“Is there then no hope?” said the girl, under her breath, which came short with dismay.

“Hope! yea,” said Mary, with a ray of brightness on her face, “but not earthly hope.  That is over, and I am more at rest and peace than I can remember to have been since I was a babe at my mother’s knee.  But, little one, I must preserve thee for thine Humfrey and for happiness, and so thou must be gone ere the hounds be on thy track.”

“Never, mother, I cannot leave you.  You bid no one else to go!” said Cis, clinging to her with a face bathed in tears.

“No one else is imperilled by remaining as thy bold venture has imperilled thee, my sweet maid.  Think, child, how fears for thee would disturb my spirit, when I would fain commune only with Heaven.  Seest thou not that to lose thy dear presence for the few days left to me will be far better for me than to be rent with anxiety for thee, and it may be to see thee snatched from me by these stern, harsh men?”

“To quit you now!  It is unnatural!  I cannot.”

“You will go, child.  As Queen and as mother alike, I lay my commands on you.  Let not the last, almost the only commands I ever gave thee be transgressed, and waste not these last hours in a vain strife.”

She spoke with an authority against which Cis had no appeal, save by holding her hand tight and covering it with kisses and tears.  Mary presently released her hand and went on writing, giving her a little time to restrain her agony of bitter weeping.  The first words spoken were, “I shall not name thee in my will, nor recommend thee to thy brother.  It would only bring on thee suspicion and danger.  Here, however, is a letter giving full evidence of thy birth, and mentioning the various witnesses who can attest it.  I shall leave the like with Melville, but it will be for thy happiness and safety if it never see the light.  Should thy brother die without heirs, then it might be thy duty to come forward and stretch out thy hand for these two crowns, which have more thorns than jewels in them.  Alas! would that I could dare to hope they might be exchanged for a crown of stars!  But lie down on the bed, my bairnie.  I have much still to do, and thou hast a long journey before thee.”

Cicely would fain have resisted, but was forced to obey, though protesting that she should not sleep; and she lay awake for a long time watching the Queen writing, until unawares slumber overpowered her eyes.  When she awoke, the Queen was standing over her saying, “It is time thou wert astir, little one!”

“Oh! and have I lost all these hours of you?” cried Cicely, as her senses awoke to the remembrance of the situation of affairs.  “Mother, why did you not let me watch with you?”