“Certes, madam, he is regarded with high favour by both my Lord and my Lady,” said Richard, heartily wishing himself rid of his host.

“I rejoice to hear it,” said Mary; “I was afraid that his childish knight-errantry towards the captive dame had damaged the poor stripling’s prospects for ever.  He is our neighbour here, and I believe Sir Ralf regards him as somewhat perilous.”

“Nay, madam, if my Lord of Shrewsbury be satisfied with him, so surely ought I to be,” said Sir Ralf.

Nothing more of importance passed that night.  The packet of accounts was handed over to Sir Andrew Melville, and the two gentlemen dismissed with gracious good-nights.

Richard Talbot was entirely trusted, and when the next morning after prayers, breakfast, and a turn among the stables, it was intimated that the Queen was ready to see him anent my Lord’s business, Sir Ralf Sadler, who had his week’s report to write to the Council, requested that his presence might be dispensed with, and thus Mr. Talbot was ushered into the Queen’s closet without any witnesses to their interview save Sir Andrew Melville and Marie de Courcelles.  The Queen was seated in a large chair, leaning against cushions, and evidently in a good deal of pain, but, as Richard made his obeisance, her eyes shone as she quoted two lines from an old Scotch ballad—­

“’Madame, how does my gay goss hawk? 
Madame, how does my doo?’

Now can I hear what I hunger for!”

“My gay gosshawk, madam, is flown to join Sir Francis Drake at Plymouth, and taken his little brother with him.  I come now from speeding them as far as Derby.”

“Ah! you must not ask me to pray for success to them, my good sir,—­ only that there may be a time when nations may be no more divided, and I fear me we shall not live to see it.  And my doo—­my little Cis, did she weep as became a sister for the bold laddies?”

“She wept many tears, madam, but we are sore perplexed by a matter that I must lay before your Grace.  My Lady Countess is hotly bent on a match between the maiden and young Babington.”

“Babington!” exclaimed the Queen, with the lioness sparkle in her eye.  “You refused the fellow of course?”

“Flatly, madam, but your Grace knows that it is ill making the Countess accept a denial of her will.”

Mary laughed “Ah ha! methought, sir, you looked somewhat as if you had had a recent taste of my Lord of Shrewsbury’s dove.  But you are a man to hold your own sturdy will, Master Richard, let Lord or Lady say what they choose.”

“I trust so, madam, I am master of mine own house, and, as I should certainly not give mine own daughter to Babington, so shall I guard your Grace’s.”

“You would not give the child to him if she were your own?”

“No, madam.”

“And wherefore not?  Because he is too much inclined to the poor prisoner and her faith?  Is it so, sir?”