“Where?” exclaimed Richard, 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 forward 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 had brought me a plume of pheasant’s feathers from the hunting, and he began.  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! mother, 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.  “Antony is much more willing.”

“Poor Humfrey! he knows better than Antony how vain any hope must be of my silly little princess,” said Susan, with a sigh for her boy.  “Come in, child, and set these locks in order.  The hour of noon hath long been over, and father hath not yet dined.”

So they flitted out of sight as Richard and his son turned from the place of encounter, the former saying, “Son Humfrey, I had deemed thee a wiser man.”