days in Hull, at the house of good 
 Master Heatherthwayte, where we received good and 
 hospitable entertainment. The voyage was a fair one, 
 and the old Mastiff is as brave a little vessel as ever 
 she was wont to be ; but thy poor sister lay abed all 
 the time, and was right glad when we came into smooth 
 water. We have presented the letters to those whom 
 we came to seek, and so far matters have gone with 
 us more towardly than I had expected. There are 
 those who knew Cicely's mother at her years who say 
 there is a strange likeness between them, and who there-
 
 XL.] THE SENTENCE. 515 
 
 fore received her the more favourably. I am lying at 
 present at Shrewsbury House, where my young Lord 
 makes me welcome, but it hath been judged meet that 
 thy sister shoidd lodge with the good Madame de 
 Salmounet, a lady of Scottish birth, who is wile to one 
 of the secretaries of M. de Chateauneuf, the French 
 Ambassador, but who was bred in the convent of 
 Soissons. She is a virtuous and honourable lady, and 
 hath taken charge of thy sister while we remain in 
 London. For the purpose for which we came, it goeth 
 forward, and those who should know assure me that 
 we do not lose time here. Diccon commendeth him- 
 self to thee; he is well in health, and hath much 
 improved in all his exercises. Mistress Curll is lodging 
 nigh unto the Strand, in hopes of being permitted to 
 see her husband ; but that hath not yet been granted to 
 her, although she is assured that he is well in health, 
 and Hke ere long to be set u-ee, as well as Monsieur 
 Nau. 
 
 " We came to London the day after the Parliament 
 had pronounced sentence upon the Lady at Fother- 
 inghay. I promise you there was ringing of bells and 
 firing of cannon, and lighting of bonfires, so that we 
 deemed that there must have been some great defeat 
 of the Spaniard3 in the Low Countries ; and when we 
 were told it was for joy that the Parliament had de- 
 clared the Queen of Scots guilty of death, my poor 
 Cicely had well-nigh swooned to think that there 
 could be such joy for the doom of one poor sick lady. 
 There hath been a petition to the Queen that the 
 sentence may be carried out, and she hath answered in 
 a dubious and uncertain manner, which leaves ground 
 for hope ; and the King of Scots hath written pressingly 
 and sent the Master of Gray to speak in his mother's
 
 516 UNKNOWN TO HISTOItY. [CHAP 
 
 behalf ; also M. de Cbateauneuf liatli both urged mercy 
 on the Queen, and so written to France that King 
 Henry is sending an Ambassador Extraordinary, M. de 
 Bellievre, to intercede for her. 
 
 " I send these presents by favour of Master Caven- 
 dish, who will tell thee more than I have here space 
 to set down, and can assure thee that nothing hasty is 
 like to be done in the business on which he hath come 
 down with these gentlemen. And so no more at present 
 from thy loving father, Eichard Talbot." 
 
 Humfrey had to gather what he could from this 
 letter, but he had no opportunity of speech with the 
 prisoner on the remainder of that day, nor on the next, 
 until after Lord Buckhurst and his followers had left 
 Fotheringhay, bearing with them a long and most touch- 
 ing letter from the prisoner to Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 On that day, Paulett worked himself up to the 
 strange idea that it was for the good of the unfortunate 
 prisoner's soul, and an act of duty to his own sovereign, 
 to march into the prison chamber and announce to 
 Queen Mary that being a dead woman in the eye of 
 the law, no royal state could be permitted her, in token 
 of which he commanded her servants to remove the 
 canopy over her chair. They all flatly refused to touch. 
 it, and the women began to cry " Out upon him," foi 
 being cowardly enough to insult their mistress ; and 
 she calmly said, " Sir, you may do as you please. My 
 royal state comes from God, and is not yours to give or 
 take away. I shall die a Queen, whatever you may 
 do by such law as robbers in a forest might use with a 
 rigliteous judge." 
 
 Intensely angered. Sir Amias came, hobbling and 
 stumbling out to the door, pale with rage, and called
 
 XL.] THE SENTENCE. 517 
 
 ou Talbot to come and bring his men to tear down the 
 rag of vanity in which this contumacious woman put 
 her trust. 
 
 " The men are your servants, sir," said Humfrey, 
 with a flush on his cheek and his teeth set ; " I am 
 here to guard the Queen of Scots, not to insult her." 
 
 " How, sirrah ? Do you know to whom you speak ? 
 Have you not sworn obedience to me ? " 
 
 " In all things within my commission, sir ; but this 
 is as much beyond it, as I believe it to be beyond 
 yours." 
 
 " Insolent, disloyal varlet ! You are under ward 
 till I can account with and discharge you. To your 
 chamber !" 
 
 Humfrey could but walk away, grieved that his 
 power of bearing intelligence or alleviation to the 
 prisoner had been forfeited, and that he should probably 
 not even take leave of her. Was she to be left to all 
 the insults that the malice of her persecutor could 
 devise ? Yet it was not exactly malice. Paulett would 
 have guarded her life from assassination with his own, 
 though chiefly for his own sake, and, as he said, for that 
 of "saving his poor posterity from so foul a blot ;" but he 
 could not bear, as he told Sir Drew Drury, to see the 
 Popish, bloodthirsty woman sit queening it so calmly ; 
 and when he tore down her cloth of state, and sat down 
 in her presence with his hat on, he did not so much 
 intend to pain the woman, Mary, as to express the 
 triumph of Elizabeth and of her religion. Humfrey be- 
 lieved his service over, and began to occupy himself with 
 putting his clothes together, while considering whether 
 to seek his father in London or to go home. After 
 about an hour, he w^as summoned to the hall, where 
 he expected to have found Sir Amias Paulett ready to
 
 518 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [OlIAP. 
 
 give him Lis discharge. He found, however, orJy Sir 
 Drew Drury, wlio thus accosted him — " Young man, 
 you had better return to your duty. Sir Amias is 
 willing to overlook what passed this morning.' 
 
 " I thank you, sir, but I am not aware of having 
 done aught to need forgiveness," said Humfrey. 
 
 " Come, come, my fair youth, stand not on these 
 points. 'Tis true my good colleague hath an excess of 
 zeal, and I could wish he could have found it in his 
 heart to leave the poor lady these marks of dignity 
 that hurt no one. I would have no hand in it, and I 
 am glad thou wouldst not. He knoweth that he had 
 no power to require such service of thee. He will 
 say no more, and I trust that neither wilt thou ; for it 
 would not be well to change warders at this time. 
 Another might not be so acceptable to the poor lady, 
 and I would fain save her all that I can." 
 
 Humfrey bowed, and thanked " him of milder 
 mood," nor was any further notice taken of this hasty 
 dismissal. 
 
 When next he had to enter the Queen's apartments, 
 the absence of all the tokens of her royal rank was to 
 him truly a shock, accustomed as he had been, from 
 his earliest childhood, to connect them with her, and 
 knowing what their removal signified. 
 
 Mary, who was writing, looked up as, with cap in 
 hand, he presented himself on one knee, his head bowed 
 lower than ever before, perhaps to hide the tear that 
 had sprung to his eye at sight of her pale, patient 
 countenance. 
 
 " How now, sir ?" she said. " This obeisance i", 
 out of place to one already dead in law. Don your 
 bonnet. There is no queen here for an Englishman." 
 
 " Ah ! madam, suffer me. My reverence cannot
 
 XL.] THE SENTENCE. 519 
 
 but be greater than ever," faltered Humfrey from his 
 very lieart, his words lost in the kiss he printed on 
 the hand she granted him. 
 
 Mary bent " her gray discrowned head," crowned 
 in his eyes as the Queen of Sorrows, and said to Marie 
 de Courcelles, who stood behind her, " Is it not true, 
 ma mie, that our griefs have this make-weight, namely, 
 that they prove to us whose are the souls whose 
 generosity is above all price ! And what saith thy 
 good father, my Humfrey ?" 
 
 He had not ventured on bringing the letter into 
 the apartments, but he repeated most of the substance 
 of it, without, however, greatly raising the hopes of 
 the Queen, though she was gratified that her cause 
 was not neglected either by her son or by her brother- 
 in-law. 
 
 " They, and above all my poor maid, will be com- 
 forted to have done their utmost," she said ; " but I 
 scarcely care that they should prevail. As I have 
 written to my cousin Elizabeth, I am beholden to 
 her for ending my long captivity, and above all for 
 conferring on me the blessings and glories of one wdio 
 dies for her faith, all unworthy as I am !" and she 
 clasped her hands, while a rapt expression came upon 
 her countenance. 
 
 Her chief desire seemed to be that neither Cicely 
 nor her foster-father should run into danger on her 
 account, and she much regretted that she had not been 
 able to impress upon Humfrey messages to that effect 
 before he wrote in answer to his father, sending his 
 letter by Cavendish. 
 
 " Thou wilt not write again ?" she asked. 
 
 " I doubt its being safe," said Humfrey. " I durst 
 not speak openly even in the scroll I sent yesterday."
 
 520 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 Then Mary recurred to the power which he possessed 
 of visiting Sir Andrew Melville and the Almoner, 
 the Abbe de Preaux, who were shut up in the Fetter- 
 lock tower and court, and requested him to take a billet 
 which she had written to the latter. The request came 
 
 like a blow to the young man. " With permission " 
 
 he began, 
 
 " I tell thee," said Mary, " this concerns naught 
 but mine own soul. It is nothing to the State, but all 
 and everything to me, a dying woman." 
 
 " Ah, madam ! Let me but obtain consent." 
 
 " "What ! go to Paulett that he may have occasion 
 to blaspheme my faith and insult me !" said the Queen, 
 offended. 
 
 " I should go to Sir Drew Drury, who is of another 
 mould," said Humfrey 
 
 " But who dares not lift a finger to cress his fellow," 
 said Mary, leaning back resignedly. 
 
 " And this is the young gentleman's love for your 
 Grace !" exclaimed Jean Kennedy. 
 
 "Nay, madam," said Humfrey, stung to the quick, 
 " but I am sworn !" 
 
 " Let him alone, Nurse Jeanie !" said Mary. " He 
 is like the rest of the English. They know not how 
 to distinguish between the spirit and the letter ! I 
 understand it all, though I had thought for a moment 
 that in him there was a love for me and mine that 
 would perceive that I could ask nothing that could 
 damage his honour or his good faith. I — who had 
 almost a mother's love and trust in him." 
 
 " Madam," cried Humfrey, " you know I would lay 
 down my life for you, but I cannot break my trust." 
 
 " Your trust, fule laddie !" exclaimed Mrs. Kennedy. 
 " Ane wad think the Queen speired of ye to cany a
 
 XL.] THE SENTENCE. 521 
 
 letter to Mendoza to burn and slay, instead of a bit 
 scart of the pen to ask the good father for his prayers^ 
 or the like ! But you are all alike ; ye will not stir a 
 hand to aid her poor soul." 
 
 " Pardon me, madam," entreated Humfrey. " The 
 matter is, not what the letter may bear, but how my oath 
 binds me ! I may not be the bearer of aught in writing 
 from this chamber. 'Twas the very reason I would 
 not bring in my father's letter. Madam, say but you 
 pardon me." 
 
 " Of course I pardon you," returned Mary cokuy. 
 " I have so much to pardon that I can well forgive the 
 lukewarmness and precision that are so bred in your 
 nature that you cannot help them. I pardon injuries, 
 and I may well try to pardon disappointments. Fare 
 you well, Mr. Talbot ; may your fidelity have its reward 
 from Sir Amias Paulett." 
 
 Humfrey was obliged to quit the apartment, cruelly 
 wounded, sometimes wondering whether he had 
 really acted on a harsh selfish punctilio in cutting off 
 the dying woman from the consolations of religion, 
 and thus taking part with the persecutors, while his 
 heart bled for her. Sometimes it seemed to him as if 
 he had been on the point of earning her consent to 
 his marriage with her daughter, and had thrown it 
 away, and at other moments a horror came over him 
 lest he was being beguiled as poor Antony had been 
 before him. And if he let his faith slip, how should he 
 meet his father again ? Yet his affection for the 
 Queen repelled this idea like a cruel injury, while, day 
 by day, it was renewed pain and grief to be treated 
 by her with the gentlest and most studied courtesy, 
 but no longer as almost one of her own inner circle of 
 friends and coiifidants.
 
 522 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 And as Sir Andrew Melville was in a few days 
 more restored to her service, he was far less often 
 required to bear messages, or do little services in the 
 prison apartments, and he felt himself excluded, and 
 cut off from the intimacy that had been very sweet, 
 and even a little hopeful to him.
 
 xll] her royal highness. 523 
 
 CHAPTEE XLL 
 
 HER ROYAL HIGHNESS. 
 
 Cicely had been living in almost as much suspense in 
 London as her mother at Fotheringhay. For greater 
 security Mr. Talbot had kept her on board the Mastiff 
 till he had seen M. d'Aubepine Chateauneuf, and 
 presented to him Queen Mary's letter. The Ambas- 
 sador, an exceedingly polished and graceful Frenchman, 
 was greatly astonished, and at first incredulous ; but 
 he could not but accept the Queen's letter as genuine, 
 and he called into his counsels his Secretary De 
 Salmonnet, an elderly man, whose wife, a Scotswoman 
 by birth, preferred her husband's society to the 
 delights of Paris. She was a Hamilton who l^ad been 
 a pensionnaire in the convent at Soissons, and she 
 knew that it had been expected that an infant from 
 Lochleven might be sent to the Abbess, but that it 
 had never come, and that after many months of 
 waiting, tidings had arrived that the vessel which 
 carried the babe had been lost at sea. 
 
 M de Chateauneuf thereupon committed the in- 
 vestigation to her and her husband. Richard Talbot 
 took them first to the rooms where Mrs. Barbara Curll 
 had taken up her abode, so as to be near her husband, 
 who was still a prisoner in Walsingham's house. She
 
 524 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 fully confirmed all that Mr. Talbot said of the Queen's 
 complete acceptance of Cis as her daughter, and more- 
 over consented to come with the Salmonnets and Mr. 
 Talbot, to visit the young lady on board the Mastiff. 
 
 Accordingly they went down the river together in Mr. 
 Talbot's boat, and found Cicely, well cloaked and muffled, 
 sitting under an awning, under the care of old Goatley, 
 who treated her like a little queen, and was busy explain- 
 ing to her all the different craft which filled the river. 
 
 She sprang up with the utmost delight at the sight 
 of Mrs. Curll, and threw herseK into her arms. There 
 was an interchange of inquiries and comments that^ 
 unpremeditated as they were — could not but convince 
 the auditor of the terms on which the young lady had 
 stood with Queen Mary and her suite. 
 
 Afterwards Cicely took the two ladies to her cabin, 
 a tiny box, but not uncomfortable according to her 
 habits, and there, on Barbara's persuasion, she per- 
 mitted Madame de Salmonnet to see the monograms on 
 her shoulders. The lady went home convinced of her 
 identity, and came again the next day with a gentle- 
 man in slouched hat, mask, and cloak. 
 
 As Cicely rose to receive him he uttered an exclama- 
 tion of irrepressible astonishment, then added, " Your 
 Highness will pardon me. Exactly thus did her royal 
 mother stand when I took leave of her at Calais." 
 
 The Ambassador had thus been taken by storm, 
 although the resemblance was more in figure and 
 gesture than feature, but Mrs. Curll could aver that 
 those who had seen Bothwell were at no loss to trace 
 the derivation of the dark brows and somewhat homely 
 features, in which the girl differed from the royal race 
 of Scotland. 
 
 What was to be done ? Queen Mary's letter to
 
 XIJ.] HER ROYAL HIGHNESS. 525 
 
 him begged him so far as was possible to give her 
 French protection, and avoid compromising " that ex- 
 cellent Talbot," and he thought it would be wisest for 
 her to await the coming of the Envoy Extraordinary, 
 M. de Pomponne Bellievre, and be presented by him. 
 In the meantime her remaining on board ship in this 
 winter weather would be miserably uncomfortable, and 
 Itichmond and Greenwich were so near that any inter- 
 course with her would be dangerous, especially if 
 Langston was still in England. Lodgings or inns 
 where a young lady from the country could safely be 
 bestowed were not easily to be procured without 
 greater familiarity with the place than Mr. Talbot 
 possessed, and he could as little think of placing her 
 with Lady Talbot, whose gossiping tongue and shrewish 
 temper were not for a moment to be trusted. Therefore 
 M. de Chateauneuf's proposal tliat the young lady sliould 
 become Madame de Salmonnet's guest at the embassy 
 was not unwelcome. The lady was elderly, Scottish, 
 and, as M. de Chateauueuf with something of a 
 shudder assured Mr. Talbot, " most respectable." And 
 it was hoped that it would not be for long. So, 
 having seen her safely made over to the lady's care, 
 Eichard ventured for the first time to make his pre- 
 sence in London known to his son, and to his kindred ; 
 and he was the more glad to have her in these quarters 
 l)ecause Diccori told him that there was no doubt that 
 Langston was lurking about the town, and indeeil he 
 was convinced that he had recognised that spy entering 
 Walsinghani's house in the dress of a scrivener. He 
 would not alarm Cicely, but he bade her keep all 
 her goods in a state ready for immediate departure, in 
 case it should be needful to leave London at once after 
 seeing the Queen.
 
 526 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAP. 
 
 Tlie Frencli Ambassador's abode was an old con- 
 ventual building on the riverside, consisting of a 
 number of set? of separate chambers, like those of a 
 college, openiiig on a quadrangle in the centre, and 
 with one side occupied by the state apartments and 
 chapel. This arrangement eminently suited the 
 French suite, every one of whom liked to have his 
 own little arrangements of cookery, and to look after 
 his own 7narmitc in his own way, all being alike 
 horrified at the gross English diet and lack of vege- 
 tables. Many tried experiments in the way of grow- 
 ing salads in little gardens of their own, with little 
 heed to the once beautiful green grass-plot wliich they 
 broke up. 
 
 Inside that gate it was like a new country, and as 
 all the shrill thin intonations of the French rang in 
 her ears. Cicely could hardly believe that she had — 
 she said — only a brick wall between her and old 
 England. 
 
 M. de Salmonnet was unmistakably a Scot by 
 descent, though he had never seen the land of his 
 ancestors. His grandfather had been ennobled, but 
 only belonged to the lesser order of the noblesse, being 
 exempted from imposts, but not being above employ- 
 ment, especially in diplomacy. He had acted as 
 secretary, interpreter, and general factotum, to a whole 
 succession of ambassadors, and thus his little loge, as 
 he called it, had become something of a home. His 
 wife had once or twice before had to take charge of 
 young ladies, French or English, who were confided 
 to the embassy, and she had a guest chamber for 
 them, a small room, but with an oriel window over- 
 hanging the Thames and letting in the southern sun, 
 so as almost to compensate for the bareness of the rest,
 
 xll] iiek royal highness. 527 
 
 where there was nothing but a square box-bed, a chest, 
 and a few toilette essentials, to break upon the dulness 
 of the dark wainscoted walls. Madame herself came 
 to sleep with her guest, for lonely nights were regarded 
 with dread in those times, and indeed she seemed to 
 regard it as her duty never to lose sight of her charge 
 for a moment. 
 
 Madame de Salmonnet's proper bed-cliamber was 
 tlie only approach to this little room, but that mattered 
 the less as it was also the parlour ! The bed, likewise 
 a box, was in the far-off recesses, and the family were 
 up and astir long before the November sun. Dressed 
 Madame could scarcely be called — the costume in which 
 she assisted Babette and queer wizened old Pierrot in 
 doing the morning's work, horrified Cicely, used as she 
 was to Mistress Susan's scrupulous neatness. Down- 
 stairs there was a sort of olHce room of Monsieur's, 
 where the family meals were taken, and behind it an 
 exceedingly small kitchen, where Madame and Pierrot 
 performed marvels of cookery, surpassing those of Queen 
 Mary's five cooks. 
 
 Cicely longed to assist in them, and after a slight 
 demur, she was permitted to do so, chiefly because her 
 duenna could not otherwise watch her and the confec- 
 tions at the same time. Cis could never make out wdietlier 
 it was as princess or simply as maiden that she was so 
 closely watched, for Madame bristled and swelled like a 
 mother cat about to spring at a strange dog, if any gentle- 
 man of the suite shov,-ed symptoms of accosting her. 
 Nay, when Mr. Talbot once brought Diccon in with liim, 
 and there was a greeting, which to Cicely's mind was 
 dismally cold and dry, the lady was so scandalised that 
 Cicely was obliged formally to tell her that she would 
 answer for it to the Queen. On Sunday, IMr. Talljot always
 
 528 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP, 
 
 came to take her to church, and this wa:5 a terrible griev- 
 ance to Madame, though it was to Cicely the one refresh- 
 ment of the week. If it had been only the being out 
 of hearing of her hostess's incessant tongue, the walk 
 would have been a refreshment. Madame de Salmonuet 
 had been transported from home so young that she was 
 far more French than Scottish ; she was a small woman 
 full of activity and zeal of all kinds, though perhaps 
 most of all for her pot an feu. She was busied about 
 her domestic affairs morning, noon, and night, and never 
 ceased chattering the whole time, till Cicely began to 
 regard the sound like the clack of the mill at Bridge- 
 field. Yet, talker as she was, she was a safe woman, 
 and never had been known to betray secrets. Indeed, 
 much more of her conversation consisted of speculations 
 on the tenderness of the poultry, or the freshness of the 
 fish, than of anything that went much deeper. She 
 did, however, spend much time in describing the habits 
 and customs of the pensioners at Soissons ; the maigre 
 food they had to eat ; their tricks upon the elder and 
 graver nuns, and a good deal besides that was amusing 
 at first, but which became rather wearisome, and made 
 Cicely wonder what either of her mothers would have 
 thought of it. 
 
 The excuse for all this was to enable the maiden to 
 make lier appearance before Queen Elizabeth as freshly 
 l)rought from Soissons by her mother's danger. Mary, 
 herself had suggested this, as removing all danger from 
 the Talljots, and as making it easier for ^he French 
 Embassy to claim and protect Cis herself; and M. le 
 Chateauneuf had so far acquiesced as to desire Madame 
 de Salmonnet to see whether the young lady could be 
 prepared to assume the character before eyes that would 
 not be over qualified to judge. Cis, however, had
 
 xll] her royal highness. 529 
 
 always been passive when the proposal was made, and 
 the more she heard from Madame de Salmon net, the 
 more averse she was to it. The only consideration 
 that seemed to her in its favour was the avoidance of 
 implicating her foster-father, but a Sunday morning 
 spent with him removed the scruple. 
 
 " I know I cannot feign," she said. " They all used 
 to laugh at me at Chartley for being too much of the 
 downriglit mastiff to act a part." 
 
 " 1 am right glad to hear it," said Eichard. 
 
 " Moreover," added Cicely, " if I did try to turn my 
 words with the Scottish or French ring, I wot that the 
 sight of the Queen's Majesty and my anxiety would 
 drive out from me all I should strive to remember, and 
 I should falter and utter mere folly ; and if she saw 
 I was deceiving her, there would be no hope at all. 
 Nay, how could I ask God Almighty to bless my doing 
 with a lie in my mouth ?" 
 
 " There spake my Susan's own maid," said Eichard. 
 "'Tis the joy of my heart that tliey have not been able 
 to teach thee to lie with a good grace. Trust my 
 word, my wench, truth is the only wisdom, and one 
 would have thought they might have learnt it by this 
 time." 
 
 " I only doubted, lest it should be to your damage, 
 dear father. Can they call it treasan ?" 
 
 " I trow not, my child. The worst that coiild hap 
 w^ould be that I might be lodged in prison a while, or 
 have to pay a fine ; and liefer, far liefer, would I under- 
 go the like than that those lips of thine should learn 
 guile. I say not that there is safety for any of us, 
 least of all for thee, my poor maid, but the danger is 
 tenfold increased by trying to deceive ; and, moreover, 
 it cannot be met with a good conscience." 
 
 2 M
 
 530 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 " Moreover," said Cicely, " I have pleadings and 
 promises to make on my mother-queen's behalf that 
 would come strangely amiss if I had to feign that I 
 had never seen her ! May I not seek the Queen at 
 once, without waiting for this French gentleman ? 
 Then would this weary, weary time be at an end ! 
 Each time I hear a bell, or a cannon shot, I start and 
 think. Oh ! has she signed the warrant ? Is it too 
 late?" 
 
 " There is no fear of that," said Eichard ; " I shall 
 know from Will Cavendish the instant aught is done, 
 and through Diccon I could get thee brought to the 
 Queen's very chamber in time to plead. Meantime, 
 the Queen is in many minds. She cannot bear to give 
 up her kinswoman ; she sits apart and mutters, ' Aut 
 fer aut feri,' and ' He feriare feri.' Her ladies say 
 she tosses and sighs all night, and hath once or twice 
 awoke shrieking that she was covered with blood. It 
 is Burghley and Walsingham who are forcing tliis on, and 
 not her free will. Strengthen but her better will, and let 
 her feel herself secure, and she will spare, and gladly." 
 
 " That do I hope to do," said Cicely, encouraged. 
 
 The poor girl had to endure many a vicissitude and 
 heart-sinking before M. de Belli^vre appeared ; and 
 when he did come, he was a disappointment. 
 
 He was a most magnificent specimen of the mignons 
 of Heuri's court. The Embassy rang with stories of 
 the number of mails he had brought, of the milk baths 
 he sent for, the gloves he slept in, tlie valets who 
 tweaked out superfluous hairs from his eyebrows, the 
 delicacies required for his little dogs. 
 
 M. de Salmonnet reported that on hearing the story 
 of " Mademoiselle," as Cicely was called in the Em- 
 bassy, he had twirled the waxed ends of his moustaches
 
 XLI.] HEIl EOYAL HIGHNESS. 531 
 
 into a a tirical twist, and observed, "That is well 
 found, and may serve as a last resource." 
 
 He never would say that he disbelieved what he 
 was told of her ; and when presented to her, he be- 
 haved with an exat^gferated deference which ancjered 
 her intensely, for it seemed to her mockery of her pre- 
 tensions. No doubt his desire was that Mary's hfe 
 should be granted to the intercession of his king rather 
 than to any other consideration ; and therefore once, 
 twice, thrice, he had interviews wdth Elizabeth, and 
 still he would not take the anxious suppliant, who was 
 in an agony at each disappointment, as she watched 
 the gay barge float down the river, and who began to 
 devise setting forth alone, to seek the Queen at 
 Eichmond and end it all ! She would have done so, 
 but that Diccon told her that since the alarm caused 
 by Barnwell, it had become so much more difficult to 
 approach the Queen that she would have no hope. 
 
 But she was in a restless state that made Madame 
 de Salmonnet's chatter ahiiost distracting, when at 
 last, far on in January, M. de Salmonnat came in. 
 
 " Well, mademoiselle, tlie moment is come. The 
 passports are granted, but Monsieur the Ambassador 
 Extraordinary has asked for a last private audience, 
 and he prays your Highness to be ready to accompany 
 him at nine of the clock to-morrow morning." 
 
 Cicely's first thought was to send tidings to Mr. 
 Talbot, and in this M. de Salmonnet assisted her, 
 though his wife thought it very superfluous to drag in 
 the great, dull, heavy, English sailor. The girl longed 
 for a sight and speech of him all that evening in vain, 
 though she was sure she saw the Mastiff's boat pass 
 down the river, and most earnestly did she wish she 
 could liave had her chamber to herself for the prayers
 
 532 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 and preparations, on which Madame's tongue broke so 
 intolerably that she felt as if she should ere long be 
 wild and senseless, and unable to recollect anything. 
 
 She had only a little peace when Madame rose 
 early in the morning and left her, thinking her asleep, 
 for a brief interval, which gave her time to rally her 
 thoughts and commend herself to her only Guide. 
 
 She let Madame dress her, as had been determined, 
 in perfectly plain black, with a cap that would have 
 suited " a novice out of convent shade." It was cer- 
 tainly the most suitable garb for a petitioner for her 
 mother's life. In her hand she took the Queen's letter, 
 and the most essential proofs of her birth. She was 
 cloaked and hooded over all as warmly as possible to 
 encounter the cold of the river : and Madame de Sal- 
 monnet, sighing deeply at the cold, arranged herself to 
 chaperon her, and tried to make her fortify herself with 
 food, but slie was too tremulous to swallow anything 
 but a little bread and wine. Poor child ! She felt 
 frightfully alone amongst all those foreign tongues, 
 above all when the two ambassadors crossed the court 
 to M. de Salmonnet's little door. Bellievre, rolled up 
 in splendid sables from head to foot, bowed down to 
 the ground before her, almost sweeping the pavement 
 with his plume, and asked in his deferential voice of 
 mockery if her Eoyal Highness would do him the 
 honour of accepting his escort. 
 
 Cicely bent her head and said in French, " I tliank 
 you, sir," giving him her hand ; and there was a grave 
 dignity in the action that repressed him, so that he did 
 not speak again as he led her to the barge, which was 
 covered in at the stern so as to afford a shelter fi'om the 
 wind. 
 
 Her quick eye detected the Mastiff's boat as she
 
 xll] her royal highness. 533 
 
 was handed down the stairs, and this was some relief, 
 while she was placed in the seat of honour, with an 
 ambassador on each side of her. 
 
 " May I ask," demanded Bellievre, waving a scented 
 handkerchief, "what her Highness is prepared to say, 
 in case I have to confirm it ?" 
 
 " I thank your Excellency," replied Cicely, " but I 
 mean to tell the simple truth ; and as your Excellency 
 has had no previous knowledge of me, I do not see 
 how you can confirm it." 
 
 The two gentlemen looked at one another, and 
 Chateauneuf said, " Do I understand her Royal High- 
 ness that she does not come as the pensionnaire from 
 Soissons, as the Queen had recommended ?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Cicely ; " I have considered the 
 matter, and I could not support the character. All 
 that I ask of your Excellencies is to bring me into the 
 presence of Queen Elizabeth. I will do the rest my- 
 self, with the help of God." 
 
 " Perhaps she is right," said the one ambassador to 
 the other. " These English are incomprehensible !"
 
 534 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAI. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE SUPPLICATION. 
 
 In due time the boat drew up at the stairs leading to 
 the palace of Eichmond. Cicely, in the midst of her 
 trepidation, perceived that Diccon was among the 
 gentlemen pensioners who made a lane from the land- 
 ing to receive them, as she was handed along by M. de 
 Bellievre. In the hall there was a pause, during 
 which the mufflings were thrown off, and Cicely 
 appeared in her simple black, a great contrast to her 
 cavalier, who was clad from neck to knee in pale pink 
 satin, quilted, and with a pearl at each intersection, 
 earrings in his ears, perfumed and long-fringed gloves 
 in his hand — a perfect specimen of the foppery of the 
 Court of France. However, he might have been in 
 hodden gray without her perceiving it. She had the 
 sensation of having plunged into deep, unknown waters, 
 without rope or plank, and being absolutely forced to 
 strike out for herself; yet the very urgency of the 
 moment, acting on her high blood and recent training, 
 made her, outwardly, perfectly self-possessed and calm. 
 She walked along, holding her head in the regal 
 manner that v/as her inheritance, and was so utterly 
 absorbed in the situation that she saw nothing, and 
 thought only of the Queen.
 
 XLII.] THE SUPPLICATION. 535 
 
 This was to be a private audience, and after a 
 minute's demur with the clerk of the chamber, when 
 Chateauneuf made some explanation, a door was 
 opened, a curtain withdrawn, and the two ambassadors 
 and the . young lady were admitted to Elizabeth's 
 closet, where she sat alone, in an arm-chair with a 
 table before her. Cicely's first glance at the Queen 
 reminded her of the Countess, though the face was 
 older, and had an intellect and a grandeur latent in 
 it, such as Bess of Hardwicke had never possessed ; 
 but it was" haggard and w^orn, the eyelids red, either 
 with weeping, or with sleeplessness, and there was an 
 anxious look about the keen light hazel eyes which 
 was sometimes almost pathetic, and gave Cicely hope. 
 To the end of her days she never could recollect how 
 the Queen was arrayed ; she saw nothing but the 
 expression in those falcon eyes, and the strangely 
 sensitive mouth, which bewrayed the shrewish nose 
 and chin, and the equally inconsistent firmness of the 
 jaw. 
 
 The first glance Cicely encountered was one of 
 utter amazement and wrath, as the Queen exclaimed, 
 " Whom have you brought hither, Messieurs ?" 
 
 Before either could reply, she, whom they had 
 thought a raw, helpless girl, moved forward, and kneel- 
 ing before Elizabeth said, " It is I, so please your 
 Majesty, I, who have availed myself of the introduc- 
 tion of their Excellencies to lay before your ]\Iajesty a 
 letter from my mother, the Queen of Scots." 
 
 Queen Elizabeth made so vehement and incredulous 
 an exclamation of amazement that Cicely was the 
 more reminded of the Countess, and this perliaps 
 made her task the easier, and besides, she was not an 
 untrained rustic, but had really been accustomed to
 
 536 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 familiar intercourse with a queen, who, captive as slie 
 was, maintained full state and etiquette. 
 
 She therefore made answer with dignity, " If it will 
 please your Majesty to look at this letter, you will see 
 the proofs of what I say, and that I am indeed Bride 
 He])l.»iiru, the daughter of Queen Mary's last marriage. 
 I was born at Lochleven on the 20th of February of 
 the year of gTace 1567,^ and thence secretly sent in 
 tlie Bride of Dunbar to be bred up in France. The 
 ship was wrecked, and all lost on board, but I was, by 
 the grace of God, picked up by a good and gallant 
 gentleman of my Lord of Shrewsbury's following. 
 Master liichard Talbot of Bridgefield, who brought me 
 up as his own daughter, all unknowing whence I 
 came or who I was, until three years ago, when one of 
 the secret agents who had knowledge of the affairs of 
 the Queen of Scots made known to her that I was the 
 babe who had been embarked in the Bride of Dimhar." 
 
 " Verily, thou must be a bold wench to expect me 
 to believe such a mere minstrel's tale," said Elizabeth. 
 
 " Nevertheless, madam, it is the simple truth, as 
 you will see if you deign to open this packet." 
 
 " And who or where is this same honourable gentle- 
 man who brought you up — Eichard Talbot ? I have 
 heard that name before ! " 
 
 " He is here, madam. He will confirm all I say." 
 
 Tlie Queen touched a little bell, and ordered Master 
 Talbot of Bridgefield to be brought to her, while, 
 hastily casting lier eyes on the credentials, she 
 demanded of Chuteauneuf, " Knew you aught of this, 
 si:?" 
 
 " I know only what the Queen of Scotland has 
 written and what this Monsieur Talbot has told me, 
 ^ 1568 according to our Calendar.
 
 XLII.] THE SUPPLICATION. 537 
 
 madam," said Chateaimeuf. "There can be no doubt 
 that the Queen of Scotland has treated her as a 
 daughter, and owns her for such in her letter to me, 
 as well as to your Majesty." 
 
 "And the letters are no forgery?" 
 
 "Mine is assuredly not, madam; I know the 
 private hand of the Queen of Scots too well to be 
 deceived. Moreover, Madame Curll, the wife of the 
 Secretary, and others, can speak to the manner in 
 which this young lady was treated." 
 
 " Openly treated as a daughter ! That paese?, 
 sir. My faithful subjects would never have left me 
 uninformed !" 
 
 " So please your Majesty," here the maiden ventured, 
 " I have always borne the name of Cicely Talbot, and 
 no one knows what is my real birth save those who 
 were with my mother at Lochleven, excepting Mrs. 
 Curll. The rest even of her own attendants only 
 understood me to be a Scottish orphan. My true 
 lineage should never have been known, were it not a 
 daughter's duty to plead for her mother." 
 
 By this time Mr. Talbot was at the door, and he 
 was received by the Queen with, " So ho ! Master Tal- 
 bot, how is this ? You, that have been vaunted to us 
 as the very pink of fidelity, working up a tale that 
 smacks mightily of treason and leasing!" 
 
 " The truth is oft stranger than any playwright 
 can devise," said Eichard, as he knelt. 
 
 " If it be truth, the worse for you, sir," said the 
 Queen, hotly. " What colour can you give to thus 
 hiding one who might, forsooth, claim royal blood, 
 tainted though it be ?" 
 
 " Pardon me, your Grace. For many years I knew 
 not who the babe was whom I had taken from the
 
 538 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 wreck, and when the secret of her birth was discovered,' 
 I deemed it not mine own but that of the Queen of 
 Scots." 
 
 " A captive's secrets are not her own, and are only- 
 kept by traitors," said Elizabeth, severely. 
 
 At this Cicely threw herself forward with glowing 
 cheeks. " Madam, madam, traitor never was named in 
 the same breath with Master Talbot's name before. If 
 he kept the secret, it was out of pity, and knowing no 
 hurt could come to your Majesty by it." 
 
 " Thou hast a tongue, wench, be thou who thou 
 mayst," said Elizabeth sharply. " Stand back, and let 
 him tell his own tale." 
 
 Eichard very briefly related the history of the 
 rescue of the infant, which he said he could confirm 
 by the testimony of Goatley and of Heatherthwayte. 
 He then explained how Langston had been present 
 when she was brought home, and had afterwards made 
 communications to the Queen of Scots that led to the 
 girl, already in attendance on her, being claimed and 
 recognised ; after which he confessed that he had not 
 the heart to do what might separate the mother and 
 daughter by declaring their relationship. Elizabeth 
 meanwhile was evidently comparing his narrative with 
 the letters of the Queen of Scots, asking searching 
 questions here and there. 
 
 She made a sound of perplexity and annoyance at 
 the end, and said, " This must be further inquired into." 
 
 Here Cicely, fearing an instant dismissal, clasped 
 her hands, and on her knees exclaimed, " JVIadam I it 
 will not matter. No trouble shall ever be caused by 
 my drop of royal blood ; no one shall ever even know 
 that Bride of Scotland exists, save the few who now 
 know it, and have kept the secret most faithfully. I
 
 xlil] the supplication. 539 
 
 seek no state ; all I ask is my mother's life. 
 madam, would you but see her, and speak with her, you 
 would know how far from her thoughts is any evil to 
 your royal person ! " 
 
 " Tush, wench ! we know better. Is this thy 
 lesson ?" 
 
 " None hath taught me any lesson, madam. I 
 know what my mother's enemies have, as they say, 
 proved agaiust her, and I know they say that while she 
 lives your Grace cannot be in security." 
 
 " That is what moves my people to demand her 
 death," said Elizabeth. 
 
 " It is not of your own free will, madam, nor of 
 your own kind heart," cried Cicely. " That I well know ! 
 And, madam, I will show you the way. Let but my 
 mother be escorted to some convent abroad, in France 
 or Austria, or anywhere beyond the reach of Spain, and 
 her name should be hidden from everyone ! None should 
 know where to seek her. Not even the Abbess should 
 know her name. She would be prisoned in a ceU, but she 
 would be happy, for she would have life and the free 
 exercise of her religion. No English Papist, no Leaguer, 
 none should ever trace her, and she would disquiet you 
 no more." 
 
 " And who is to answer that, when once beyond 
 English bounds, she should not stir up more trouble 
 than ever?" demanded Elizabeth. 
 
 "Tliat do I," said the girl. "Here am I, Bride 
 Hepburn, ready to live in your Majesty's hands as a 
 hostage, whom you might put to death at the first 
 stirring on her behalf." 
 
 " Silly maid, we have no love of putting folk to 
 death," said Elizabeth, rather hurt. " That is only for 
 traitors, when they forfeit our mercy."
 
 540 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAP 
 
 " Then, madam, madam, what has been done 
 in her name cannot forfeit mercy for lier ! She was 
 shut up in prison ; I was with her day and niglit, and 
 I know she had naught to do with any evil purpose 
 towards your Majesty. Ah ! you do not believe me ! 
 I know they have found her guilty, and tltat is not 
 what I came to say," she continued, getting bewildered 
 in her earnestness for a moment. " No. But, gracious 
 Queen, you have spared her often ; I have heard her 
 say that you had again and again saved her life from 
 those who would fain have her blood." 
 
 " It is true," said Elizabeth, half softened. 
 
 " Save her then now, madam," entreated the girl. 
 " Let her go beyond their reach, yet where none shall 
 find her to use her name against you. Let me go to 
 her at Fotheringhay with these terms. She will consent 
 and bless and pray for you for ever ; and here am 1, 
 ready to do what you will with me !" 
 
 " To hang about Court, and be found secretly 
 wedded to some base groom !" 
 
 "Ko, madam. I give you my solemn word as a 
 Queen's daughter that I will never wed, save by your 
 consent, if my mother's life be granted. The King of 
 Scots knows not that there is such a being. He need 
 never know it. I will thank and bless you whether 
 you throw me into the Tower, or let me abide as the 
 humblest of your serving -women, under the name I 
 have always borne, Cicely Talbot." 
 
 " Foolish maid, thou mayest purpose as thou sayest, 
 but T know what wenches are made of too well to 
 trust thee." 
 
 " Ah madam, pardon me, but you know not how 
 strong a maiden's heart can be for a mother's sake. 
 Madam ! you have never seen my mother. If you
 
 XLII.] THE SUPPLICATION. 541 
 
 but knew her patience and her tenderness, you would 
 know how not only I, but every man or woman in her 
 train, would gladly lay down life and liberty for her, 
 could we but break her bonds, and win her a shelter 
 among those of her own faith." 
 
 "Art a Papist?" asked the Queen, observing the 
 pronoun. 
 
 " Not so, an't please your Majesty. This gentle- 
 man bred me up in our own Church, nor would I 
 leave it." 
 
 " Strange — strange matters," muttered Elizabeth, 
 " and they need to be duly considered." 
 
 " I will then abide your Majesty's pleasure," said 
 Cicely, " craving license that it may be at Fotheringhay 
 with my mother. Then can I bear her the tidings, 
 and she will write in full her consent to these terms. 
 
 madam, I see mercy in your looks. lieceive a 
 daughter's blessing and thanks !" 
 
 " Over fast, over fast, maiden. Who told thee that 
 
 1 had consented ?" 
 
 " Your Majesty's own countenance," replied Cicely 
 readily. " I see pity in it, and the recollection that 
 all posterity for evermore will speak of the clemency 
 of Elizabeth as the crown of all her glories !" 
 
 " Child, child," said the Queen, really moved, 
 " Heaven knows that I would gladly practise clemency 
 if my people would suffer it, but they fear for my life, 
 and still more for themselves, were I removed, nor can 
 I blame them." 
 
 " Your Majesty, I know that. But my mother 
 would be dead to the world, leaving her rights solemnly 
 made over to her son. None would know where to 
 find her, and she would leave in your hands, and thosa 
 of the Parliament, a resignation of all her claims."
 
 542 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [^JHAP. 
 
 " And Avould she do this ? Am I to take it on thy 
 word, girl ?" 
 
 "Your Majesty knows this ring, sent to her at 
 Lochleven," said Cicely, holding it np. " It is the 
 pledge that she binds herself to these conditions. Oh ! 
 let me but bear them to her, and you shall have them 
 signed and sealed, and your Majesty will know the 
 sweet bliss of pardoning. May I carry the tidings to 
 her ? I can go with this gentleman as Cis Talbot 
 returning to her service." 
 
 Elizabeth bent her head as though assenting 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "How shall I thank you, gracious Queen?" cried 
 Cicely, joining hands in a transport, but Elizabeth 
 sharply cut her short. 
 
 " What means the wench ? I have promised 
 nothing. I have only said I will look into this 
 strange story of thine, and cousider this proposal — ■ 
 that is, if thy mother, as thou callest her, truly intend 
 it — ay, and will keep to it." 
 
 " That is all I could ask of your Majesty," said 
 Cicely. " The next messenger after my return shall 
 carry her full consent to these conditions, and there 
 will I abide your pleasure until the time comes for her 
 to be conducted to her cod vent, if not to see your face, 
 which would be best of all. madam, what thanks 
 will be worthy of such a grace ?" 
 
 " Wait to see whether it is a grace, little cousin," said 
 Elizabeth, but with a kiss to the young round cheek, 
 and a friendliness of tone that surprised alL " Mes- 
 sieurs," slie added to the ambassadors, " you came, if I 
 mistake not, to bring me this young demoiselle." 
 
 " Who has, I hope, pleaded more effectually than 
 I," returned Bellievre.
 
 xlil] the supplication. 543 
 
 " I have made no promises, sir," said the Queen, 
 drawing herself up proudly. 
 
 " Still your Majesty forbids us not to hope," said 
 Chateauneuf. 
 
 Wherewith they found themselves dismissed. 
 
 There was a great increase of genuine respect in 
 the manner in which Bellievre handed the young lady 
 from the Queen's chamber through the gallery and 
 hall, and finally to the boat. No one spoke, for there 
 were many standing around, but Cicely coidd read in 
 a glance that passed between the Frenchmen that they 
 were astonished at her success. Her own brain was 
 in a whirl, her heart beating high ; she could hardly 
 realise what had passed, but when again placed in the 
 barge the first words she heard were from Bellievre. 
 " Your Eoyal Highness will permit me to congratulate 
 you." At the same time she saw, to her great joy, 
 that M. de Chateauneuf had caused her foster-father 
 to enter the barge with them. " If the Queen of 
 Scotland were close at hand, the game would be won," 
 said Bellievre, 
 
 " Ah ! Milord Treasurer and M. le Secretaire are far 
 too cunning to have let her be within reach," said 
 Chateauneuf. 
 
 " Could we but have bound the Queen to anything," 
 added Bellievre. 
 
 " That she always knows how to avoid," said the 
 resident ambassador. 
 
 " At least," said Cicely, " she has permitted that I 
 should bear the terms to my mother at Fotheringhay." 
 
 " That is true," said Chateauneuf, " and in my 
 opinion no time should be lost in so doing. I doubt," 
 he added, looking at Eichard, " whetlier, now tliat her 
 Highness's exalted rank is known, the embassy will
 
 544 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 "be permitted to remain a slielter to her, in case the 
 Queen should demand her of me." 
 
 " Your Excellency speaks my thought," said 
 Richard. " I am even disposed to believe that it 
 would be wiser to begin our journey this very day." 
 
 " I grieve for the apparent inhospitality and dis- 
 respect to one whom I honour so highly," said Chateau- 
 neuf, " but I verily believe it would be the wiser plan. 
 Look you, sir, the enemies of the nnfortunate Queen of 
 Scotland have done all in their power to hinder my 
 colleague from seeing the Queen, but to-day the Lord 
 Treasurer is occupied at Westminster, and Monsieur le 
 Secretaire is sick. She sent for us in one of those wilful 
 moods in which she chooses to assert herself without 
 their knowledge, and she remains, as it were, stunned 
 by the surprise, aud touched by her Eoyal Highness's 
 pleading. But let these gentlemen discover what has 
 passed, or let her recover and send for tliem, and bah ! 
 they will inquire, and messengers will go forth at once 
 to stop her Highness and yourself. All will be lost. 
 But if you can actually be on the way to this castle 
 before they hear of it — and it is possible you may have 
 a full day in advance — they will be unable to hinder 
 the conditions from being laid before the Queen of 
 Scots, and we are witnesses of what tliey were." 
 
 " Oh, let us go ! let us go at once, dear sir," en- 
 treated Cicely. "I burn to carry my mother this 
 hope." 
 
 It was not yet noon, so early had been the audience, 
 and dark and short as were the days, it was quite 
 possible to make some progress on the journey before 
 night. Cicely had kept the necessaries for her journey 
 ready, and so had Mr. Talbot, even to the purchase of 
 horses, which were in the Shrewsbury House stables.
 
 XLII.] THE SUPPLICATION. 545 
 
 The rest of the mails could be fetched by the Mastiff's 
 crew, and brought to Hull under charge of Goatley. 
 Madame de Saln^onnet was a good deal scandalised 
 at Son Altesse Eoyale going off with only a male escort, 
 and to Cicely's surprise, wept over her, and prayed aloud 
 that she might have good success, and bring safety 
 and deliverance to the good and persecuted Queen 
 for whom she had attempted so much. 
 
 " Sir," said Chateauneuf, as he stood beside Eichard, 
 waiting till the girl's preparations were over, " if there 
 could have been any doubts of the royal lineage of your 
 charge,her demeanour to-day would have disproved them. 
 She stood there speaking as an equal, all undaunted 
 before that Queen before whom all tremble, save when 
 they can cajole her." 
 
 " She stood there in the strength of truth and inno- 
 cence," said Eichard. 
 
 Whereat the Frenchman again looked perplexed at 
 these incomprehensible English. 
 
 Cicely presently appeared. It was wonderful to 
 see how that one effort had given lier dignity and 
 womanhood. She thanked the two ambassadors for 
 the countenance they had given to her, and begged them 
 to continue their exertions in her mother's cause. 
 " And," she added, " I believe my mother has already 
 requested of you to keep tliis matter a secret." 
 
 They bowed, and she added, " You perceive, gentle- 
 men, that the very conditions I have offered involve 
 secrecy both as to my mother's future aljode and my 
 existence. Therefore, 1 trust that you will not consider 
 it inconsistent with your duty to the King of France 
 to send no word of this." 
 
 Again they assured her of their secrecy, and the 
 promise was so far kept that the story was reserved for 
 
 2 N
 
 546 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 the private ear of Henri III. on Bellievre's return, 
 and never put into the despatches. 
 
 Two days later, Cicely enjoyed some of the happiest 
 hours of her life. She stood by the bed where her 
 mother was lying, and was greeted with the cry, " My 
 child, my child ! I thought I never should see thee 
 more. Domine, nunc dimittis!" 
 
 " Nay, dearest mother, but I trust she will show 
 mercy. I bring you conditions." 
 
 Mary laid her head on her daughter's shoulder and 
 listened. It might be that she had too much experi- 
 ence of Elizabeth's vacillations to entertain much hope 
 of her being allowed to retire beyond her grasp into a 
 foreign convent, and she declared that she could not 
 endure that her beloved, devoted child should wear 
 away her life under Elizabeth's jealous eye ; but Cis 
 put this aside, saying with a smile, " I think she will 
 not be hard with me. She will be no worse than 
 my Lady Countess, and I shall have a secret of joy 
 within me in thinking of you resting among the good 
 nuns." 
 
 And Mary caught hope from the anticipations she 
 would not damp, and gave herself to the description of 
 the peaceful cloister life, reviewing in turn the nunneries 
 she had heard described, and talking over their rales. 
 There would indeed be as little liberty as here, but she 
 would live in the midst of prayer and praise, and be at 
 rest from the plots and plans, the hopes and fears, of 
 her long captivity, and be at leisure for penitence. 
 " For, ah ! my child, guiltless though I be of much that 
 is laid to my charge, thy mother is a sinful woman, all 
 unworthy of what her brave and innocent daughter has 
 dared and done for her." 
 
 Almost equally precious with that mother's greeting
 
 XLII.] THE SUPPLICATION. 547 
 
 was the grave congratulating look of approval which 
 Cicely met in Humfrey's eyes when he had heard all 
 from his father. He could exult in her, even while he 
 tliought sadly of the future which she had so bravely 
 risked, watching over her from a distance in his silent, 
 self-restrained, unselfish devotion. 
 
 The Queen's coldness towards Humfrey had mean- 
 time diminished daily, though he could not guess 
 whether she really viewed his course as the right one, or 
 whether she forgave this as well as all other injuries 
 in the calm gentle state into which she had come, not 
 greatly moved by hope or fear, content alike to live 
 or die. 
 
 Eichard, in much anxiety, was to remain another 
 day or two at Fotheringhay, on the plea of his wearied 
 horses and of the Sunday rest. 
 
 Meantime Mary diligently wrote the conditions, 
 but perhaps more to satisfy her daughter than with 
 much hope of their acceptance.
 
 548 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIIL 
 
 THE WARRANT. 
 
 ** Tea, madam, they are gone ! They stole away at 
 once, and are far on the way to Fotlieringliay, with 
 these same conditions." So spoke Davison, under- 
 secretary, Walsingham heing still indisposed. 
 
 " And therefore will I see whether the Queen of 
 Scots will ratify them, ere I go farther in the matter," 
 returned Elizabeth. 
 
 " She will ratify them without question," said the 
 Secretary, ironically, " seeing that to escape into the 
 hands of one of your Majesty's enemies is just what 
 she desires." 
 
 " She leaves her daughter as a pledge." 
 
 " Yea, a piece of tinsel to delude your Majesty." 
 
 Elizabeth swore an oath that there was truth in 
 every word and gesture of the maiden. 
 
 " The poor wench may believe all she said herself," 
 said Davison. " Nay, she is as mucli deluded as the 
 rest, and so is that honest, dull-pated sailor, Talbot. If 
 your Majesty will permit me to call in a fellow I have 
 here, I can make all plain." 
 
 " Who is he ? You know I cannot abide those foul 
 carrion rascals you make use of," said Elizabeth, with 
 an air of disgust.
 
 XLIII.] THE WARRANT. 549 
 
 " This man is gentleman born. Villain he may be, 
 but there is naught to offend your Majesty in him. 
 He is one Langston, a kinsman of this Talbot's ; and 
 having once been a Papist, but now having seen the 
 error of his ways, he did good service in the unwinding 
 of the late horrible plot." 
 
 " Well, if no other way will serve you but I must 
 hear the fellow, have him in." 
 
 A neatly-dressed, small, elderly man, entirely arrayed 
 in black, was called in, and knelt most humbly before 
 the Queen. Being bidden to tell what he knew re- 
 specting the lady who had appeared before the Queen 
 the day before, calling herself Bride Hepburn, he re- 
 turned for answer that he believed it to be verily her 
 name, but that she was the daughter of a man who had 
 fled to France, andbecome an archer of the Scottish guard. 
 
 He told how he had been at Hull when the infant 
 had been saved from the wreck, and brought home to 
 Mistress Susan Talbot, who left tlie place the next day, 
 and had, he understood, bred up the child as her own. 
 He himself, being then, as he confessed, led astray by 
 the delusions of Popery, had nmch commerce witli the 
 Queen's party, and had learnt from some of the garrison 
 of Dunfermline that the child on board the lost ship 
 was the offspring of this same Hepburn, and of one of 
 Queen Mary's many namesake kindred, who had died 
 in childbirth at Lochleven. And now Langston pro- 
 lessed bitterly to regret what he had done whei], in 
 his disguise at Buxton, he had made known to some 
 of Mary's suite that the supposed Cicely I'albot was of 
 their country and kindred. She had been immediately 
 made a great favourite by the Queen of Scots, and the 
 attendants all knew who she really was, tliough she 
 still went bv the name of Talbot. He imagined that
 
 550 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [cHAR 
 
 the Queen of Scots, whose charms were not so im- 
 perishable as those which dazzled his eyes at this 
 moment, wanted a fresh bait for her victims, since she 
 herself was growing old, and thus had actually suc- 
 ceeded in binding Babington to her service, though 
 even then the girl was puffed up with notions of her 
 own importance and had flouted him. And now, all 
 other hope having vanished. Queen Mary's last and 
 ablest resource had been to possess the poor maiden 
 with an idea of being actually her own child, and then 
 to work on her filial obedience to offer herself as a 
 hostage, whom Mary herself could without scruple 
 leave to her fate, so soon as she was ready to head an 
 army of invaders. 
 
 Davison further added that the Secretary Nau could 
 corroborate that Bride Hepburn was known to the suite 
 as a kinswoman of the Queen, and that Mr. Cavendish, 
 clerk to Sir Francis Walsingliam, knew that Babington 
 had been suitor to the young lady, and had crossed 
 swords with young Talbot on her account. 
 
 Elizabeth listened, and made no comment at the 
 time, save that she sharply questioned Langston ; but 
 his tale was perfectly coherent, and as it threw the 
 onus of the deception entirely on Mary, it did not 
 conflict either with the sincerity evident in both Cicely 
 and her foster-father, or with the credentials supplied 
 by the Queen of Scots. Of the ciphered letter, and of 
 the monograms, Elizabeth had never heard, though, if 
 she had asked for further proof, they would have been 
 brought forward. 
 
 She heard all, dismissed Langston, and with some 
 petulance bade Davison likewise begone, being aware 
 that her ministers meant her to draw the moral tliat 
 she had involved herself in difficulties by holding a
 
 XLIII.] THE WAEEANT. 551 
 
 private audience of the French Ambassadors without 
 their knowledge or presence. It may be that the very 
 sense of liaviug been touched exasperated her the more. 
 She paced up and down the room restlessly, and her 
 ladies heard her muttering — "That she should cheat 
 me thus ! I have pitied her often ; I will pity her no 
 more ! To breed up that poor child to be palmed on 
 me ! I will make an end of it ; I can endure this no 
 longer ! These tossings to and fro are more than I 
 can bear, and all for one who is false, false, false, false ! 
 My brain will bear no more. Hap what hap, an end 
 must be made of it. She or I, she or I must die ; and 
 which is best for England and the faith ? That girl had 
 well-nigh made me pity her, and it was all a vile cheat !" 
 
 Thus it was that Elizabeth sent for Davison, and 
 bade him bring the warrant with him. 
 
 And thus it was that in the midst of dinner in the 
 hall, on the Sunday, the 5th of February, the meiiU of 
 the Castle were startled by the arrival of Mr. Beale, 
 the Clerk of the Council, always a bird of sinister 
 omen, and accompanied by a still more alarming figure, 
 a strong burly man clad in black velvet from head to 
 foot. Every one knew who he was, and a thrill of 
 dismay, that what had been so long expected had come 
 at last, went through all who saw him pass through 
 the hall. Sir Amias was summoned from table, and 
 remained in conference with the two arrivals all through 
 evening chapel time — an event in itself extraordinary 
 enough to excite general anxiety. It was Humfrey's 
 turn to be on guard, and he had not long taken his 
 station before he was called into the Queen's apart- 
 ments, where she sat at the foot of her bed, in a large 
 chair with a small table before her. No oiie was with 
 her but her two mediciners, Bourgoin and Goriou.
 
 552 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " Here," she said, " is the list our good Doctor has 
 writ of the herbs he requires for my threatened attack 
 of rheumatism." 
 
 " I will endeavour, with Sir Amias's permission, to 
 seek them in the park," said Humfrey. 
 
 " But tell me," said Mary, fixing her clear eyes 
 upon him, " tell me truly. Is there not a surer and 
 more lasting cure for all my ills in preparation ? Who 
 was it who arrived to-night?" 
 
 " Madame," said Humfrey, bowing his head low as 
 he knelt on one knee, " it was Mr. Beale." 
 
 "Ay, and who besides ?" 
 
 "Madam, I heard no name, but" — as she waited 
 for him to speak further, he uttered in a choked voice 
 — " it w^as one clad in black." 
 
 " I perceive," said Mary, looking up with a smile. 
 " A more effectual Doctor than you, my good Bourgoin. 
 I thank my God and my cousin Elizabeth for giving 
 me the martyr's hope at the close of the most mournful 
 life that ever woman lived. Nay, leave me not as 
 yet, good Humfrey. I have somewhat to say unto 
 thee. I have a charge for thee." Something in her 
 tone led him to look up earnestly in her face. " Thou 
 lovest my child, I think," she added. 
 
 The young man's voice was scarcely heard, and he 
 only said, "Yea, madam;" but there was an intensity 
 in the tone and eyes which went to her heart. 
 
 " Thou dost not speak, but thou canst do. Wilt 
 thou take her, Humfrey, and with her, all the inherit- 
 ance of peril and sorrow that dogs our unhappy race ?" 
 
 " Oh " — and there was a mighty sob that almost 
 cut off his voice — " My life is already hers, and would 
 be spent iif her service wherever, whatever she was." 
 
 "I guessed it," snid the Queen, letting her hand rest
 
 XLIII.] THE WARRANT. 553 
 
 on his slioulder. " And for her thou wilt endure, if 
 needful, suspicion, danger, exile ?" 
 
 " They will be welcome, so I may shield her." 
 
 " I trust thee," she said, and she took his firm 
 strong hand into her own white wasted one. " But will 
 thy father consent ? Thou art his eldest son and heir." 
 
 " He loves her like his own daughter. My brother 
 ma} have the lands." 
 
 " 'Tis strange," said Mary, " that in wedding a 
 princess, 'tis no crown, no kingdom, that is set Ijefore 
 thee, only the loss of thine own inheritance. For now 
 that the poor child has made herself known to Elizabeth, 
 there will ]je no safety for her between these seas. I 
 have considered it well. I had tliought of sending 
 her abroad with my French servants, and making her 
 known to my kindred there. That would have been 
 well if she could have accepted the true faith, or if — - 
 if her heart had not been thine ; but to have sent her 
 as she is would only expose her to persecution, and 
 she hath not the mounting spirit that would cast aside 
 love for the sake of rising. She lived too long with 
 thy mother to be aught save a homely Cis. I would 
 have made a princess of lier, but it passes my powers. 
 Nay, the question is, whether it may yet be possible 
 to prevent the Queen from laying hands on her." 
 
 " My father is still here," said Humfrey, " and I 
 deem not that any orders have come respecting her. 
 Might not he crave permission to take her home, that 
 is, if she will leave your Grace ?" 
 
 " I will lay my commands on her • It is well 
 thought of," said the Queen. "How soon canst thou 
 have speech with him ?" 
 
 " He is very like to come to my post," said Humfrey, 
 " and then we can walk the gallery and talk unheard."
 
 554 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " It is well. Let him make his demand, and I 
 will have her ready to depart as early as may be 
 to-morrow morn. Bonrgoin, I would ask thee to call 
 the maiden hither." 
 
 Cicely appeared from the apartment where she had 
 been sitting with the other ladies. 
 
 " Child," said the Queen, as she came in, " is thy 
 mind set on wedding an archduke ? " 
 
 " Marriage is not for me, madam," said Cicely, 
 perplexed and shaken by this strange address and by 
 Humfrey's presence. 
 
 " Nay, didst not once tell me of a betrothal now 
 many years ago ? What wouldst say if thine own 
 mother were to ratify it ?" 
 
 " Ah ! madam," said Cicely, blushing crimson how- 
 ever, " but I pledged myself never to wed save with 
 Queen Elizabeth's consent." 
 
 " On one condition," said the Queen. " But if that 
 condition were not observed by the other party " 
 
 "How — what, mother!" exclaimed Cicely, with a 
 scream. " There is no fear — Humfrey, have you 
 heard aupht ? " 
 
 " Nothing is certain," said Mary, calmly. " I ask 
 thee not to break thy word. I ask thee, if thou wert 
 free to marry, if thou wouldst be an Austrian or Lor- 
 raine duchess, or content thee with an honest English 
 youth whose plighted word is more precious to him 
 than gold." 
 
 "0 mother, how can you ask?" said Cicely, drop- 
 ping down, and hiding her face in the Queen's lap. 
 
 " Then, Humfrey Talbot, I give her to thee, my 
 child, my Bride of Scotland. Thou wilt guard her, 
 and shield her, and for thine own sake as well as hers, 
 save her from the wrath and jealousy of Elizabeth.—
 
 XLIIl] THE WAKRANT. 555 
 
 Hark, hark ! Rise, my child. They are presenting 
 arms. We shall have Paulett in anon to convey my 
 rere-supper." 
 
 They had only just time to compose themselves 
 before Paulett came in, looking, as they all thought, 
 grimmer and more starched than ever, and not well 
 pleased to find Humfrey there, hut the Queen was 
 equal to the occasion. 
 
 " Here is Dr. Bourgoin's list of the herbs that he 
 needs to ease my aches," she said. " Master Talbot is 
 so good as to say that, being properly instructed, he 
 will go in search of them." 
 
 " They will not be needed," said Paulett, but he 
 spoke no farther to the Queen. Outside, however, he 
 said to Humfrey, " Young man, you do not well to 
 waste the Sabbath evening in converse with that 
 blinded woman ; " and meeting Mr. Talbot himself on 
 the stair, he said, " You are going in quest of your 
 son, sir. You would do wisely to admonish him that 
 he will bring himself into suspicion, if not worse, by 
 loitering amid the snares and wiles of the woman 
 whom wrath is even now overtaking." 
 
 Eichard found his son pacing the gallery, almost 
 choked with agitation, and with the endeavour to con- 
 ceal it from the two stolid, heavy yeomen who dozed 
 behind the screen. Not till he had reached the extreme 
 end did Humfrey master his voice enough to utter in 
 his father's ear, " She has given her to me !" 
 
 Eichard could not answer for a moment, then he 
 said, " I fear me it will be thy ruin, Humfrey." 
 
 " Not ruin in love or faithfulness," said the youth. 
 " Father, you know I should everywhere have followed 
 her and watched over her, even to the death, oven if 
 she could never have been mine."
 
 556 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 " I trow thou woiildst," said Eicliard. 
 
 " Nor would you have it otherwise — your child, 
 your only daughter, to be left unguarded." 
 
 " Nay, I know not that I would," said Eichard. 
 " I cannot but care for the poor maid like mine own, 
 and I would not have thee less true-hearted, Humfrey, 
 even though it cost thee thine home, and us our 
 eldest son." 
 
 " You have Diccon and Ned," said Humfrey. And 
 then he told what had passed, and his father observed 
 that Beale had evidently no knowledge of Cicely's 
 conference with the Queen, and apparently no orders 
 to seize her. It had oozed out that a commission had 
 been sent to five noblemen to come and superintend 
 the execution, since Sir Amias Paulett had again 
 refused to let it take place without witnesses, and 
 Eichard undertook to apply at once to Sir Amias for 
 permission to remove his daughter, on the ground of 
 saving her tender youth from the shock. 
 
 " Then," said he, " I will leave a token at Xottiiicc- 
 ham where I have taken her ; whether home or at 
 once to Hull. If I leave Brown Eoundle at the inn 
 for thee, then come home ; but if it be Wliite Blossom, 
 then come to Hull. It will be best that thou dost -not 
 know while here, and I cannot go direct to Hull, 
 because the fens at this season may not be fit for 
 riding. Heatherthwayte will need no proofs to con- 
 vince him that she is not thy sister, and can wed you 
 at once, and you will also be able to embark in case 
 there be any endeavour to arrest her." 
 
 " Taking service in Holland," said Humfrey, " until 
 there may be safety in returning to England." 
 
 Eichard sighed. The risk and sacrifice were great, 
 and it was to him like the loss of two children, but
 
 XLIIl.] THE WARRANT. 557 
 
 the die waa; cast ; Humfrey never could be other than 
 Cicely's devoted champion and guardian, and it was 
 better that it should be as her husband. So he re- 
 paired to Sir Amias, and told him that he desired 
 not to expose his daughter's tender years and feeble 
 spirits to the sight of the Queen's death, and claimed 
 permission to take her away with him the next day, 
 saying that the permission of the Queen had already 
 been granted through his son, whom he would gladly 
 also take with him. 
 
 Paulett hemmed and hawed. He thought it a 
 great error in ]\Ir. Talbot to avoid letting his daughter 
 be edified by a spectacle that might go far to moderate 
 the contagion of intercourse with so obstinate a Papist 
 and deceiver. Being of pitiless mould himself, he 
 was incapable of appreciating Richard's observation 
 that compassion would only increase her devotion to 
 the unfortunate lady. He would not, or couhl not, 
 part with Humfrey. He said that there would be 
 such a turmoil and concourse that the services of the 
 captain of his yeomen would be indispensable, but 
 that he himself, and all the rest, would be free on the 
 Thursday at latest. 
 
 Mr. Talbot's desire to be away was a surprise to 
 him, for he was in difficulties how, even in that 
 enormous hall, to dispose of all who claimed by right 
 or by favour to witness what he called the tardy 
 fulfilment of jutlgment. Yet though he thought it a 
 weakness, he did not refusC; and ere night Mr. Talbot 
 was able to send formal word that the horses would 
 be ready for Mistress Cicely at break of day the next 
 morning. 
 
 The message was transmitted through the ladles as 
 the Queen sat writing at her table, aud she at once
 
 558 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 gave orders to Elizabeth Curll to prepare the cloak bag 
 Avith necessaries for the journey. 
 
 Cicely cried out, " madam my mother, do not 
 send me from you!" 
 
 " There is no help for it, little one. It is the only 
 hope of safety or happiness for thee," 
 
 " But I pledged myself to await Queen Elizabeth's 
 reply here !" 
 
 " She has replied," said Mary. 
 
 " How ? " cried Cicely. " Methought your letter 
 confirming mine offers had not yet been sent," 
 
 "It hath not, but she hath made known to me that 
 she rejects thy terms, my poor maid." 
 
 " Is there then no hope ?" said the girl, under her 
 breath, which came short with dismay, 
 
 " Hope ! yea," said Mary, with a ray of brightness 
 on her face, " but not earthly hope. That is over, and 
 I am more at rest and peace than I can remember to 
 have been since I was a babe at my mother's knee. 
 But, little one, I must preserve thee for tliine Humfrey 
 and for happiness, and so thou must be gone ere the 
 hounds be on thy track." 
 
 " Never, mother, I cannot leave you. You bid no one 
 else to go !" said Cis, clinging to her with a face bathed 
 in tears. 
 
 " No one else is imperilled by remaining as thy 
 bold venture has imperilled thee, my sweet maid. 
 Think, child, how fears for thee would disturb my 
 spirit, when I would fain commune only wdth Heaven. 
 Seest thou not that to lose thy dear presence for the 
 few days left to me will be far better for me than to 
 be rent with anxiety for thee, and it may be to see 
 thee snatched from me by these stern, harsh men?" 
 
 " To quit you now ! It is unnatural ! I cannot."
 
 XLIII.] THE WARRANT. 559 
 
 " You will go, child. As Queen and as mother alike, 
 I lay my commands on you. Let not the last, almost 
 the only commands I ever gave thee be transgressed, 
 and waste not these last hours in a vain strife." 
 
 She spoke with an authority against which Cis had 
 no appeal, save by holding her hand tight and covering 
 it with kisses and tears. Mary presently released her 
 hand and went on writing, giving her a little time to 
 restrain her agony of bitter weeping. The first words 
 spoken were, " I shall not name thee in my will, nor 
 recommend thee to thy brother. It would only bring on 
 thee suspicion and danger. Here, however, is a letter 
 giving full evidence of thy birth, and mentioning the 
 various witnesses who can attest it. I shall leave the 
 like with Melville, but it will be for thy happiness and 
 safety if it never see the light. Should thy brother 
 die witliout heirs, then it might be thy duty to come 
 forward and stretch out thy hand for these two crowns, 
 which have more thorns than jewels in them. Alas ! 
 would that I could dare to hope they miglit be ex- 
 changed for a crown of stars ! But lie down on the 
 bed, my bairnie. I have much still to do, and thou 
 hast a long journey before thee." 
 
 Cicely would fain have resisted, but was forced to 
 obey, though protesting that she should not sleep ; 
 and she lay awake for a long time watching the Queen 
 writing, until unawares slumber overpowei e 1 her eyes. 
 When slie awoke, the Queen was standing over her 
 saying, " It is time tliou wert astir, little one !" 
 
 "Oh! and have I lost all these hours of you?" 
 cried Cicely, as her senses awoke to the remembrance 
 of the situation of affairs. " Mother, why did you not 
 let me watch with you V 
 
 Mary only smiled and kissed her brow. The time
 
 560 UNKNOWN TO IIISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 went by in tlie preparations, in all of which the Queen 
 took an active part. Her money and jewels had 
 been restored to her hy Elizabeth's orders during her 
 daughter's absence, and she had put twenty gold pieces 
 in the silken and pearl purse which she always used. 
 " More I may not give thee," she said. " I know not 
 whether I shall be able to give my poor faithful ser- 
 vants enough to carry them to their homes. This thou 
 must have to provide thee. And for my jewels, they 
 should be all thine by right, but the more valuable 
 ones, which bear tokens, might only bring thee under 
 suspicion, poor child." 
 
 She wished Cicely to choose among them, but the 
 poor girl had no heart for choice, aud the Queen herself 
 put in her hand a small case containing a few which 
 were unobtrusive, yet well known to her, and among 
 them a ring with the Hepburn arms, given by Both- 
 well. She also showed her a gold chain which she 
 meant to give to Humfrey. In this manner time 
 passed, till a message came in that blaster Eichard 
 Talbot was ready. 
 
 " Wlio brought it?" asked the Queen, and when 
 she heard tliat it was Humfrey himself who was at the 
 door, she bade him be called in. 
 
 " Children," she said, " we were interrupted last 
 nigbt. Let me see you give your betrothal kiss, and 
 bless you." 
 
 " One word, my mother," said Cicely. " Humfrey 
 will not bear me ill-will if I say that while there can 
 still be any hope that Queen EHzabeth will accept me 
 for her prisoner in your stead, I neither can nor ought 
 to wed him." 
 
 " Thou mayst safely accept the condition, my son," 
 said Mary.
 
 xliil] the warkaxt. 561 
 
 " Then if these messengers should come to conduct 
 my mother abroad, and to take me as her hostage, 
 Humfrey will know where to find me." 
 
 " Yea, thou art a good child to the last, my little 
 one," said Mary. 
 
 " Yo'i promise, Humfrey ?" said Cicely. 
 
 " I do," he said, knowing as well as the Queen how 
 little chance there was that he would be called on to 
 fulfil it, but feeling that the agony of the parting was 
 thus in some degree softened to Cicely. 
 
 Mary gave the betrothal ring to Humfrey, and she 
 laid her hands on their clasped ones. " My daugliter 
 and my son," she said, " I leave you my blessing. If 
 filial love and unshaken truth can bring down blessings 
 from above, they will be yours. Think of your mother 
 in times to come as one who hath erred, but suffered 
 and repented. If your Church permits you, pray often 
 for her. Eemember, when you hear her blamed, that 
 in the glare of courts, she had none to breed her up in 
 godly fear and simple truth like your good mother at 
 Bridgefield, but that she learnt to think what you view 
 in the light of deadly sin as the mere lawful instru- 
 ments of government, above all for the weaker. Con- 
 demn her not utterly, but pray, pray with all your 
 hearts that her God and Saviour will accept her peni- 
 tence, and unite her sufferings with those of her Lord, 
 since He has done her the grace of letting her die in 
 part for His Churcli. Now," she added, kissing each 
 brow, and then holding her daughter in her embrace, 
 " take her away, Humfrey, and let me turn my soul 
 from all earthly loves and cares 1" 
 
 20
 
 562 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. fCHAP. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 ON THE HUMBER. 
 
 ]\Iaster Talbot had done considerately in arranging 
 that Cicely should at least begin her journey on a 
 pillion behind himself, for her anguish of suppressed 
 weeping unfitted her to guide a horse, and would have 
 attracted the attention of any serving -man beliind 
 whom he could have placed her, whereas she could lay 
 her head against his shoulder, and feel a kind of 
 dreary repose there. 
 
 He would have gone by the more direct way to Hull, 
 through Lincoln, but that he feared that February Fill- 
 dyke would have rendered the fens impassable, so he 
 directed his course more to the north-west. Cicely was 
 silent, crushed, but more capable of riding than of 
 anything else ; in fact, the air and motion seemed to 
 give her a certain relief. 
 
 He meant to halt for the night at a large inn at 
 Nottingham. There was much stir in the court, and 
 it seemed to be full of the train of some great noble. 
 Eichard knew not whether to be glad or sorry when 
 he perceived the Shrewsbury colours and the silver 
 mastiff badge, and was greeted by a cry of " Master 
 Richard of Bridgefield!" Two or three retainers of 
 higher degree came round him as he rode into the
 
 XLIV.] ON THE HUMBER. 563 
 
 yard, and, while demanding his news, communicated 
 their own, that my Lord was on his way to Fotheringhay 
 to preside at the execution of the Queen of Scots. 
 
 He could feel Cicely's shudder as he lifted her off 
 her horse, and he replied repressively, " I am bringing 
 my daughter from thence." 
 
 " Come in and see my Lord," said the gentleman. 
 " He is a woeful man at the work that is put on him." 
 
 Lord Shrewsbury did indeed look sad, almost 
 broken, as he held out his hand to Eichard, and said, 
 " This is a piteous errand, cousin, on which I am 
 bound. And thou, my young kinswoman, thou didst 
 not succeed with her Majesty !" 
 
 " She is sick with grief and weariness," said 
 Eichard. " I would fain take her to her chamber." 
 
 The evident intimacy of the new-comers with so 
 great a personage as my Lord procured for them better 
 accommodation than they might otherwise have had, 
 and Eichard obtained for Cicely a tiny closet within 
 the room where he was himself to sleep. He even 
 contrived that she should be served alone, partly by 
 himself, partly by the hostess, a kind motherly woman, 
 to whom he committed her, while he supped with the 
 Earl, and was afterwards called into liis sleeping 
 chamber to tell him of his endeavours at treating with 
 Lord and Lady Talbot, and also to hear his lamenta- 
 tions over the business he had been sent upon. He 
 had actiuilly offered to make over his office as Earl 
 Marshal to Burghley for the nonce, but as he said, " tliat 
 of all the nobles in England, such work should fall to 
 the lot of him, who had been for fourteen years the 
 poor lady's host, and knew her admirable patience and 
 sweet conditions, was truly hard." 
 
 Moreover, he was joined in the commission with
 
 13 04 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 the Earl of Kent, a sour Puritan, wlio would rejoice in 
 making lier drink to the dregs of the cup of bitterness ! 
 He was sick at heart with the thought. Eichard 
 represented that he w^oukl, at least, be able to give 
 what comfort could be derived from mildness and 
 compassion. 
 
 " Xot I, not I !" said the poor man, always weak. 
 " Xot with those harsh yoke-fellows Kent and Paulett 
 to drive me on, and that viper Beale to report to the 
 Privy Council any strain of mercy as mere treason. 
 What can I do ?" 
 
 " You would do much, my Lord, if you would move 
 them to restore — for these last hours — to her those 
 faithful servants, Melville and De Preaux, whom Paulett 
 hath seen fit to seclude from her. It is rank cruelty 
 to let her die without the sacraments of her Church, 
 when her conscience will not let her accept ours." 
 
 " It is true, Eichard, over true. I will do what I 
 can, but I doubt me wliether I shall prevail, where 
 Paulett looks on a Mass as mere idolatry, aud will not 
 brook that it should be offered in his house. But 
 come you back with me, kinsman. We will send old 
 Master Purvis to take your daughter safely home." 
 
 Eichard of course refused, and at the same time, 
 thinking an explanation necessary and due to the Earl, 
 disclosed to him that Cicely was no child of his, but a 
 near kinswoman of the Scottish Queen, whom it was 
 desirable to "place out of Queen Elizabeth's reach ^zi' 
 the present, adding that there had been love passages 
 between her and his son Humfrey, who intended to 
 wed her and see some foreign service. Lord Shrews- 
 bury showed at first some offence at having been kept 
 in ignorance all these years of such a fact, and 
 wondered what his Countess would say, marvelled too
 
 XLIV.] ON THE HUMBER. 565 
 
 that his cousin sliould consent to his son's throwing 
 himself away on a mere stranger, of perilous connection, 
 and going off to foreign wars ; but the good nobleman 
 was a placable man, and always considerably influenced 
 by the person who addressed him, and he ended by 
 placing the Mastiff at Eichard'a disposal to take the 
 young people to Scotland or Holland, or wherever they 
 might wish to go. 
 
 This decided ]\Ir. Talbot on making at once for 
 the seaport ; and accordingly he left beliind him the 
 horse, which was to serve as a token to his son that 
 such was his course. Cicely had been worn out 
 with her day's journey, and slept late and sound, so 
 that she was not ready to leave her chamber till the 
 Earl and his retinue were gone, and thus she was 
 spared actual contact with him who was to doom her 
 mother, and see that doom carried out. She was 
 recruited by rest, and more ready to talk than on the 
 previous day, but she was greatly disappointed to find 
 that she might not be taken to Bridgefield. 
 
 " If I could only be with Mother Susan for one 
 hour," she sighed. 
 
 " Would that thou couldst, my poor maid," said 
 Eichard. " The mother hath the trick of comfort." 
 
 " 'Twas not comfort I thought of, None can give 
 me that," said the poor girl ; " but she w^ould teach me 
 how to be a good wife to Hnmfrey." 
 
 These words were a satisfaction to Eichard, who 
 had begun to feel somewhat jealous for his son's sake, 
 and to doubt whether the girl's affection rose to the 
 point of meeting the great sacrifice made for his sake, 
 though truly in those days parents were not wont to 
 be solicitous as to the mutual attachment between a 
 betrothed pair. However, Cicely's absolute resigna-
 
 566 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP, 
 
 tion of herself and her fate into Humfrey's hands, 
 without even a question, and with entire confidence 
 and peace, was evidence enough that her heart was 
 entirely his ; nay, had been his throughout all the 
 little flights of ambition now so entirely passed away, 
 without apparently a thought on her part. 
 
 It was on the Friday forenoon, a day very unlike 
 their last entrance into Hull, that they again entered 
 the old town, in the brightness of a crisp frost ; but 
 poor Cicely could not but contrast her hopeful mood 
 of November with her present overwhelming sorrow, 
 where, however, there was one drop of sweetness. Her 
 foster - father took her again to good Mr. Heather- 
 thwayte's, according to the previous invitation, and 
 was rejoiced to see that the joyous welcome of Oil-of- 
 Gladness awoke a smile ; and the little girl, being well 
 trained in soberness and discretion, did not obtrude 
 upon her grief. 
 
 Stern Puritan as he was, the minister himself con- 
 tained his satisfaction that the Papist woman was to 
 die and never reign over P^ngiand until he was out of 
 hearing of the pale maiden who had — strange as it 
 seemed to him — loved her enough to be almost broken- 
 hearted at her death. 
 
 Eichard saw Goatley and set him to prepare the 
 Mastiff iov an immediate voyage." Her crew, somewhat 
 like those of a few modern yachts, were permanently 
 attached to her, and lived in the neighbourhood of the 
 wharf, so that, under the jiersonal superintendence of 
 one who was as much loved and looked up to as Cap- 
 tain Talbot, all was soon in a state of forwardness, and 
 Gillingham made himself very useful. When dark- 
 ness put a stop to the work and supper was being 
 made ready, Eichard found time to explain matters to
 
 XLIV.] ON THE HUMBEE. 567 
 
 Mr. Heatherthwayte, for Lis honourable mind would 
 not permit liim to ask his host unawares to perform 
 an' office that might possibly be construed as treason- 
 able. In spite of tlie preparation which he had already 
 received through Colet's communications, the minister's 
 wonder was extreme. " Daughter to the Queen of 
 Scots, say you, sir ! Yonder modest, shamefast 
 maiden, of such seemly carriage and gentle speech ?" 
 
 Eichard smiled and said— "My good friend, had 
 you seen that poor lady — to whom God be merciful — 
 as I have done, you w'ould know that what is sweetest 
 in our Cicely's outward woman is derived from her; 
 for the inner graces, I cannot but trace them to mine 
 own good wife." 
 
 Mr. Heatherthwayte seemed at first hardly to hear 
 him, so overpowered was he with the notion that the 
 daughter of her, whom he was in the habit of classing 
 with Athaliah and Herodias, was in his house, resting 
 on the innocent pillow of Oil-of- Gladness. He made 
 his guest recount to him the steps by which the dis- 
 covery had been made, and at last seemed to embrace 
 the idea. Then he asked whether Master Talbot were 
 about to carry the young lady to the protection of her 
 brother in Scotland ; and when the answer was that 
 it might be poor protection even if conferred, and that 
 by all accounts the Court of Scotland was by no means 
 a place in which to leave a lonely damsel with no 
 faithful guardian, the minister asked — 
 
 "How then will you bestow th maiden ?" 
 
 " In that, sir, I came to ask you to aid me. My 
 son Humfrey is following on our steps, leaving Fother- 
 inghay so soon as his charge there is ended ; and I ask of 
 you to wed him to the maid, whom we will then take 
 to Holland, when he will take service with the States."
 
 568 UNKNOWN TO HISTOKY. [CHAP. 
 
 Tlie amazement of the clergyman was redoubled, 
 and he began at first to plead with Eicha.rd that a 
 perilous overleaping ambition was leading him thus to 
 mate his son with an evil, though a royal, race. 
 
 At this Itichard smiled and shook his head, pointing 
 out that the very last thing any of them desired was that 
 Cicely's birth should be known ; and that even if it were, 
 her mother's marringe was very questionable. It- was 
 no ambition, he said, that actuated his son, " But you 
 saw yourself how, nineteen years ago, the little lad 
 welcomed her as his little sister come back to him 
 That love hath grown up with him. When, at fifteen 
 years old, he learnt that she was a nameless stranger, 
 his first cry was that he would wed her and give her 
 his name. Never hath his love faltered ; and even 
 when this misfortune of her rank was known, and he 
 lost all hope of gaining her, while her mother bade her 
 renounce him, his purpose was even still to watch 
 over and guard her ; and at the end, beyond all our 
 expectations, they have had her mother's dying blessing 
 and entreaty that he would take her." 
 
 " Sir, do you give me your word for that ?" 
 
 " Yea, Master Heatherthwayte, as I am a true man. 
 Mind you, w^orldly matters look as different to' a poor 
 woman who knoweth the headsman is in the house; as 
 to one who hath her head on her dying pillow. This 
 Queen had devised plans for sending our poor Cis 
 abroad to her French and Lorraine kindred, with some 
 of the French ladies of her train." 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" broke out Heatherthwayte, in 
 horror. " The rankest of Papists " 
 
 '*Even so, and with recommendations to give her 
 in marriage to some adventurous* prince whom the 
 Spaniards might abet in working woe to us in hei
 
 XLIV.] ON THE HUMBER. 569 
 
 name. But when she saw how staunch the child is 
 in believing as mine own good dame taught her, she 
 saw, no doubt, that this would be mere giving her over 
 to be persecuted and mewed in a convent," 
 
 " Then tlie woman hath some bowels of mercy, 
 though a Papist." 
 
 " She even saith that she doubteth not tliat such as 
 live honestly and faithfully by the light that is in 
 them shall be saved. So when she saw she prevailed 
 nothing with the maid, she left off her endeavours. 
 Moreover, my son not only saved her life, but won her 
 regard by his faith and honour ; and she called him 
 to her, and even besought him to be her daughter's 
 husband. I came to you, reverend sir, as one who 
 has known from the first that the young folk are no 
 kin to one another ; and as I think the peril to you 
 is small, I deemed that you would do them this office. 
 Otherwise, I must take her to Holland and see them 
 wedded by a stranger there." 
 
 Mr. Heatherthwayte was somewhat touched, but he 
 sat and considered, perceiving that to nuirry the young 
 lady to a loyal Englishman was the safest way of 
 hindering her from falling into the clutches of a Popish 
 prince ; but he still demurred, and asked how Mr. 
 Talbot could talk of tlie mere folly of love, and for its 
 sake let his eldest son and heir become a mere exile 
 and fugitive, cut off, it might be, from home. 
 
 "Por that matter, sir," said Richard, " my son is 
 not one to loiter about, as the lubberly heir, cumbering 
 the land at home. He would, so long as I am spared 
 in health and strength, be doing service by land or 
 sea, and I trust that by the time he is needed at home, 
 all this may be so forgotten that Cis may return safely. 
 The maid hath been our child too lonfi for us to risk
 
 570 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 her alone. And for such love being weak and foolish, 
 surely, sir, it was the voice of One greater than you 
 or I that bade a man leave bis father and mother and 
 cleave unto his wife." 
 
 Mr. Heatberthwayte still murmured something about 
 "youth" and " lightly undertaken," and Master Talbot 
 observed, with a smile, that wlien he had seen Humfrey 
 he might judge as to the lightness of purpose. 
 
 Eichard meanwhile was watching somewhat anxi- 
 ously for the arrival of his son, who, he had reckoned, 
 would make so much more speed than was possible for 
 Cis, that he might have almost overtaken them, if the 
 fatal business had not been delayed longer than he 
 had seen reason to anticipate. However, these last 
 words had not long been out of his mouth when a man's 
 footsteps, eager, yet with a tired sound and with the 
 clank of spurs, came along the paved way outside, and 
 there was a knock at the door. Some one else had 
 been watching ; for, as the street door was opened. 
 Cicely sprang forward as Humfrey held out his arms ; 
 then, as she rested against his breast, he said, so that 
 she alone could hear, " Her last words to me were, 
 * Give her my love and blessing, and tell her my joy 
 is come — such joy as I never knew before.' " 
 
 Then they knew the deed was done, and Eichard said, 
 " God have mercy on her soul !" Nor did Mr. Heatber- 
 thwayte rebuke him. Indeed there was no time, for 
 Humfrey exclaimed, " She is swooning." He gathered 
 her in his arms, and carried her where they lighted 
 him, laying her on Oil's little bed, but she was not 
 entirely unconscious, and rallied her senses so as to 
 give him a reassuring look, not quite a smile, and yet 
 wondronsly sweet, even in the eyes of others. Then, 
 as the lamp flashed on his figure, she sprang to hei 
 feet, all else forgotten in the exclamation.
 
 XLIV.] ON THE HUMBER. 57l 
 
 "0 Humfrey, tliou art hurt! AVhat is it? Sit 
 thee down." 
 
 They then saw that his face was, indeed, very pale 
 and jaded, and that his dress was muddied from head 
 to foot, and in some places there were marks of blood ; 
 but as she almost pushed him down on the chest 
 beside the bed, he said, in a voice hoarse and sunk, 
 betraying weariness ^ — - 
 
 " Naught, naught, Cis ; only my beast fell with me 
 going down a hill, and lamed himself, so that I had to 
 lead him the last four or five miles. Moreover, this 
 cut on my hand must needs break forth bleeding more 
 than I knew in the dark, or I had not frighted thee by 
 coming m such sorry plight;" and he in his turn gazed 
 reassuringly into her eyes as she stood over him, 
 anxiously examining, as if she scarce durst trust him, 
 that if stiff and bruised at all, it mattered not. Then 
 she begged a cup of wine for him, and sent Oil for 
 water and linen, and Humfrey had to abandon his 
 hand to her, to be cleansed and bound up, neither of 
 them uttering a word more than needful, as she knelt 
 by the chest performing this work with skilful hands, 
 though there was now and then a tremor over her 
 whole frame. 
 
 " Now, dear maid," said Richard, " thou must let 
 him come with us and don some dry garments: then 
 shalt thou see him again." 
 
 " Eest and food — he needs them," said Cis, in a 
 voice weak and tremulous, though the self-restraint of 
 her princely nature strove to control it. " Take him, 
 father ; methinks I cannot hear more to-night. He will 
 tell me all when we are away together. I would be alone, 
 and in the dark ; I know he is come, and you are caring 
 for him. That is enough, and I can still thank God."
 
 572 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP 
 
 Her face quivered, and she turned awaj ; nor did 
 Hunifrey dare to shake her further by another demon- 
 stration, but stumbled after his father to tlie minister's 
 chamber, wliere some incongruous clerical attire had 
 been provided for him, since he disdained the offer of 
 supping in bed. 
 
 Air. Heatherthwayte was much struck with the 
 undemonstrativeness of their meeting, for there was 
 liigh esteem for austerity in the Puritan world, in con- 
 trast to the utter want of self-restraint shown by the 
 more secular characters. 
 
 When Humfrey presently made his appearance with 
 his father's cloak wrapped over the minister's clean 
 shirt and nether garments, Eichard said, 
 
 " Son Humfrey, this good gentleman who baptized 
 our Cis would fain be certain that there is no lightness 
 of purpose in this thy design." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Mr. Talbot," broke in the minister, " I 
 spake ere I had seen this gentleman. From what I 
 have now beheld, I have no doubts that be she who 
 she may, it is a marriage made and blessed in heaven." 
 
 "I thank you, sir," said Humfrey, gravely; "it is 
 my one hope fulfilled." 
 
 They spoke no more till he had eaten, for he was 
 much spent, having never rested more than a couple of 
 liours, and not slept at all since leaving Fotheringhay. 
 He had understood by the colour of the horse left at 
 Nottingham which road to take, and at the hostel at 
 Hull had encountered Gillingham, who directed him on 
 to Mr. Heatherthwayte's. 
 
 What he brought himself to tell of the last scene at 
 Fotheringhay has been mostly recorded by history, and 
 need not here be dwelt upon. "When Bourgoin and 
 Melville fell back, unable to support their mistress
 
 XIAW] ON THE HUMBER. 573 
 
 along the hall to the scaffold, the Queen had said to 
 liirn, " Thou wilt do me tins last service," and had 
 leant on his arm along the crowded hall, and had 
 taken that moment to speak those last words for 
 Cicely. She had blessed James openly, and declared 
 her trust that he would find salvation if he lived well 
 and sincerely in the faith he had chosen. With him 
 she had secretly blessed her other child. 
 
 Humfrey was much shaken and could hardly com- 
 mand his voice to answer the questions of Master 
 Heatherthwayte, but he so replied to them that, one by 
 one, the phrases and turns were relinquished which the 
 worthy man had prepared for a Sunday's sermon on 
 " Go see now this accursed woman and bury her, for 
 she is a king's daughter," and he even began to con- 
 sider of choosing for his text something that would 
 bid his congregation not to judge after the sight of 
 their eyes, nor condemn after the hearing of their ears. 
 
 When Humfrey had eaten and drunk, and the ruddy 
 hue was returning to his cheek, Mr. Heatherthwayte 
 discovered that he must speak with his churchwarden 
 that night. Probably the pleasure of communicating 
 the tidings that the deed was accomplished added 
 force to the consideration that the father and son 
 would rather be alone together, for he lighted liis 
 lantern with alacrity, and carried off Dust-and-Ashes 
 with him. 
 
 Then Humfrey had more to tell which brooked no 
 delay. On the day after the departure of his father 
 and Cicely, Will Cavendish had arrived, and Humfrey 
 had been desired to demand from the jDrisoner an 
 immediate audience for that gentleman. Mary had 
 said, " This is anent the child. Call him in, Humfrey," 
 and as Cavendish had passed the guard he had struck
 
 574 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 liis old comrade on the shoulder and observed, " What 
 gulls we have at Hallamshire." 
 
 He had come out from his conference fuming, and 
 desiring to hear from Humfrey whether he were aware 
 of the imposture that had been put on the Queen and 
 upon them all, and to which yonder stubborn woman 
 still chose to cleave — little Cis Talbot supposing her- 
 self a queen's daughter, and they all, even grave 
 Master Eichard, being duped. It was too much for 
 Will ! A gentleman, so nearly connected with the 
 Privy Council, was not to be deceived like these simple 
 soldiers and sailors, though it suited Queen Mary's 
 purposes to declare the maid to be in sooth her 
 daughter, and to refuse to disown her. He supposed 
 it was to embroil England for the future that she left 
 such a seed of mischief 
 
 And old Paulett had been fool enough to let the 
 girl leave the Castle, whereas Cavendish's orders had 
 been to be as secret as possible lest the mischievous 
 suspicion of the existence of such a person should 
 spread, but to arrest her and bring her to London as 
 soon as the execution should be over ; when, as he 
 said, no harm would happen to her provided she would 
 give up the pretensions with which she had been 
 deceived. 
 
 " It would have been safer for you both," said poor 
 Queen Mary to Humfrey afterwards, " if I had denied 
 her, but I could not disown my poor child, or prevent 
 her from yet claiming royal rights. Moreover, I have 
 learnt enough of you Talbots to know that you would 
 not owe your safety to falsehood from a dying 
 woman." 
 
 But Will's conceit might be quite as effectual. 
 He was under orders to communicate the matter to no
 
 XLIV.] ON THE HUMBER. 575 
 
 one not already aware of it, and as above all things he 
 desired to see the execution as the most memorable 
 spectacle he was likely to behold in his life, and he 
 believed Cicely to be safe at Bridgefield, he thought it 
 unnecessary to take an}^ farther steps luitil that should 
 be over. Humfrey had listened to all with what 
 countenance he might, and gave as little sign as 
 possible. 
 
 But when the tragedy had been consummated, and 
 he had seen the fair head fall, and himself withdrawn 
 poor little Bijou from beneath his dead mistress's 
 garment, handing him to Jean Kennedy, he had — with 
 blood still curdling with horror — gone down to the 
 stables, taken his horse, and ridden away. 
 
 There would no doubt be pursuit so soon as Eichard 
 and Cicely were found not to be at Bridgefield ; but 
 there was a space in which to act, and Mr. Talbot at 
 once said, " The Mastiff is well-nigh ready to sail. Ye 
 must be wedded to-niorrow morn, and go on board 
 without delay." 
 
 They judged it better not to speak of this to the 
 poor bride in her heavy grief; and Humfrey, having 
 heard from their little hostess that Mistress Cicely lay 
 quite still, and sent him her loving greeting, con- 
 sented to avail himself of the hospitable minister's own 
 bed, hoping, as he confided to his father, that very 
 weariness would hinder him from seeing the block, 
 the axe, and the convulsed face, that had haunted him 
 on the only previous time when he had tried to close 
 his eyes. 
 
 Long before day Cicely lieard her father's voice 
 biddiug her awake and dress herself, and handing in a 
 light. The call was welcome, for it had been a night of 
 strauue dreams and sadder wakeninjis to the sense " it
 
 576 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 had come at last" — yet the one comfort, "Humfrey is 
 near." She dressed herself in those plain black garments 
 she had assumed in London, and in due time came down 
 to where her father awaited her. She was pale, silent, 
 and passive, and obeyed mechanically as he made her 
 take a little food. She looked about as if for some one, 
 and he said, " Humfrey will meet us anon." Then he 
 himself put on her cloak, hood, and muffler. She was 
 like one in a dream, never asking where they were 
 going, and thus they left the house. There was light 
 from a waning moon, and by it he led her to the 
 church. 
 
 It was a strange wedding in that morning moon- 
 light streaming in at the east window of that grand 
 old church, and casting the shadows of the columns 
 and arches on tlie floor, only aided by one wax light, 
 which, as Mr. Heatherthwayte took care to protest, 
 was not placed on the holy table out of superstition, 
 but because he could not see without it. Indeed the 
 table stood lengthways in the centre aisle, and would 
 have been bare, even of a white cloth, had not Richard 
 begged for a Communion for the young pair to speed 
 them on their perilous way, and Mr. Heatherthwayte — 
 almost under protest — consented, since a sea voyage and 
 warlike service in a foreign land lay before them. But, 
 except that he wore no surplice, he had resigned him- 
 self to Master Eichard on that most unnatural morning, 
 and stifled his inmost sighs when he had to pronounce 
 the name Bride, given, not by himself, but by some 
 Eomisli priest — when the bridegroom, with the hand 
 wounded for Queen Mary's sake, gave a ruby ring, most 
 unmistakably coming from that same perilous quarter, 
 ■ — and above all when the pair and the father knelt 
 in deep reverence. Yet their devotion was evidently
 
 XLIV.] ON THE HUMBER. 577 
 
 SO earnest and so heartfelt that he knew not how to 
 blame it. and he could not but bless them with his 
 whole heart as lie walked down witli them to the 
 wharf. All were silent, except that Cicely once 
 paused and said she wanted to speak to " Father." 
 He came to her side, and she took his arm instead of 
 Humfrey's. 
 
 " Sir," she said ; " it has come to me that now my 
 sweet mother is left alone it would be no small joy to 
 her, and of great service to our good host's little daughter, 
 if Oil-of-Gladness could take my place at home for a 
 year or two." 
 
 "None will do that, Cis; but there is much that 
 would be well in the notion, and I will consider of it. 
 She is a maid of good conditions, and the mother is 
 lonesome." 
 
 His consideration resulted in his making the pro- 
 posal, much startling, though greatly gratifying, Master 
 Heatherthwayte, who thanked him, talked of his 
 honour for that discreet and godly woman Mistress 
 Susan, and said he must ponder and pray npon it, 
 and would rej)ly when Mr. Talbot returned from his 
 voyage. 
 
 At the wharf lay the Mastiff's boat in charge of 
 Gervas and Gillingham. All three stepped into it to- 
 gether, the most silent bride and bridegroom perhaps that 
 the Humber had ever seen. Only each of the three wrung 
 the hand of the good clergyman. At that moment all 
 the bells in Hull broke forth with a joyous peal, wliich 
 by the association made the bride look up with a smile. 
 Her husband forced one in return ; but his father's eyes, 
 which she could not see, filled with tears. He knew 
 it was in exultation at her mother's death, and they 
 hurried into the boat lest she should catch the purport 
 
 2 P
 
 578 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CIIAP. 
 
 of the shouts that were beginning to arise as tlie towns- 
 folk awoke to the knowledge that their enemy was 
 dead. 
 
 The fires of Smithfield were in the remembrance 
 of this generation. The cities of Flanders were writh- 
 ing under the Spanish yoke ; " the richest spoils of 
 Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain," were already 
 mustering to reduce England to the condition of 
 Antwerp or Haarlem ; and only Elizabeth's life had 
 seemed to lie between them and her who was bound 
 by her religion to bring all this upon the peaceful land. 
 No wonder those who knew not the tissue of cruel 
 deceits and treacheries that had worked the final ruin 
 of the captive, and believed her guilty of fearful crimes, 
 should have burst forth in a wild tumult of joy, such 
 as saddened even the Protestant soul of Mr. Heather- 
 thwayte, as he turned homewards after giving his 
 blessing to the mournful young girl, whom the boat 
 was bearing over the muddy waters of the Hull. 
 
 They soon had her on board, but the preparations 
 were hardly yet complete, nor could tlie vessel make 
 her way down the river until the evening tide. It 
 was a bright clear day, and a seat on deck was arranged 
 for the lady, where she sat with Humfrey beside her, 
 holding her cloak round her, and telling her--— strange 
 theme for a bridal day — all he thought well to tell 
 her of those last hours, when Mary had truly shown 
 herself purified by her long patience, and exalted by 
 the hope that her death had in it somewhat of mar- 
 tyrdom. 
 
 His father meantime superintended the work of 
 the crew, being extremely anxious to lose no time, and 
 to sail before night. Mr. Heatherthwayte's anxiety 
 brought him on board again, for he wanted to ask
 
 XLIV.] ON THE HQMBER. 579 
 
 more questions about the Bridgefield doings ere begin- 
 ning his ponderings and his prayers respecting his 
 decision for his little daughter; nor had he taken his 
 final leave when the anchor was at length weighed, 
 and the ship had passed by the strange old gables, 
 timbered houses, and open lofts, that bounded the har- 
 bour out from the Hull river into the Humber itself, 
 while both the Talbots breathed more freely ; but as 
 the chill air of evening made itself felt, they persuaded 
 Cicely to let her husband take her down to her 
 cabin. 
 
 It was at this moment, in the deepening twilight, 
 that the ship was hailed, and a boat came alongside, 
 and there was a summons, " In tlie Queen's name," 
 and a slightly made lean figure in black came up the 
 side. He was accompanied by a stout man, apparently 
 a constable. There was a moment's pause, then the 
 new-comer said, " Kinsman Talbot " 
 
 " I count no kindred with betrayers, Cuthbert 
 Langston," said Eichard, drawing himself up with 
 folded arms. 
 
 " Scorn me not, Eichard Talbot," was the reply ; 
 " you stood my friend once when none other did so, 
 and for that cause have I hindered much hurt to you 
 and yours. But for me you had been in a London 
 jail for these three weeks past. Nor do I come to do 
 you evil now. Give up the wench, and your name 
 shall never be brought forward, since the matter is to 
 be private. Behold a warrant from the Council em- 
 powering me to bring before them the person of Bride 
 Hepburn, otherwise called Cicely Talbot." 
 
 " Man of treacheries and violence," said Mr. 
 Heatherthwayte, standing forward, an imposing figure 
 in his full black gown and white ruff, " go back ! The
 
 580 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 lady is not for thy double-dealing, nor is there now 
 any such person as either Bride Hepburn or Cicely 
 Talbot." 
 
 " I cry you mercy," sneered Langston. " I see 
 how it is ! I shall have to bear your reverence like- 
 wise away for a treasonable act in performing the 
 office of matrimony for a person of royal blood with- 
 out consent of the Queen. And your reverence knows 
 the penalty." 
 
 At that instant there rang from the forecastle a 
 never-to-be-forgotten howl of triumphant hatred and 
 fury, and with a spring like that of a tiger, Gillingham 
 bounded upon him with a shout, " Remember Babing- 
 ton !" and grappled with him, dragging him backwards 
 to the bulwark. Richard and the constal)le both tried 
 to seize the fiercely struggling forms, but in vain. 
 They w^ere over the side in a moment, and there was 
 a heavy splash into the muddy waters of the Humber, 
 thick with the downcome of swollen rivers, thrown 
 back by the flowing tide. 
 
 Humfrey came dashing up from below, demanding 
 who was overboard, and ready to leap to the rescue 
 wherever any should point jn the darkness, but his 
 father withheld him, nor, indeed, was there sound or 
 eddy to be perceived. 
 
 " It is the manifest judgment of God," said Mr. 
 Heatherthwayte, in a low, awe-stricken voice. 
 
 But the constable cried aloud that a murder had 
 been done in resisting the Queen's w^arrant. 
 
 With a ready gesture the minister made Humfrey 
 understand that he must keep his wife in the cabin, 
 and Richard at the same time called Mr. Heather- 
 thwayte and all present to witness that, murder as it 
 undoubtedly was, it had not been in resisting the
 
 XLIV.] ON THE HUMBER. 581 
 
 Queen's waiTant, but in private revenge of the servant, 
 Harry Gillingham, for his master Babington, whom he 
 believed to have been betrayed 1 y this gentleman. 
 
 It appeared that the constable kne%y neither the 
 name of the gentleman nor whom the warrant men- 
 tioned. He had only been summoned in the Queen's 
 name to come on board the Mastiff to assist in secur- 
 ing the person of a young gentlewoman, but who she 
 was, or why she was to be arrested, the man did not 
 know. He saw no lady on deck, and he was by no 
 means disposed to make any search, and the presence of 
 Master Heatherthwayte likewise impressed him much 
 with the belief that all was riglit with the gentlemen. 
 
 Of course it would have been liis duty to detain 
 the Mastiff for an inquiry into the matter, but the 
 poor man was extremely ill at ease in the vessel and 
 among the retainers of my Lord of Slirewsbury ; and 
 in point of fact, they might all have been concerned in 
 a crime of much deeper dye without his venturing to 
 interfere. He saw no one to arrest, the warrant was 
 lost, the murderer was dead, and he was thankful 
 enough to be returned to his boat witli Master Eichard 
 Talbot's assurance that it was probable that no inquiry 
 would be made, but that if it were, the pilot would be 
 there to bear witness of his innocence, and that he 
 himself sliould return in a month at latest with the 
 Mastiff. 
 
 IMaster Heatherthwayte consoled the constable 
 further by saying he would return in his boat, and 
 speak for him if there were any inquiry after the 
 other passenger. 
 
 " I must speak my farewells here," he said, " and 
 trust we shall have no coil to meet you on your 
 return, Master Eichard."
 
 582 UNKNOWN TO HISTOEY. [CHAP. 
 
 " But for her," said Humfrey, " I could not let my 
 father face it alone. When she is in safety " 
 
 " Tush, lad," said his father, " such plotters as 
 yonder poor wretch had become are not such choice 
 prizes as to be inquired for. Men are only too glad 
 to be rid of them when their foul work is done. 
 
 " So farewell, good Master Heatherthwayte," added 
 Humfrey, " with thanks for this day's work. I have 
 read of good and evil geniuses or angels, be they which 
 they may, haunting us for life, and striving for the 
 mastery. Methinks my Cis hath found both on the 
 same Huniber wliich brought her to us." 
 
 "Nay, go not fortli with Pagan nor Popish follies 
 on thy tongue, young man," said Heatherthwayte, 
 " but rather pray that the blessing of the Holy One, 
 the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of thy 
 father, may be with thee and thine in this strange 
 land, and bring thee safely back in His own time. And 
 surely He will bless the faithful." 
 
 And Eichard Talbot said Amen.
 
 XLV.] TEK YEARS AFTEB. 583 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 TEN YEARS AFTER. 
 
 It was ten years later in the reign of Elizabeth, 
 when James VI. was under one of his many eclipses 
 of favour, and when the united English and Dutch 
 fleets had been performing gallant exploits at Cadiz and 
 Tercera, that license for a few weeks' absence was 
 requested for one of the lieutenants in her Majesty's 
 guard, Master Eicbard Talbot. 
 
 "And wherefore?" demanded the royal lady of 
 Sir Walter Ealeigh, the captain of her guard, who 
 made the request. 
 
 " To go to the Hague to look after his brother's 
 widow and estate, so please your Majesty ; more's the 
 pity," said Ealeigh. 
 
 "His brother's widow?" repeated the Queen. 
 
 " Yea, madam. For it may be feared that young 
 Humfrey Talbot- — I know not whetlier your Majesty 
 ever saw him — but he was my brave brother Humfrey 
 Gilbert's godson, and sailed with us to the West some 
 sixteen years back. He was as gallant a sailor as ever 
 trod a deck, and I never could see why be thought fit 
 to take service with the States. But he did good work 
 in the time of the Armada, and I saw him one of the 
 foremost in the attack on Cadiz. Nay, he was one of 
 those knighted by my Lord of Essex in the market-
 
 584 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 place. Then he sailed with my Lord of Cumberland 
 for the Azores, now six months since, and hath not 
 since been heard of, as his brother tells me, and there- 
 fore doth Talbot request this favour of your Majesty." 
 
 " Send the young man to me," returned the 
 Queen. 
 
 Uiccon, to give him liis old name, was not quite so 
 unsophisticated as when his father had first left him 
 in London. Though a good deal shocked by wl.at a 
 new arrival from Holland had just told him of the 
 hopelessness of ever seeing the Ark of Fortune and her 
 captain again, he was not so overpowered with grief as 
 to prevent him from being full of excitement and 
 gratification at the honour of an interview with the 
 Queen, and he arranged his rich scarlet and gold attire 
 so as to set himself off to the best advantage, that so 
 he might be pronounced " a proper man." 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was now some years over sixty, 
 and her nose and cliin began to meet, but otherwise 
 she was as well preserved as ever, and quite as alert 
 and dignified. To his increased surprise, she was 
 alone, and as she was becoming a little deaf, she made 
 him kneel very near her chair. 
 
 " So, Master Talbot," she said, "you are the son of 
 Eichard Talbot of Bridgefield." 
 
 " An it so please your Majesty." 
 
 " And you request license from us to go to the 
 Hague ?" 
 
 "An it so please your Majesty," repeated Diccon, 
 wondering what was coming next; and as she paused 
 for him to continue — " There are grave rumours and 
 great fears for my brother's ship — he being in the 
 Dutch service — and I would fain learn the truth and 
 see what may be done for his wife."
 
 XLV.] TEN YEARS AFTER. 585 
 
 "Who is his wife ?" demanded the Queen, fixing 
 her keen glittering eyes on him, but he replied with 
 readiness. 
 
 " She was an orphan brought up by my father and 
 mother." 
 
 " Young man, speak plainly. No tampering serves 
 heis. She is the wench who came hither to plead for 
 the Queen of Scots." 
 
 " Yea, madam," said Diccon, seeing that direct 
 answers were required. 
 
 " Tell me truly," continued the Queen. " On your 
 duty to your Queen, is she w^hat she called herself?" 
 
 " To the best of my belief she is, madam," he 
 answered. 
 
 " Look you, sir, Cavendish brought back word that 
 it was all an ingenious figment whicli had deceived 
 your father, mother, and the maid herself — and no 
 wonder, since the Queen of Scots persisted therein to 
 the last." 
 
 " Yea, madam, but my mother still keeps absolute 
 proofs in the garments and the letter that were found 
 on the child when recovered from the wreck. I had 
 never known that she was not my sister till her 
 journey to London ; and when next I went to the 
 north my mother told me the whole truth." 
 
 " I pray, then, how suits it with the boasted loyalty 
 of your house that this brother of yours should have 
 wedded the maid ?" 
 
 " Madam ; it was not prudent, but he had never a 
 tliought save for her throughout his life. Her mother 
 committed her to him, and holding the matter a deep and 
 dead secret, he thought to do your Majesty no wrong 
 by the marriage. If he erred, be merciful, madam." 
 
 " Pah ! foolish youth, to whom should I be merciful
 
 586 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 since the man is dead ? No doubt he hath left half a 
 score of children to be puffed up with the wind of 
 their royal extraction." 
 
 " Not one, madam. When last I heard they were 
 still childless." 
 
 " And now you are on your way to take on you 
 the cheering of your sister-in-law, the widow," said the 
 Queen, and as Diccon made a gesture of assent, she 
 stretched out her hand and drew him nearer. " She 
 is then alone in the world. She is my kinswoman, if 
 so be slie is all she calls herself. Now, Master Talbot, 
 go not open-mouthed about your work, but tell this 
 lady that if she can prove her kindred to me, and 
 bring evidence of her birth at Lochleven, I will 
 welcome her here, treat her as my cousin the Princess 
 of Scotland, and, it may be, put her on her way to 
 higher preferment, so she prove herself worthy thereof. 
 You take me, sir ? " 
 
 Diccon did take in the situation. He had under- 
 stood how Cavendish, partly blinded by Langston, 
 partly unwilling to believe in any competitor who 
 would be nearer the throne than his niece Arabella 
 Stewart, and partly disconcerted by Langston's dis- 
 appearance, had made such a report to the Queen and 
 the French Ambassador, that they had thought that the 
 whole matter was an imposture, and had been so 
 ashamed of their acquiescence as to obliterate all 
 record of it. But the Queen's mind had since recurred 
 to the matter, and as in these later years of her reign 
 one of her constant desires was to hinder James from 
 making too sure of the succession, she was evidently 
 willing to play his sister off against him. 
 
 Nay, in the general uncertainty, dreams came over 
 Diccon of possible royal honours to Queen Bridget ;
 
 XLV.] TEN YEARS AFTER. 587 
 
 and then what glories would be reflected on the house 
 of Talbot ! His father and mother were too old, no 
 doubt, to bask in the sunshine of the Court, and Ned — • 
 pity that he was a clergyman, and had done so dull a 
 thing as marry that little pupil of his mother's, Leetitia, 
 as he had rendered her Puritan name. But he might be 
 made a bishop, and his mother's scholar would always 
 become any station. And for Diccon himself — assur- 
 edly the Mastiff race would rejoice in a new coronet ! 
 
 Seven weeks later, Diccon was back again, and was 
 once more summoned to the Queen's apartment. He 
 looked crestfallen, and she began, — 
 
 " Well, sir ? Have you brought the lady ? " 
 
 " Not so, r.n 't please your Majesty." 
 
 " And wherefore ? Fears she to come, or has she 
 sent no message nor letter ?" 
 
 " She sends her deep and humble thanks, madam, for 
 the honour your Majesty intended her, but she " 
 
 " How now ? Is she too great a fool to accept of 
 it?" 
 
 "Yea, madam. She prays your Grace to leave her 
 in her obscurity at the Hague." 
 
 Elizabeth made a sound of utter amazement and 
 incredulity, and then said, " This is new madness ! 
 Come, young man, tell me all ! This is as good and 
 new as ever was play. Let me hear. What like is 
 she ? And what is her house to be preferred to mine ?" 
 
 Diccon saw his cue, and began — 
 
 " Her house, madam, is one of those tall Dutch 
 mansions with high roof, and many small windows 
 therein, with a stoop or broad flight of steps below, on 
 the banks of a broad and pleasant canal, shaded with 
 fine elm-trees. There I found her on the stoop, in the 
 shade, with two or three children round her; for she
 
 588 UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. [CHAP. 
 
 is a mother to all the English orphans there, and they 
 are but too many. They bring them to her as a matter 
 of course when their parents die, and slie keeps them 
 till their kindred in England claim tliem. Madam, 
 ]ier queenliness of port hath gained on her. Had she 
 come, she would not have shamed your JMajesty ; and 
 it seems that, none knowing her true birth, she is yet 
 well-nigh a princess among the many wives of officers 
 and merchants who dwell at the Hague, and doubly so 
 among the men, to whom she and her husband have 
 never failed to do a kindness. Well, madam, I weary 
 you. Slie greeted me as the tender sister she has ever 
 been, but she would not brook to hear of fears or com- 
 passion for my brother. She would listen to no word of 
 doubt that he was safe, but kept the whole household in 
 perfect readiness for him to come. At last 1 spake 
 your Majesty's gracious messnge ; and, madam, pardon 
 me, but all I got was a souui rating, that I should 
 think any hope of royal splendour or preferment should 
 draw her from waiting for Humfrey. Ay, she knew 
 he would come ! And if not, she would never be 
 more than his faithful widow. Had he not given up 
 all for lier ? Should she fail in patience because his 
 ship tarried awhile ? No ; he should find her ready 
 — in his home that he had made for her." 
 
 " Why, this is as good as the Globe Theatre !" cried 
 the Queen, but with a tear glittering in her eye. 
 
 "Your Majesty would have said so truly," said 
 Diccon ; "for as I sat at eveni ig, striving hard to 
 make her give over these fantastic notions and consult 
 her true interest, behold she gave a cry — ' 'Tis his 
 foot !' Yea, and verily there was Humfrey, brown as 
 a berry, having been so far with his mate as to the 
 very mouth of the Eiver Plate. He had, indeed, lost
 
 XLV.] TEN YEARS AFTEK. 589 
 
 his Ark of Fortune, but he has come home with 
 a carrack that quadruples her burthen, and with a 
 thousand bars of silver in her hold. And then, 
 madam, the joy, the kisses, the embraces, and even 
 more — the look of perfect content, and peace, and 
 trust, were enough to make a bachelor long for a 
 wife." 
 
 "Long to be a fool !" broke out the Queen sharj)ly. 
 " Look you, lad : tliere may be such couples as tliis 
 Humfrey and — what call you her? — here and there." 
 
 " My father and mother are such." 
 
 " Yea, saucy cockerel as you are ; but for one 
 such, there are a hundred others who fret the yoke, 
 and long to be free ! Ay, and this brother of thine, 
 what hath he got with this wife of his but banishment 
 and dread of his own land ?" 
 
 " Even so, madam ; but they still count all they 
 either could have had or hoped for, nought in com- 
 parison with their love to one another." 
 
 "After ten years ! Ha ! They are no subjects for 
 this real world of ours ; are they not rather swains in 
 my poor Philip Sidney's Arcadia ? No, no ; 'twere 
 pity to meddle with them. Leave them to their Dutch 
 household and their carracks. Let them keep their 
 own secret ; I'll meddle in the matter no more." 
 
 And so, though after Elizabeth's death and James's 
 accession, Sir Humfrey and Lady Talbot gladdened the 
 eyes of the loving and venerable pair at Bridgefield, 
 the Princess Bride of Scotland still remained in happy 
 obscurity, " Unknowu to History." 
 
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