Diccon, to give him his old name, was not quite so unsophisticated as when his father had first left him in London.  Though a good deal shocked by what a new arrival from Holland had just told him of the hopelessness of ever seeing the Ark of Fortune and her captain again, he was not so overpowered with grief as to prevent him from being full of excitement and gratification at the honour of an interview with the Queen, and he arranged his rich scarlet and gold attire so as to set himself off to the best advantage, that so he might be pronounced “a proper man.”

Queen Elizabeth was now some years over sixty, and her nose and chin began to meet, but otherwise she was as well preserved as ever, and quite as alert and dignified.  To his increased surprise, she was alone, and as she was becoming a little deaf, she made him kneel very near her chair.

“So, Master Talbot,” she said, “you are the son of Richard Talbot of Bridgefield.”

“An it so please your Majesty.”

“And you request license from us to go to the Hague?”

“An it so please your Majesty,” repeated Diccon, wondering what was coming next; and as she paused for him to continue—­“There are grave rumours and great fears for my brother’s ship—­he being in the Dutch service—­and I would fain learn the truth and see what may be done for his wife.”

“Who is his wife?” demanded the Queen, fixing her keen glittering eyes on him, but he replied with readiness.

“She was an orphan brought up by my father and mother.”

“Young man, speak plainly.  No tampering serves here.  She is the wench who came hither to plead for the Queen of Scots.”

“Yea, madam,” said Diccon, seeing that direct answers were required.

“Tell me truly,” continued the Queen.  “On your duty to your Queen, is she what she called herself?”

“To the best of my belief she is, madam,” he answered.

“Look you, sir, Cavendish brought back word that it was all an ingenious figment which had deceived your father, mother, and the maid herself—­and no wonder, since the Queen of Scots persisted therein to the last.”

“Yea, madam, but my mother still keeps absolute proofs in the garments and the letter that were found on the child when recovered from the wreck.  I had never known that she was not my sister till her journey to London; and when next I went to the north my mother told me the whole truth.”

“I pray, then, how suits it with the boasted loyalty of your house that this brother of yours should have wedded the maid?”

“Madam; it was not prudent, but he had never a thought save for her throughout his life.  Her mother committed her to him, and holding the matter a deep and dead secret, he thought to do your Majesty no wrong by the marriage.  If he erred, be merciful, madam.”

“Pah! foolish youth, to whom should I be merciful since the man is dead?  No doubt he hath left half a score of children to be puffed up with the wind of their royal extraction.”