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 vexation, 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 might—­my mother egging him on—­lay you by the heels in the strong room for a week or so.  Nay, for my part, methinks ’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 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 hinder 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,” returned 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 Richard, as Cavendish rode out of the court.  “Babington is both hot and weak-headed, and I fear me is in the toils of the Scottish 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.”