Sometimes the maiden was much moved by the tender manner and persuasive words, and she really had so much affection and admiration for her mother as to be willing to do all that she wished, and to believe her the ablest and most clear-sighted of human beings; but whenever Mary was not actually talking to her, there was a curious swaying back of the pendulum in her mind to the conviction that what Master Richard and Mistress Susan believed must be the right thing, that led to trustworthy goodness.  She had an enthusiastic love for the Queen, but her faith and trust were in them and in Humfrey, and she could see religious matters from their point of view better than from that of her mother.

So, though the Queen often felt herself carrying her daughter along, she always found that there had been a slipping back to the old standpoint every time she began again.  She was considering with some anxiety of the young maiden’s future.

“Could I but send thee to my good sister, the Duchess of Lorraine, she would see thee well and royally married,” she said.  “Then couldst thou be known by thine own name, and rank as Princess of Scotland.  If I can only see my Courcelles again, she would take thee safely and prove all—­and thy hand will be precious to many.  It may yet bring back the true faith to England, when my brave cousin of Guise has put down the Bearnese, and when the poor stumbling-block here is taken away.”

“Oh speak not of that, dear madam, my mother.”

“I must speak, child.  I must think how it will be with thee, so marvellously saved, and restored to be my comfort.  I must provide for thy safety and honour.  Happily the saints guarded me from ever mentioning thee in my letters, so that there is no fear that Elizabeth should lay hands on thee, unless Langston should have spoken—­the which can hardly be.  But if all be broken up here, I must find thee a dwelling with my kindred worthy of thy birth.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Talbot would take me home,” murmured Cicely.

“Girl!  After all the training I have bestowed on thee, is it possible that thou wouldst fain go back to make cheeses and brew small beer with those Yorkshire boors, rather than reign a princess?  I thought thy heart was nobler.”

Cicely hung her head ashamed.  “I was very happy there,” she said in excuse.

“Happy—­ay, with the milkmaid’s bliss.  There may be fewer sorrows in such a life as that—­just as those comely kine of Ashton’s that I see grazing in the park have fewer sorrows than human creatures.  But what know they of our joys, or what know the commonalty of the joy of ruling, calling brave men one’s own, riding before one’s men in the field, wielding counsels of State, winning the love of thousands?  Nay, nay, I will not believe it of my child, unless ’tis the base Border blood that is in her which speaks.”

Cicely was somewhat overborne by being thus accused of meanness of tastes, when she had heard the Queen talk enviously of that same homely life which now she despised so heartily.  She faltered in excuse, “Methought, madam, you would be glad to think there was one loving shelter ever open to me.”