Her mother sometimes saw her weariness, and would try to enliven her by setting her to dance, but here poor Cicely’s untaught movements were sure to incur reproof; and even if they had been far more satisfactory to the beholders, what refreshment were they in comparison with gathering cranberries in the park, or holding a basket for Ned in the apple-tree?  Mrs. Kennedy made no scruple of scolding her roundly for fretting in a month over what the Queen had borne for full eighteen years.

“Ah!” said poor Cicely, “but she had always been a queen, and was used to being mewed up close!”

And if this was the case at Wingfield, how much more was it so at Tutbury, whither Mary was removed in January.  The space was far smaller, and the rooms were cold and damp; there was much less outlet, the atmosphere was unwholesome, and the furniture insufficient.  Mary was in bed with rheumatism almost from the time of her arrival, but she seemed thus to become the more vigilant over her daughter, and distressed by her shortcomings.  If the Queen did not take exercise, the suite were not supposed to require any, and indeed it was never desired by her elder ladies, but to the country maiden it was absolute punishment to be thus shut up day after day.  Neither Sir Ralf Sadler nor his colleague, Mr. Somer, had brought a wife to share the charge, so that there was none of the neutral ground afforded by intercourse with the ladies of the Talbot family, and at first the only variety Cicely ever had was the attendance at chapel on the other side of the court.

It was remarkable that Mary discouraged all proselytising towards the Protestants of her train, and even forbore to make any open attempt on her daughter’s faith.  “Cela viendra,” she said to Marie de Courcelles.  “The sermons of M. le Pasteur will do more to convert her to our side than a hundred controversial arguments of our excellent Abbe; and when the good time comes, one High Mass will be enough to win her over.”

“Alas! when shall we ever again assist at the Holy Sacrifice in all its glory!” sighed the lady.

“Ah, my good Courcelles! of what have you not deprived yourself for me!  Sacrifice, ah! truly you share it!  But for the child, it would give needless offence and difficulty were she to embrace our holy faith at present.  She is simple and impetuous, and has not yet sufficiently outgrown the rude straightforward breeding of the good housewife, Madam Susan, not to rush into open confession of her faith, and then! oh the fracas!  The wicked wolves would have stolen a precious lamb from M. le Pasteur’s fold!  Master Richard would be sent for!  Our restraint would be the closer!  Moreover, even when the moment of freedom strikes, who knows that to find her of their own religion may not win us favour with the English?”

So, from whatever motive, Cis remained unmolested in her religion, save by the weariness of the controversial sermons, during which the young lady contrived to abstract her mind pretty completely.  If in good spirits she would construct airy castles for her Archduke; if dispirited, she yearned with a homesick feeling for Bridgefield and Mrs. Talbot.  There was something in the firm sober wisdom and steady kindness of that good lady which inspired a sense of confidence, for which no caresses nor brilliant auguries could compensate.