Humfrey had been sworn in of the service of the Queen, and had been put in charge of the guard mustered at Chartley 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 Tixall, belonging to Sir Walter Ashton.
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 on.
It was a beautiful day in early August, the trees in full foliage, 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 indomitably 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 times 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 compunction to add to the gravity of the old knight's face.
As they came in sight of the gate of Tickhill Park, they became aware of a company whose steel caps and shouldered arquebuses did not look like those of huntsmen. 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 of the Queen thus read:—
"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, Robert 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 Nau and Curll surrounded by the armed men.
"They will be dealt with after her Majesty's pleasure," 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 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 consideration 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 services to hand her from her horse.
She submitted passively till 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. "What 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 Chartley will 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."
"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 your 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 effects 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, which made Mary say— "Ah! why must jealousy mar the fondest affection? Remember, it is their choice, not mine, my Seaton, friend of my youth. Bear my loving greetings 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 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 wretchedness. 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?"
"O 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 maiden; and Queen Mary had 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 up 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 bedroom, where the only articles of furniture 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, this did not seem to horrify 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 the bed.
"Tush! I have seen worse in Scotland, mignonne, ay and when I was welcomed as liege lady, not as a captive. 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 chamber 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 perfectly 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 sixteen dishes and a second of nine, compounded by her Grace's own French cooks and pantlers, looked with a 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! yea, 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 therefrom. 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 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 provided 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 Ashton'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 Mary, 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 Huguenot, for my warders. Now am I come to the clown. Soon will it be the dungeon and the headsman."
"O dear madam mother, speak not thus," cried Cicely. "Remember 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 times when nothing but my cousin Elizabeth's conscience, 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. "O 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."
"O mother, mother, I can do that. I do pray for thee."
And hand in hand with tears often rising, they knelt while Mary repeated in broken voice the Miserere.
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, when he found Sir Amias Paulett dismounting, together with a clerkly-looking personage, attended by Will Cavendish. Mary Seaton was being assisted from her horse, evidently in great grief; and others of the personal attendants of Mary were there, but neither herself, Cicely, nor the Secretaries.
Before he had time to ask questions, his old companion 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 attendance, as being young, simple, and loyal; she is less like to serve for plots than her elders in that lady's service."
Sir Annas 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 all."
Marie de Courcelles screamed aloud and wrung her hands, crying, "If ye have slain her, only tell us quickly!" Sir Andrew Melville gravely protested against such a barbarous insult to a Queen of Scotland 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 Wade 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."
"Nay, 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, with a sneer.
"Sir," said Jean Kennedy, with more dignity, turning 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 deprived 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," replied the knight, "the 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 Humfrey 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 separated 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 dismayed 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 affixing cords, fastened at each 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 restrained him by reminding him that all injury 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 together 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 allowed 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 grass, close to a large mulberry-tree, whose luscious fruit dropped round, and hung within 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 overlooked 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 they 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 for my mother who sees nothing but what shewillsee. 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 Richmond."
"Hold, I am coming 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 all their portraits taken in one picture with a Latin motto around them. What! Thou hast seen it?"
"He showed it to me in Paul's Walk, and said I should hear of them, and I thought one of them marvellously like the fellow I had seen in Richmond 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 comrade.
"All for the true religion's sake," said Cavendish. "They were ringing 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 Gifford, have kept us warned thoroughly of every stage in the business. 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 was privily shown to the Queen. Thereby she recognised the rogue Barnwell, an Irishman it seems, when she was walking in the Park at Richmond 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 him in check with her royal eye, so that he durst not so much as draw his pistol from 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 followed 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 they let it go so near? I could shudder now to think of the risk to her person!"
"There goes more to policy than you yet wot of," said Will, in his patronising tone. "In truth, Barnwell had started off unknown 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 wherefore 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 hang himself? Close the trap too soon, and you miss the biggest rat of 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 we came away. Ballard, the blackest villain of all, is likewise in ward, and here we are to complete our evidence."
"Nay, throughout all you have said, I have heard nothing to explain this morning's work."
Will laughed outright. "And so you think all this would have been done 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 brewer, 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 Babington, undertook the freight at the other end. 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 that fair play when we went to Master Sniggius's," observed Humfrey, 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 these letters by the way, I see not wherefore ye are come down to seek for 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 supposed to be good, might come, but by Gifford 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 Elizabeth's presence in order to terrify her into the conviction 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 Phillips 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—worse 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 unlucky Babington."
"So he seems to have been till of late. He hovered about in sundry disguises, as you know, much to the 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 Richard, while Diccon stood by, considerably repaired in flesh and colour by his brief stay under his mother's care.
Mr. Richard 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. Reports and letters, not very clear, had reached Sheffield of young Babington 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 Richard himself, when he had heard as much of the history as it suited Paulett and Wade to tell, 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?"
"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, perhaps most of all at finding that his cousin Cuthbert was a double traitor. From the Roman Catholic point of view, there had been no treason in his former machinations 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 Richard 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 Richard 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 grave 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 Richard Talbot try to cross it.
He asked whether he might see Cicely before going on to London, but Sir Amias said that in that case she 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 his commendations to her, with a pot of fresh honey and a lavender-scented set of kerchiefs from Mistress Susan.
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 evening 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 the 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 Tixall. 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 maids 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 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 arrangement of the bed-chamber was performed by two maidservants, the Knight himself meanwhile standing a grim sentinel over the two ladies in the outer apartment 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 fine 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 uncomfortable 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, 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 offended and disappointed at that meeting during the hawking at Tutbury.
"Yet I need scarcely seek the why or the wherefore," 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 own sake that she should know nothing, then caressed 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 distressed 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 Roman Catholic that she had been hated, intrigued against, and deposed in her own kingdom? Was it simply as a Roman 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 seventeen days that they were shut 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 closeness 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 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 apartments 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, while 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 Roman 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 whenever 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 Richard and Mistress Susan believed must be the right thing, that led to 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 religious 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 Scotland. 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," murmured Cicely.
"Girl! After all 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 boors, rather than reign a princess? I thought thy heart was nobler."
Cicely hung her head ashamed. "I was very happy 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 speaks."
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 thee and both thrones! What would English or Scots say to find thee a household Joan, wedded to one of Drake's rude pirate fellows? I tell thee 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; neither 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 sinking 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.
"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 handsome 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 be safe, and I will have hundreds of masses sung for him. Oh that 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 brew 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 taste for a tirewoman!" he 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 flout at, rather than 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 bowl.
Happily it was only two days later that Sir Walter announced that his custody of the Queen 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 head-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 his 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?"
"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 her horse, "of your pity tell me whether I shall find all my poor servants there."
"Yea, madam, save Mr. Nau and Mr. Curll, 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," who 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.
In due time Chartley was reached, and the first thing the Queen did on dismounting was to hurry to visit poor Barbara Curll, who had—on her increasing illness—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 hurt 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 private baptism, holding that the important point was the public covenant made by responsible persons, and the notion of the sponsorship of a Roman 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 was reported to her. "Nay, my poor little one, thou shalt 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 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 would 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 forfaughten."
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 by 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, "Robbery is to be added to the rest," a sentence which greatly stung the knight, but he actually 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.