“Thy father, child?”

“I crave your pardon, madam, it comes too trippingly to my tongue thus to term Master Talbot.”

“So much the better.  Thy tongue must not lose the trick.  I 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.”

“O, surely, madam, you never meant me to withhold 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 seeing 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.  “O 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 craving pardon 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 Knollys, or Garey, 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 Richard, 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 between 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 whatever boon thou wouldst ask, even were it pardon for my Lady Shrewsbury.”