Cicely knelt down, the Queen bending over her, while she murmured in her ear, “He saw Cuthbert Langston, by a feigned name, admitted to Mr. Secretary Walsingham’s privy chamber.”

She felt the violent start this information caused, but the command of voice and countenance was perfect.

“What of that, mignonne?” she said.  “What knoweth he of this Langston, as thou callest him?”

“He is my—­no—­his father’s kinsman, madam, and is known to be but a plotter.  Oh, surely, he is not in your secrets, madam, my mother, after that day at Tutbury?”

“Alack, my lassie, Gifford or Babington answered for him,” said the Queen, “and he kens more than I could desire.  But this Humfrey of thine!  How came he to blunder out such tidings to thee?”

“It was no blunder, madam.  He came here of purpose.”

“Sure,” exclaimed Mary, “it were too good to hope that he hath become well affected.  He—­a sailor of Drake’s, a son of Master Richard!  Hath Babington won him over; or is it for thy sake, child?  For I bestowed no pains to cast smiles to him at Sheffield, even had he come in my way.”

“I think, madam,” said Cicely, “that he is too loyal-hearted to bear the sight of treachery without a word of warning.”

“Is he so?  Then he is the first of his nation who hath been of such a mind!  Nay, mignonne, deny not thy conquest.  This is thy work.”

“I deny not that—­that I am beloved by Humfrey,” said Cicely, “for I have known it all my life; but that goes for naught in what he deems it right to do.”

“There spoke so truly Mistress Susan’s scholar that thou makest me laugh in spite of myself and all the rest.  Hold him fast, my maiden; think what thou wilt of his service, and leave me now, and send Melville and Curll to me.”

Cicely went away full of that undefined discomfort experienced by generous young spirits when their elders, more worldly-wise (or foolish), fail even to comprehend the purity or loftiness of motive which they themselves thoroughly believe.  Yet, though she had infinitely more faith in Humfrey’s affection than she had in that of Babington, she had not by any means the same dread of being used to bait the hook for him, partly because she knew his integrity too well to expect to shake it, and partly because he was perfectly aware of her real birth, and could not be gulled with such delusive hopes as poor Antony might once have been.

Humfrey meantime was made very welcome by Sir Amias Paulett, who insisted on his spending the next day, Sunday, at Chartley, and made him understand that he was absolutely welcome, as having a strong arm, stout heart, and clear brain used to command.  “Trusty aid do I need,” said poor Sir Amias, “if ever man lacked an arm of flesh.  The Council is putting more on me than ever man had to bear, in an open place like this, hard to be defended, and they will not increase the guard lest they should give the alarm, forsooth!”