“I am glad of it,” fervently exclaimed Humfrey.

“No; I only know that she has high hopes, and thinks that the term of her captivity is well-nigh over.  But it is Madame de Courcelles whom she trusts, not me,” said Cicely, a little hurt.

“So is it much better for thee to know as little as possible,” said Humfrey, growing intimate in tone again in spite of himself.  “She hath not changed thee much, Cis, only thou art more grave and womanly, ay, and thou art taller, yea, and thinner, and paler, as I fear me thou mayest well be.”

“Ah, Humfrey, ’tis a poor joy to be a princess in prison!  And yet I shame me that I long to be away.  Oh no, I would not.  Mistress Seaton and Mrs. Curll and the rest might be free, yet they have borne this durance patiently all these years—­and I think—­I think she loves me a little, and oh! she is hardly used.  Humfrey, what think’st thou that Mr. Langston meant?  I wot now for certain that it was he who twice came to beset us, as Tibbott the huckster, and with the beads and bracelets!  They all deem him a true friend to my Queen.”

“So doth Babington,” said Humfrey, curtly.

“Ah!” she said, with a little terrified sound of conviction, then added, “What thought you of Master Babington?”

“That he is half-crazed,” said Humfrey.

“We may say no more,” said Cis, seeing a servant advancing from the house to tell her that the riders were returning.  “Shall I see you again, Humfrey?”

“If Sir Amias should invite me to lie here to-night, and remain to-morrow, since it will be Sunday.”

“At least I shall see you in the morning, ere you depart,” she said, as with unwilling yet prompt steps she returned to the house, Humfrey feeling that she was indeed his little Cis, yet that some change had come over her, not so much altering her, as developing the capabilities he had always seen.

For herself, poor child, her feelings were in a strange turmoil, more than usually conscious of that dual existence which had tormented her ever since she had been made aware of her true birth.  Moreover, she had a sense of impending danger and evil, and, by force of contrast, the frank, open-hearted manner of Humfrey made her the more sensible of being kept in the dark as to serious matters, while outwardly made a pet and plaything by her mother, “just like Bijou,” as she said to herself.

“So, little one,” said Queen Mary, as she returned, “thou hast been revelling once more in tidings of Sheffield!  How long will it take me to polish away the dulness of thy clownish contact?”

“Humphrey does not come from home, madam, but from London.  Madam, let me tell you in your ear—­”

Mary’s eye instantly took the terrified alert expression which had come from many a shock and alarm.  “What is it, child?” she asked, however, in a voice of affected merriment.  “I wager it is that he has found his true Cis.  Nay, whisper it to me, if it touch thy silly little heart so deeply.”