“Come, come, my fair youth, stand not on these points.  ’Tis true my good colleague hath an excess of zeal, and I could wish he could have found it in his heart to leave the poor lady these marks of dignity that hurt no one.  I would have no hand in it, and I am glad thou wouldst not.  He knoweth that he had no power to require such service of thee.  He will say no more, and I trust that neither wilt thou; for it would not be well to change warders at this time.  Another might not be so acceptable to the poor lady, and I would fain save her all that I can.”

Humfrey bowed, and thanked “him of milder mood,” nor was any further notice taken of this hasty dismissal.

When next he had to enter the Queen’s apartments, the absence of all the tokens of her royal rank was to him truly a shock, accustomed as he had been, from his earliest childhood, to connect them with her, and knowing what their removal signified.

Mary, who was writing, looked up as, with cap in hand, he presented himself on one knee, his head bowed lower than ever before, perhaps to hide the tear that had sprung to his eye at sight of her pale, patient countenance.

“How now, sir?” she said.  “This obeisance is out of place to one already dead in law.  Don your bonnet.  There is no queen here for an Englishman.”

“Ah! madam, suffer me.  My reverence cannot but be greater than ever,” faltered Humfrey from his very heart, his words lost in the kiss he printed on the hand she granted him.

Mary bent “her gray discrowned head,” crowned in his eyes as the Queen of Sorrows, and said to Marie de Courcelles, who stood behind her, “Is it not true, ma mie, that our griefs have this make-weight, namely, that they prove to us whose are the souls whose generosity is above all price!  And what saith thy good father, my Humfrey?”

He had not ventured on bringing the letter into the apartments, but he repeated most of the substance of it, without, however, greatly raising the hopes of the Queen, though she was gratified that her cause was not neglected either by her son or by her brother-in-law.

“They, and above all my poor maid, will be comforted to have done their utmost,” she said; “but I scarcely care that they should prevail.  As I have written to my cousin Elizabeth, I am beholden to her for ending my long captivity, and above all for conferring on me the blessings and glories of one who dies for her faith, all unworthy as I am!” and she clasped her hands, while a rapt expression came upon her countenance.

Her chief desire seemed to be that neither Cicely nor her foster-father should run into danger on her account, and she much regretted that she had not been able to impress upon Humfrey messages to that effect before he wrote in answer to his father, sending his letter by Cavendish.

“Thou wilt not write again?” she asked.

“I doubt its being safe,” said Humfrey.  “I durst not speak openly even in the scroll I sent yesterday.”