They lectured her, after the fashion of the time, on the need of never forgetting her duty to her God in her affection to her mother, Susan trusting that she would never let herself be led away to the Romish faith, and Richard warning her strongly against untruth and falsehood, though she must be exposed to cruel perplexities as to the right—­ “But if thou be true to man, thou wilt be true to God,” he said.  “If thou be false to man, thou wilt soon be false to thy God likewise.”

“We will pray for thee, child,” said Susan.  “Do thou pray earnestly for thyself that thou mayest ever see the right.”

“My queen mother is a right pious woman.  She is ever praying and reading holy books,” said Cis.  “Mother Susan, I marvel you, who know her, can speak thus.”

“Nay, child, I would not lessen thy love and duty to her, poor soul, but it is not even piety in a mother that can keep a maiden from temptation.  I blame not her in warning thee.”

Richard himself escorted the damsel to her new home.  There was no preventing their being joined by Babington, who, being well acquainted with the road, and being also known as a gentleman of good estate, was able to do much to make their journey easy to them, and secure good accommodation for them at the inns, though Mr. Talbot entirely baffled his attempts to make them his guests, and insisted on bearing a full share of the reckoning.  Neither did Cicely fulfil her mother’s commission to show herself inclined to accept his attentions.  If she had been under contrary orders, there would have been some excitement in going as far as she durst, but the only effect on her was embarrassment, and she treated Antony with the same shy stiffness she had shown to Humfrey, during the earlier part of his residence at home.  Besides, she clung more and more to her adopted father, who, now that they were away from home and he was about to part with her, treated her with a tender, chivalrous deference, most winning in itself, and making her feel herself no longer a child.

Arriving at last at Wingfield, Sir Ralf Sadler had hardly greeted them before a messenger was sent to summon the young lady to the presence of the Queen of Scots.  Her welcome amounted to ecstasy.  The Queen rose from her cushioned invalid chair as the bright young face appeared at the door, held out her arms, gathered her into them, and, covering her with kisses, called her by all sorts of tender names in French and Scottish.

“O ma mie, my lassie, ma fille, mine ain wee thing, how sweet to have one bairn who is mine, mine ain, whom they have not robbed me of, for thy brother, ah, thy brother, he hath forsaken me!  He is made of the false Darnley stuff, and compacted by Knox and Buchanan and the rest, and he will not stand a blast of Queen Elizabeth’s wrath for the poor mother that bore him.  Ay, he hath betrayed me, and deluded me, my child; he hath sold me once more to the English loons!  I am set faster in prison than ever, the iron entereth into my soul.  Thou art but daughter to a captive queen, who looks to thee to be her one bairn, one comfort and solace.”