Richard uttered a certain exclamation of disgust which silenced his discreet wife.

Neither of them had quite anticipated the result, namely, that the next morning, Cis, after kissing the Queen’s hand as usual, remained kneeling, her bosom heaving, and a little stammering on her tongue, while tears rose to her eyes.

“What is it, mignonne,” said Mary, kindly; “is the whelp dead? or is the clasp broken?”

“No, madam; but—­but I pray you give me no more gifts.  My father says it touches his honour, and I have promised him—­Oh, madam, be not displeased with me, but let me give you back your last beauteous gift.”

Mary was standing by the fire.  She took the ivory and coral trinket from the hand of the kneeling girl, and dashed it into the hottest glow.  There was passion in the action, and in the kindling eye, but it was but for a moment.  Before Cis could speak or Susan begin her excuses, the delicate hand was laid on the girl’s head, and a calm voice said, “Fear not, child.  Queens take not back their gifts.  I ought to have borne in mind that I am balked of the pleasure of giving—­the beat of all the joys they have robbed me of.  But tremble not, sweetheart, I am not chafed with thee.  I will vex thy father no more.  Better thou shouldst go without a trinket or two than deprive me of the light of that silly little face of thine so long as they will leave me that sunbeam.”

She stooped and kissed the drooping brow, and Susan could not but feel as if the voice of nature were indeed speaking.

A few words of apology in her character of mother for the maiden’s abrupt proceeding were met by the Queen most graciously.  “Spare thy words, good madam.  We understand and reverence Mr. Talbot’s point of honour.  Would that all who approached us had held his scruples!”

Perhaps Mary was after this more distant and dignified towards the matron, but especially tender and caressing towards the maiden, as if to make up by kindness for the absence of little gifts.

Storms, however, were brewing without.  Lady Shrewsbury made open complaints of her husband having become one of Mary’s many victims, representing herself as an injured wife driven out of her house.  She actually in her rage carried the complaint to Queen Elizabeth, who sent down two commissioners to inquire into the matter.  They sat in the castle hall, and examined all the attendants, including Richard and his wife.  The investigation was extremely painful and distressing, but it was proved that nothing could have been more correct and guarded than the whole intercourse between the Earl and his prisoner.  If he had erred, it had been on the side of caution and severity, though he had always preserved the courteous demeanour of a gentleman, and had been rejoiced to permit whatever indulgences could be granted.  If there had been any transgressions of the strict rules, they had been made by the Countess herself and