“Oh!  I would return to you, madam my mother, or wait for you in London.”

“That must be as the wills above decree,” said Mary sadly.  “It is folly in me, but I cannot help grasping at the one hope held out to me.  There is that within me that will hope and strive to the end, though I am using my one precious jewel to weight the line I am casting across the gulf.  At least they cannot do thee great harm, my good child.”

The Queen sat up half the night writing letters, one to Elizabeth, one to Chateauneuf, and another to the Duchess of Lorraine, which Cis was to deliver in case of her being sent over to the Continent.  But the Queen committed the conduct of the whole affair to M. De Chateauneuf, since she could completely trust his discretion and regard for her; and, moreover, it was possible that the face of affairs might undergo some great alteration before Cicely could reach London.  Mr. Talbot must necessarily go home first, being bound to do so by his commission to the Earl.  “And, hark thee,” said the Queen, “what becomes of the young gallant?”

“I have not heard, madam,” said Cicely, not liking the tone.

“If my desires still have any effect,” said Mary, “he will stay here.  I will not have my damosel errant squired by a youth under five-and-twenty.”

“I promised you, madam, and he wots it,” said Cicely, with spirit.

“He wots it, doth he?” said the Queen, in rather a provoking voice.  “No, no, mignonne; with all respect to their honour and discretion, we do not put flint and steel together, when we do not wish to kindle a fire.  Nay, little one, I meant not to vex thee, when thou art doing one of the noblest deeds daughter ever did for mother, and for a mother who sent thee away from her, and whom thou hast scarce known for more than two years!”

Cicely was sure to see her foster-father after morning prayers on the way from the chapel across the inner court.  Here she was able to tell him of the Queen’s consent, over which he looked grave, having secretly persuaded himself that Mary would think the venture too great, and not hopeful enough to be made.  He could not, however, wonder that the unfortunate lady should catch at the least hope of preserving her life; and she had dragged too many down in the whirlpool to leave room for wonder that she should consent to peril her own daughter therein.  Moreover, he would have the present pleasure of taking her home with him to his Susan, and who could say what would happen in the meantime?

“Thou hast counted the cost?” he said.

“Yea, sir,” Cis answered, as the young always do; adding, “the Queen saith that if we commit all to the French Ambassador, M. De Chateauneuf, who is her very good friend, he will save you from any peril.”

“Hm!  I had rather be beholden to no Frenchman,” muttered Richard, “but we will see, we will see.  I must now to Paulett to obtain consent to take thee with me.  Thou art pale and changed enough indeed to need a blast of Hallamshire air, my poor maid.”