She held her white hand to receive the kisses of the boys:  William Cavendish, under his mother’s eye, knelt obediently; Antony Babington, a fair, pretty lad, of eight or nine, of a beautiful pink and white complexion, pressed forward with an eager devotion which made the Queen smile and press her delicate hand on his curled locks; as for Humfrey, he retreated behind the shelter of his mother’s farthingale, where his presence was forgotten by every one else, and, after the rebuff just administered to Cicely, there was no inclination to bring him to light, or combat with his bashfulness.

The introductions over, Mary gave her hand to the Earl to be conducted from the hall up the broad staircase, and along the great western gallery to the south front, where for many days her properties had been in course of being arranged.

Lady Shrewsbury followed as mistress of the house, and behind, in order of precedence, came the Scottish Queen’s household, in which the dark, keen features of the French, and the rufous hues of the Scots, were nearly equally divided.  Lady Livingstone and Mistress Seaton, two of the Queen’s Maries of the same age with herself, came next, the one led by Lord Talbot, the other by Lord Livingstone.  There was also the faithful French Marie de Courcelles, paired with Master Beatoun, comptroller of the household, and Jean Kennedy, a stiff Scotswoman, whose hard outlines did not do justice to her tenderness and fidelity, and with her was a tall, active, keen-faced stripling, looked on with special suspicion by the English, as Willie Douglas, the contriver of the Queen’s flight from Lochleven.  Two secretaries, French and Scottish, were shrewdly suspected of being priests, and there were besides, a physician, surgeon, apothecary, with perfumers, cooks, pantlers, scullions, lacqueys, to the number of thirty, besides their wives and attendants, these last being “permitted of my lord’s benevolence.”

They were all eyed askance by the sturdy, north country English, who naturally hated all strangers, above all French and Scotch, and viewed the band of captives much like a caged herd of wild beasts.

When on the way home Mistress Susan asked her little boy why he would not make his obeisance to the pretty lady, he sturdily answered, “She is no pretty lady of mine.  She is an evil woman who slew her husband.”

“Poor lady! tongues have been busy with her,” said his father.

“How, sir?” asked Susan, amazed, “do you think her guiltless in the matter?”

“I cannot tell,” returned Richard.  “All I know is that many who have no mercy on her would change their minds if they beheld her patient and kindly demeanour to all.”

This was a sort of shock to Susan, as it seemed to her to prove the truth of little Lady Talbot’s words, that no one was proof against Queen Mary’s wiles; but she was happy in having her husband at home once more, though, as he told her, he would be occupied most of each alternate day at Sheffield, he and another relation having been appointed “gentlemen porters,” which meant that they were to wait in a chamber at the foot of the stairs, and keep watch over whatever went in or out of the apartments of the captive and her suite.