“A piteous sight,” he said, “and a right gallant defence.”

He did not mean it, but the words struck like lead on Cicely’s heart, for they did not amount to an acquittal before the tribunal of his secret conviction, any more than did Walsingham’s disavowal, for who could tell what Mr. Secretary’s conscience did think unbecoming to his office?

Cicely found her mother on her couch giving a free course to her tears, in the reaction after the strain and effort of her defence.  Melville and the Maries were assuring her that she had most bravely confuted her enemies, and that she had only to hold on with equal courage to the end.  Mrs. Kennedy and Dr. Bourgoin came in to join in the same encouragements, and the commendation evidently soothed her.  “However it may end,” she said, “Mary of Scotland shall not go down to future ages as a craven spirit.  But let us not discuss it further, my dear friends, my head aches, and I can bear no farther word at present.”

Dr. Bourgoin made her take some food and then lie down to rest, while in an outer room a lute was played and a low soft song was sung.  She had not slept all the previous night, but she fell asleep, holding the hand of Cicely, who was on a cushion by her side.  The girl, having been likewise much disturbed, slept too, and only gradually awoke as her mother was sitting up on her couch discussing the next day’s defence with Melville and Bourgoin.

“I fear me, madam, there is no holding to the profession of entire ignorance,” said Melville.

“They have no letters from Babington to me to show,” said the Queen.  “I took care of that by the help of this good bairn.  I can defy them to produce the originals out of all my ransacked cabinets.”

“They have the copies both of them and of your Majesty’s replies, and Nan and Curll to verify them.”

“What are copies worth, or what are dead and tortured men’s confessions worth?” said Mary.

“Were your Majesty a private person they would never be accepted as evidence,” said Melville; “but—­”

“But because I am a Queen and a Catholic there is no justice for me,” said Mary.  “Well, what is the defence you would have me confine myself to, my sole privy counsellors?”

Here Cis, to show she was awake, pressed her mother’s hand and looked up in her face, but Mary, though returning the glance and the pressure, did not send her away, while Melville recommended strongly that the Queen should continue to insist on the imperfection of the evidence adduced against her, which he said might so touch some of the lawyers, or the nobles, that Burghley and Walsingham might be afraid to proceed.  If this failed her, she must allow her knowledge of the plot for her own escape and the Spanish invasion, but strenuously deny the part which concerned Elizabeth’s life.

“That it is which they above all desire to fix on me,” said the Queen.

Cicely’s brain was in confusion.  Surely she had heard those letters read in the hall.  Were they false or genuine?  The Queen had utterly denied them there.  Now she seemed to think the only point was to prove that these were not the originals.  Dr. Bourgoin seemed to feel the same difficulty.