“He hath spoken well and more generously than, mayhap, I thought he would have done,” said Richard.

“Ay; you have judged the poor youth somewhat hardly, as if the folly of pagedom never were outgrown,” said the Earl.  “I put him under governorship such as to drive out of his silly pate all the wiles that he was fed upon here.  You will see him prove himself an honest Protestant and good subject yet, and be glad enough to give him your daughter.  So he was too hot a lover for Master Humfrey’s notions, eh?” said my Lord, laughing a little.  “The varlet!  He was over prompt to protect his sister, yet ’twas a fault on the right side, and I am sorry there was such a noise about it that he should have gone without leave-takings.”

“He will be glad to hear of your Lordship’s goodness.  I shall go after him to-morrow and take his mails and little Diccon to him.”

“That is well,” said the Earl.  “And give him this, with his kinsman’s good wishes that he may win ten times more from the Don,” pushing towards Richard a packet of twenty broad gold pieces, stamped with Queen Bess in all her glory; and then, after receiving due thanks for the gift, which was meant half as friendly feudal patronage from the head of the family, half as a contribution to the royal service, the Earl added, “I would crave of thee, Richard, to extend thy journey to Wingfield.  Here are some accounts of which I could not sooner get the items, to be discharged between me and the lady there—­and I would fain send thee as the man whom I can most entirely trust.  I will give thee a pass, and a letter to Sadler, bidding him admit thee to her presence, since there are matters here which can sooner be discharged by one word of mouth than by many weary lines of writing.”

Good Master Richard’s conscience had little occasion to wince, yet he could not but feel somewhat guilty when this opportune commission was given to him, since the Earl gave it unaware of his secret understanding with the captive.  He accepted it, however, without hesitation, since he was certainly not going to make a mischievous use of it, and bent all his mind to understand the complicated accounts that he was to lay before the Queen or her comptroller of the household.

He had still another interview to undergo with Antony Babington, who overtook him on his way home through the crackling leaves that strewed the avenue, as the October twilight fell.  His recent conduct towards Humfrey gave him a certain right to friendly attention, though, as the frank-hearted mariner said to himself, it was hard that a plain man, who never told a lie, nor willingly had a concealment of his own, should be involved in a many-sided secret like this, a sort of web, where there was no knowing whether straining the wrong strand might not amount to a betrayal, all because he had rescued an infant, and not at once proclaimed her an alien.

“Sir,” said Antony, “if my impatience to accost the maiden we wot of, when I saw her alone, had not misled me, I should have sought you first to tell you that no man knows better than I that my Lady Countess’s good will is not what is wanting to forward my suit.”