At other times the girl’s natural activity and high spirits gained the upper hand, and she would abandon herself 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, which 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 perplexity, and involved himself in the temptation of betraying the affection he knew to be hopeless.

Before, however, 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 Cavendishes ask pardon on their knees of the Earl for their slanders; and he, in his joy, had freely forgiven all.  Gilbert Talbot and his wife had shared in the general reconciliation.  His elder brother’s death had made him the heir apparent, and all were coming home again, including the little Lady Arbell, once more to fill the Castle and the Manor-house, and to renew the free hospitable life of a great feudal chief, or of the Queen’s old courtier, with doors wide open, and no ward or suspicion.

Richard 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, perhaps 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 cockering 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.