Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER XV.

  MOTHER AND CHILD.

  Cicely was well enough the next day to leave her room and come out onthe summer's evening to enjoy the novel spectacle of Trowle Madame, inwhich she burned to participate, so soon as her shoulder should bewell. It was with a foreboding heart that her adopted mother fell withher into the rear of the suite who were attending Queen Mary, as shewent downstairs to walk on the lawn, and sit under a canopy whence shecould watch either that game, or the shooting at the butts which wasbeing carried on a little farther off.

  "So, our bonnie maiden," said Mary, brightening as she caught sight ofthe young girl, "thou art come forth once more to rejoice mine eyes, asight for sair een, as they say in Scotland," and she kissed the freshcheeks with a tenderness that gave Susan a strange pang. Then she askedkindly after the hurt, and bade Cis sit at her feet, while she watcheda match in archery between some of the younger attendants, now and thenlaying a caressing hand upon the slender figure.

  "Little one," she said, "I would fain have thee to share my pillow. Ihave had no young bed-fellow since Bess Pierrepoint left us. Wilt thoustoop to come and cheer the poor old caged bird?"

  "Oh, madam, how gladly will I do so if I may!" cried Cicely, delighted.

  "We will take good care of her, Mistress Talbot," said Mary, "anddeliver her up to you whole and sain in the morning," and there was aquivering playfulness in her voice.

  "Your Grace is the mistress," answered Susan, with a sadness not quitecontrolled.

  "Ah! you mock me, madam. Would that I were!" returned the Queen. "Itis my Lord's consent that we must ask. How say you, my Lord, may Ihave this maiden for my warder at night?"

  Lord Shrewsbury was far from seeing any objection, and the promise wasgiven that Cis should repair to the Queen's chamber for at least thatnight. She was full of excitement at the prospect.

  "Why look you so sadly at me, sweet mother?" she cried, as Susan madeready her hair, and assisted her in all the arrangements for which hershoulder was still too stiff; "you do not fear that they will hurt myarm?"

  "No, truly, my child. They have tender and skilful hands."

  "May be they will tell me the story of my parents," said Cis; "but youneed never doubt me, mother. Though I were to prove to be ever sogreat a lady, no one could ever be mine own mother like you!"

  "Scarcely in love, my child," said Susan, as she wrapped the littlefigure in a loose gown, and gave her such a kiss as parents seldompermitted themselves, in the fear of "cockering" their children, whichwas considered to be a most reprehensible practice. Nor could sherefrain from closely pressing Cicely's hand as they passed through thecorridor to the Queen's apartments, gave the word to the two yeomen whowere on guard for the night at the head of the stairs, and tapped atthe outmost door of the royal suite of rooms. It was opened by aFrench valet; but Mrs. Kennedy instantly advanced, took the maiden bythe hand, and with a significant smile said: "Gramercy, madam, we willtake unco gude tent of the lassie. A fair gude nicht to ye." And Mrs.Talbot felt, as she put the little hand into that of the nurse, and sawthe door shut on them, as if she had virtually given up her daughter,and, oh! was it for her good?

  Cis was led into the bedchamber, bright with wax tapers, though the skywas not yet dark. She heard a sound as of closing and locking doubledoors, while some one drew back a crimson, gold-edged velvet curtain,which she had seen several times, and which it was whispered concealedthe shrine where Queen Mary performed her devotions. She had justrisen from before it, at the sound of Cis's entrance, and two of herladies, Mary Seaton and Marie de Courcelles, seemed to have beenkneeling with her. She was made ready for bed, with a dark-blue velvetgown corded round her, and her hair, now very gray, braided beneath alittle round cap, but a square of soft cambric drapery had been thrownover her head, so as to form a perfectly graceful veil, and shelter thefeatures that were aging. Indeed, when Queen Mary wore the exquisitesmile that now lit up her face as she held out her arms, no one everpaused to think what those lineaments really were. She held out herarms as Cis advanced bashfully, and said: "Welcome, my sweetbed-fellow, my little Scot--one more loyal subject come to me in mybondage."

  Cis's impulse was to put a knee to the ground and kiss the hands thatreceived her. "Thou art our patient," continued Mary. "I will seethee in bed ere I settle myself there." The bed was a tall, large,carved erection, with sweeping green and silver curtains, and a hugebank of lace-bordered pillows. A flight of low steps facilitated theascent; and Cis, passive in this new scene, was made to throw off herdressing-gown and climb up.

  "And now," said the Queen, "let me see the poor little shoulder thathath suffered so much."

  "My arm is still bound, madam," said Cis. But she was not listened to;and Mrs. Kennedy, much to her discomfiture, turned back herunder-garment. The marks were, in fact, so placed as to be entirelyout of her own view, and Mrs. Susan had kept them from the knowledge orremark of any one. They were also high enough up to be quite clearfrom the bandages, and thus she was amazed to hear the exclamation,"There! sooth enough."

  "Monsieur Gorion could swear to them instantly."

  "What is it? Oh, what is it, madam?" cried Cis, affrighted; "is thereanything on my back? No plague spot, I hope;" and her eyes grew roundwith terror.

  The Queen laughed. "No plague spot, sweet one, save, perhaps, in theeyes of you Protestants, but to me they are a gladsome sight--a token Inever hoped to see."

  And the bewildered girl felt a pair of soft lips kiss each mark inturn, and then the covering was quickly and caressingly restored, andMary added, "Lie down, my child, and now to bed, to bed, my maids.Patent the lights." Then, making the sign of the cross, as Cis hadseen poor Antony Babington do, the Queen, just as all the lights saveone were extinguished, was divested of her wrapper and veil, and tookher place beside Cis on the pillows. The two Maries left the chamber,and Jean Kennedy disposed herself on a pallet at the foot of the bed.

  "And so," said the Queen, in a low voice, tender, but with a sort ofbanter, "she thought she had the plague spot on her little whiteshoulders. Didst thou really not know what marks thou bearest, littleone?"

  "No, madam," said Cis. "Is it what I have felt with my fingers?"

  "Listen, child," said Mary. "Art thou at thine ease; thy poor shoulderresting well? There, then, give me thine hand, and I will tell thee atale. There was a lonely castle in a lake, grim, cold, and northerly;and thither there was brought by angry men a captive woman. They haddealt with her strangely and subtilly; they had laid on her the guiltof the crimes themselves had wrought; and when she clung to the one manwhom at least she thought honest, they had forced and driven her intowedding him, only that all the world might cry out upon her, forsakeher, and deliver her up into those cruel hands."

  There was something irresistibly pathetic in Mary's voice, and themaiden lay gazing at her with swimming eyes.

  "Thou dost pity that poor lady, sweet one? There was little pity forher then! She had looked her last on her lad--bairn; ay, and they hadsaid she had striven to poison him, and they were breeding him up toloathe the very name of his mother; yea, and to hate and persecute theChurch of his father and his mother both. And so it was, that the ladyvowed that if another babe was granted to her, sprung of that laststrange miserable wedlock, these foes of hers should have no part init, nor knowledge of its very existence, but that it should be bred upbeyond their ken--safe out of their reach. Ah! child; good NurseKennedy can best tell thee how the jealous eyes and ears weredisconcerted, and in secrecy and sorrow that birth took place."

  Cis's heart was beating too fast for speech, but there was a tightclose pressure of the hand that Mary had placed within hers.

  "The poor mother," went on the Queen in a low trembling voice, "dursthave scarce one hour's joy of her first and only daughter, ere thetrusty Gorion took the little one from her, to be nursed in a hut onthe other side of the lake. There," continued Mary, forgetting thethird person, "I hoped to have joined her, so soon as
I was afootagain. The faithful lavender lent me her garments, and I was alreadyin the boat, but the men-at-arms were rude and would have pulled downmy muffler; I raised my hand to protect myself, and it was all toowhite. They had not let me stain it, because the dye would not befit awasherwoman. So there was I dragged back to ward again, and all ourplans overthrown. And it seemed safer and meeter to put my little oneout of reach of all my foes, even if it were far away from her mother'saching heart. Not one more embrace could I be granted, but my goodchaplain Ross--whom the saints rest--baptized her in secret, and Gorionhad set two marks on the soft flesh, which he said could never beblotted out in after years, and then her father's clanswoman, AlisonHepburn, undertook to carry her to France, with a letter of mine boundup in her swathing clothes, committing her to the charge of my goodaunt, the Abbess of Soissons, in utter secrecy, until better daysshould come. Alas! I thought them not so far off. I deemed that were Ionce beyond the clutches of Morton, Ruthven, and the rest, the loyalwould rally once more round my standard, and my crown would be mineown, mine enemies and those of my Church beneath my feet. Little did Iguess that my escape would only be to see them slain and routed, andthat when I threw myself on the hospitality of my cousin, her tendermercies would prove such as I have found them. 'Libera me, Dominie,libera me.'"

  Cis began dimly to understand, but she was still too much awed to makeany demonstration, save a convulsive pressure of the Queen's hand, andthe murmuring of the Latin prayer distressed her.

  Presently Mary resumed. "Long, long did I hope my little one wassafely sheltered from all my troubles in the dear old cloisters ofSoissons, and that it was caution in my good aunt the abbess thatprevented my hearing of her; but through my faithful servants, my LordFlemyng, who had been charged to speed her from Scotland, at length letme know that the ship in which she sailed, the Bride of Dunbar, hadbeen never heard of more, and was thought to have been cast away in atempest that raged two days after she quitted Dunbar. And I--I shedsome tears, but I could well believe that the innocent babe had beensafely welcomed among the saints, and I could not grieve that she was,as I thought, spared from the doom that rests upon the race of Stewart.Till one week back, I gave thanks for that child of sorrow as cradledin Paradise."

  Then followed a pause, and then Cis said in a low trembling voice, "Andit was from the wreck of the Bride of Dunbar that I was taken?"

  "Thou hast said it, child! My bairn, my bonnie bairn!" and the girlwas absorbed in a passionate embrace and strained convulsively to abosom which heaved with the sobs of tempestuous emotion, and thecaresses were redoubled upon her again and again with increasingfervour that almost frightened her.

  "Speak to me! Speak to me! Let me hear my child's voice."

  "Oh, madam--"

  "Call me mother! Never have I heard that sound from my child's lips. Ihave borne two children, two living children, only to be stripped ofboth. Speak, child--let me hear thee."

  Cis contrived to say "Mother, my mother," but scarcely with effusion.It was all so strange, and she could not help feeling as if Susan werethe mother she knew and was at ease with. All this was much too like adream, from which she longed to awake. And there was Mrs. Kennedy too,rising up and crying quite indignantly--"Mother indeed! Is that allthou hast to say, as though it were a task under the rod, when thou artowned for her own bairn by the fairest and most ill-used queen inChristendom? Out on thee! Have the Southron loons chilled thine heartand made thee no leal to thine ain mother that hath hungered for thee?"

  The angry tones, and her sense of her own shortcomings, could only makeCis burst into tears.

  "Hush, hush, nurse! thou shalt not chide my new-found bairn. She willlearn to ken us better in time if they will leave her with us," saidMary. "There, there; greet not so sair, mine ain. I ask thee not toshare my sorrows and my woes. That Heaven forefend. I ask thee but tocome from time to time and cheer my nights, and lie on my weary bosomto still its ache and yearning, and let me feel that I have indeed achild."

  "Oh, mother, mother!" Cis cried again in a stifled voice, as one whocould not utter her feelings, but not in the cold dry tone that hadcalled forth Mrs. Kennedy's wrath. "Pardon me, I know not--I cannotsay what I would. But oh! I would do anything for--for your Grace."

  "All that I would ask of thee is to hold thy peace and keep ourcounsel. Be Cicely Talbot by day as ever. Only at night be mine--mychild, my Bride, for so wast thou named after our Scottish patroness.It was a relic of her sandals that was hung about thy neck, and hership in which thou didst sail; and lo, she heard and guarded thee, andnot merely saved thee from death, but provided thee a happy joyous homeand well-nurtured childhood. We must render her our thanks, my child.Beata Brigitta, ora pro nobis."

  "It was the good God Almighty who saved me, madam," said Cis bluntly.

  "Alack! I forgot that yonder good lady could not fail to rear thee inthe outer darkness of her heresy; but thou wilt come back to us, my ainwee thing! Heaven forbid that I should deny Whose Hand it was thatsaved thee, but it was at the blessed Bride's intercession. No doubtshe reserved for me, who had turned to her in my distress, thisprecious consolation! But I will not vex thy little heart with debatethis first night. To be mother and child is enough for us. What artthou pondering?"

  "Only, madam, who was it that told your Grace that I was a stranger?"

  "The marks, bairnie, the marks," said Mary. "They told their own taleto good Nurse Jeanie; ay, and to Gorion, whom we blamed for his crueltyin branding my poor little lammie."

  "Ah! but," said Cicely, "did not yonder woman with the beads andbracelets bid him look?"

  If it had been lighter, Cicely would have seen that the Queen was notpleased at the inquiry, but she only heard the answer from Jean's bed,"Hout no, I wad she knew nought of thae brands. How should she?"

  "Nay," said Cicely, "she--no, it was Tibbott the huckster-woman told melong ago that I was not what I seemed, and that I came from thenorth--I cannot understand! Were they the same?"

  "The bairn kens too much," said Jean. "Dinna ye deave her Grace withyour speirings, my lammie. Ye'll have to learn to keep a quiet sough,and to see mickle ye canna understand here."

  "Silence her not, good nurse," said the Queen, "it imports us to knowthis matter. What saidst thou of Tibbott?"

  "She was the woman who got Antony Babington into trouble," explainedCicely. "I deemed her a witch, for she would hint strange thingsconcerning me, but my father always believed she was a kinsman of his,who was concerned in the Rising of the North, and who, he said, hadseen me brought in to Hull from the wreck."

  "Ay?" said the Queen, as a sign to her to continue.

  "And meseemed," added Cicely timidly, "that the strange woman atTideswell who talked of beads and bracelets minded me of Tibbott,though she was younger, and had not her grizzled brows; but father saysthat cannot be, for Master Cuthbert Langston is beyond seas at Paris."

  "Soh! that is well," returned Mary, in a tone of relief. "See, child.That Langston of whom you speak was a true friend of mine. He has donemuch for me under many disguises, and at the time of thy birth he livedas a merchant at Hull, trading with Scotland. Thus it may have becomeknown to him that the babe he had seen rescued from the wreck was onewho had been embarked at Dunbar. But no more doth he know. The secretof thy birth, my poor bairn, was entrusted to none save a few of thoseabout me, and all of those who are still living thou hast already seen.Lord Flemyng, who put thee on board, believed thee the child of JamesHepburn of Lillieburn, the archer, and of my poor Mary Stewart, akinswoman of mine ain; and it was in that belief doubtless that he, orTibbott, as thou call'st him, would have spoken with thee."

  "But the woman at Tideswell," said Cis, who was gettingbewildered--"Diccon said that she spake to Master Gorion."

  "That did she, and pointed thee out to him. It is true. She isanother faithful friend of mine, and no doubt she had the secret fromhim. But no more questions, child. Enough that we sleep in eachother's arms."

&n
bsp; It was a strange night. Cis was more conscious of wonder, excitement,and a certain exultation, than of actual affection. She had not beenbred up so as to hunger and crave for love. Indeed she had beentreated with more tenderness and indulgence than was usual withpeople's own daughters, and her adopted parents had absorbed herundoubting love and respect.

  Queen Mary's fervent caresses were at least as embarrassing as theywere gratifying, because she did not know what response to make, andthe novelty and wonder of the situation were absolutely distressing.

  They would have been more so but for the Queen's tact. She soon sawthat she was overwhelming the girl, and that time must be given for herto become accustomed to the idea. So, saying tenderly something aboutrest, she lay quietly, leaving Cis, as she supposed, to sleep. This,however, was impossible to the girl, except in snatches which made herhave to prove to herself again and again that it was not all a dream.The last of these wakenings was by daylight, as full as the heavycurtains would admit, and she looked up into a face that was watchingher with such tender wistfulness that it drew from her perforce theword "Mother."

  "Ah! that is the tone with the true ring in it. I thank thee and Ibless thee, my bairn," said Mary, making over her the sign of thecross, at which the maiden winced as at an incantation. Then sheadded, "My little maid, we must be up and stirring. Mind, no word ofall this. Thou art Cicely Talbot by day, as ever, and only my child,my Bride, mine ain wee thing, my princess by night. Canst keepcounsel?"

  "Surely, madam," said Cis, "I have known for five years that I was afoundling on the wreck, and I never uttered a word."

  Mary smiled. "This is either a very simple child or a very canny one,"she said to Jean Kennedy. "Either she sees no boast in being of royalblood, or she deems that to have the mother she has found is worse thanthe being the nameless foundling."

  "Oh! madam, mother, not so! I meant but that I had held my tongue whenI had something to tell!"

  "Let thy secrecy stand thee in good stead, child," said the Queen."Remember that did the bruit once get abroad, thou wouldest assuredlybe torn from me, to be mewed up where the English Queen could hinderthee from ever wedding living man. Ay, and it might bring the head ofthy foster-father to the block, if he were thought to have concealedthe matter. I fear me thou art too young for such a weighty secret."

  "I am seventeen years old, madam," returned Cis, with dignity; "I havekept the other secret since I was twelve."

  "Then thou wilt, I trust, have the wisdom not to take the princess onthee, nor to give any suspicion that we are more to one another thanthe caged bird and the bright linnet that comes to sing on the bars ofher cage. Only, child, thou must get from Master Talbot these tokensthat I hear of. Hast seen them?"

  "Never, madam; indeed I knew not of them."

  "I need them not to know thee for mine own, but it is not well thatthey should be in stranger hands. Thou canst say--But hush, we must bemum for the present."

  For it became necessary to admit the Queen's morning draught of spicedmilk, borne in by one of her suite who had to remain uninitiated; andfrom that moment no more confidences could be exchanged, until the timethat Cis had to leave the Queen's chamber to join the rest of thehousehold in the daily prayers offered in the chapel. Her dress andhair had, according to promise, been carefully attended to, but she wasonly finished and completed just in time to join her adopted parents onthe way down the stairs. She knelt in the hall for their blessing--anaction as regular and as mechanical as the morning kiss and greetingnow are between parent and child; but there was something in her facethat made Susan say to herself, "She knows all."

  They could not speak to one another till not only matins but breakfastwere ended, and then--after the somewhat solid meal--the ladies had toput on their out-of-door gear to attend Queen Mary in her dailyexercise. The dress was not much, high summer as it was, only a looseveil over the stiff cap, and a fan in the gloved hand to act asparasol. However the retirement gave Cicely an interval in which tosay, "O mother, she has told me," and as Susan sat holding out herarms, the adopted child threw herself on her knees, hiding her face onthat bosom where she had found comfort all her life, and where, heremotion at last finding full outlet, she sobbed without knowing why forsome moments, till she started nervously at the entrance of Richard,saying, "The Queen is asking for you both. But how now? Is all told?"

  "Ay," whispered his wife.

  "So! And why these tears? Tell me, my maid, was not she good to thee?Doth she seek to take thee into her own keeping?"

  "Oh no, sir, no," said Cis, still kneeling against the motherly kneeand struggling with her sobs. "No one is to guess. I am to be CicelyTalbot all the same, till better days come to her."

  "The safer and the happier for thee, child. Here are two honest heartsthat will not cast thee off, even if, as I suspect, yonder lady wouldfain be quit of thee."

  "Oh no!" burst from Cicely, then, shocked at having committed theoffence of interrupting him, she added, "Dear sir, I crave your pardon,but, indeed, she is all fondness and love."

  "Then what means this passion?" he asked, looking from one to the other.

  "It means only that the child's senses and spirits are overcome," saidSusan, "and that she scarce knows how to take this discovery. Is it notso, sweetheart?"

  "Oh, sweet mother, yes in sooth. You will ever be mother to me indeed!"

  "Well said, little maid!" said Richard. "Thou mightest search theworld over and never hap upon such another."

  "But she oweth duty to the true mother," said Susan, with her hand onthe girl's neck.

  "We wot well of that," answered her husband, "and I trow the first isto be secret."

  "Yea, sir," said Cis, recovering herself, "none save the very few whotended her, the Queen at Lochleven, know who I verily am. Such as wereaware of the babe being put on board ship at Dunbar, thought me thedaughter of a Scottish archer, a Hepburn, and she, the Queen my mother,would, have me pass as such to those who needs must know I am notmyself."

  "Trust her for making a double web when a single one would do,"muttered Richard, but so that the girl could not hear.

  "There is no need for any to know at present," said Susan hastily,moved perhaps by the same dislike to deception; "but ah, there's thatfortune-telling woman."

  Cis, proud of her secret information, here explained that Tibbott wasindeed Cuthbert Langston, but not the person whose password was "beadsand bracelets," and that both alike could know no more than the storyof the Scottish archer and his young wife, but they were hereinterrupted by the appearance of Diccon, who had been sent by my Lordhimself to hasten them at the instance of the Queen. Master Richardsent the boy on with his mother, saying he would wait and bring Cis, asshe had still to compose her hair and coif, which had become somewhatdisordered.

  "My maiden," he said, gravely, "I have somewhat to say unto thee. Thouart in a stranger case than any woman of thy years between the fourseas; nay, it may be in Christendom. It is woeful hard for thee not tobe a traitor through mere lapse of tongue to thine own mother, or elseto thy Queen. So I tell thee this once for all. See as little, hearas little, and, above all, say as little as thou canst."

  "Not to mother?" asked Cis.

  "No, not to her, above all not to me, and, my girl, pray God daily tokeep thee true and loyal, and guard thee and the rest of us fromsnares. Now have with thee. We may tarry no longer!"

  All went as usual for the rest of the day, so that the last night waslike a dream, until it became plain that Cicely was again to share theroyal apartment.

  "Ah, I have thirsted for this hour!" said Mary, holding out her armsand drawing her daughter to her bosom. "Thou art a canny lassie, mineain wee thing. None could have guessed from thy bearing that there wasaught betwixt us."

  "In sooth, madam," said the girl, "it seems that I am two maidens inone--Cis Talbot by day, and Bride of Scotland by night."

  "That is well! Be all Cis Talbot by day. When there is need todissemble, believe in
thine own feigning. 'Tis for want of that artthat these clumsy Southrons make themselves but a laughing-stockwhenever they have a secret."

  Cis did not understand the maxim, and submitted in silence to somecaresses before she said, "My father will give your Grace the tokenswhen we return."

  "Thy father, child?"

  "I crave your pardon, madam, it comes too trippingly to my tongue thusto term Master Talbot."

  "So much the better. Thy tongue must not lose the trick. I did butfeel a moment's fear lest thou hadst not been guarded enough withyonder sailor man, and had let him infer over much."

  "O, surely, madam, you never meant me to withhold the truth from fatherand mother," cried Cis, in astonishment and dismay.

  "Tush! silly maid!" said the Queen, really angered. "Father andmother, forsooth! Now shall we have a fresh coil! I should have knownbetter than to have trusted thy word."

  "Never would I have given my word to deceive them," cried Cis, hotly.

  "Lassie!" exclaimed Jean Kennedy, "ye forget to whom ye speak."

  "Nay," said Mary, recovering herself, or rather seeing how best topunish, "'tis the poor bairn who will be the sufferer. Our statecannot be worse than it is already, save that I shall lose herpresence, but it pities me to think of her."

  "The secret is safe with them," repeated Cis. "O madam, none are to betrusted like them."

  "Tell me not," said the Queen. "The sailor's blundering loyalty willnot suffer him to hold his tongue. I would lay my two lost crowns thathe is down on his honest knees before my Lord craving pardon for havingunwittingly fostered one of the viper brood. Then, via! off goes apost--boots and spurs are no doubt already on--and by and by comesKnollys, or Garey, or Walsingham, to bear off the perilous maiden towalk in Queen Bess's train, and have her ears boxed when her Majesty isout of humour, or when she gets weary of dressing St. Katherine's hair,and weds the man of her choice, she begins to taste of prison walls,and is a captive for the rest of her days."

  Cis was reduced to tears, and assurances that if the Queen would onlybroach the subject to Master Richard, she would perceive that heregarded as sacred, secrets that were not his own; and to show that hemeant no betrayal, she repeated his advice as to seeing, hearing, andsaying as little as possible.

  "Wholesome counsel!" said Mary. "Cheer thee, lassie mine, I willcredit whatever thou wilt of this foster-father of thine until I see itdisproved; and for the good lady his wife, she hath more inward, ifless outward, grace than any dame of the mastiff brood which guards ourprison court! I should have warned thee that they were not exceptedfrom those who may deem thee my poor Mary's child."

  Cicely did not bethink herself that, in point of fact, she had notcommunicated her royal birth to her adopted parents, but that it hadbeen assumed between them, as, indeed, they had not mentioned theirprevious knowledge. Mary presently proceeded--"After all, we may nothave to lay too heavy a burden on their discretion. Better days arecoming. One day shall our faithful lieges open the way to freedom androyalty, and thou shalt have whatever boon thou wouldst ask, even wereit pardon for my Lady Shrewsbury."

  "There is one question I would fain ask, Madam mother: Doth my realfather yet live? The Earl of--"

  Jean Kennedy made a sound of indignant warning and consternation,cutting her short in dismay; but the Queen gripped her hand tightly forsome moments, and then said: "'Tis not a thing to speir of me, child,of me, the most woefully deceived and forlorn of ladies. Never have Iseen nor heard from him since the parting at Carbery Hill, when he leftme to bear the brunt! Folk say that he took ship for the north.Believe him dead, child. So were it best for us both; but never namehim to me more."

  Jean Kennedy knew, though the girl did not, what these words conveyed.If Bothwell no longer lived, there would be no need to declare themarriage null and void, and thus sacrifice his daughter's position; butsupposing him to be in existence, Mary had already shown herselfresolved to cancel the very irregular bonds which had united them,--amost easy matter for a member of her Church, since they had beenmarried by a Reformed minister, and Bothwell had a living wife at thetime. Of all this Cicely was absolutely ignorant, and was soon eagerlylistening as the Queen spoke of her hopes of speedy deliverance. "Myson, my Jamie, is working for me!" she said. "Nay, dost not ken what isin view for me?"

  "No, madam, my good father, Master Richard, I mean, never tells aughtthat he hears in my Lord's closet."

  "That is to assure me of his discretion, I trow! but this is no secret!No treason against our well-beloved cousin Bess! Oh no! But thybrother, mine ain lad-bairn, hath come to years of manhood, and hathshaken himself free of the fetters of Knox and Morton and Buchanan, andall their clamjamfrie. The Stewart lion hath been too strong for them.The puir laddie hath true men about him, at last,--the Master of Gray,as they call him, and Esme Stewart of Aubigny, a Scot polished as theFrench know how to brighten Scottish steel. Nor will the lad bide thathis mother should pine longer in durance. He yearns for her, and hathwrit to her and to Elizabeth offering her a share in his throne. Poorladdie, what would be outrecuidance in another is but duteousness inhim. What will he say when we bring him a sister as well as a mother?They tell me that he is an unco scholar, but uncouth in his speech andmanners, and how should it be otherwise with no woman near him save myold Lady Mar? We shall have to take him in hand to teach him faircourtesy."

  "Sure he will be an old pupil!" said Cis, "if he be more than two yearsmy elder."

  "Never fear, if we can find a winsome young bride for him, trustmother, wife, and sister for moulding him to kingly bearing. We willmake our home in Stirling or Linlithgow, we two, and leave Holyrood tohim. I have seen too much there ever to thole the sight of thosechambers, far less of the High Street of Edinburgh; but Stirling,bonnie Stirling, ay, I would fain ride a hawking there once more.Methinks a Highland breeze would put life and youth into me again.There's a little chamber opening into mine, where I will bestow thee,my Lady Bride of Scotland, for so long as I may keep thee. Ah! it willnot be for long. They will be seeking thee, my brave courtly faithfulkindred of Lorraine, and Scottish nobles and English lords will vie forthis little hand of thine, where courses the royal blood of bothrealms."

  "So please you, madam, my mother--"

  "Eh? What is it? Who is it? I deemed that yonder honourable dame hadkept thee from all the frolics and foibles of the poor old profession.Fear not to tell me, little one. Remember thine own mother hath aheart for such matters. I guess already. C'etait un beau garcon, cepauvre Antoine."

  "Oh no, madam," exclaimed Cicely. "When the sailor Goatley disclosedthat I was no child of my father's, of Master Richard I mean, and was anameless creature belonging to no one, Humfrey Talbot stood forth andpledged himself to wed me so soon as we were old enough."

  "And what said the squire and dame?"

  "That I should then be indeed their daughter."

  "And hath the contract gone no farther?"

  "No, madam. He hath been to the North with Captain Frobisher, andsince that to the Western Main, and we look for his return even now."

  "How long is it since this pledge, as thou callest it, was given?"

  "Five years next Lammas tide, madam."

  "Was it by ring or token?"

  "No, madam. Our mother said we were too young, but Humfrey meant itwith all his heart."

  "Humfrey! That was the urchin who must needs traverse thecorrespondence through the seeming Tibbott, and so got Antony removedfrom about us. A stout lubberly Yorkshire lad, fed on beef andpudding, a true Talbot, a mere English bull-dog who will have lost allthe little breeding he had, while committing spulzie and piracy at seaon his Catholic Majesty's ships. Bah, mon enfant, I am glad of it.Had he been a graceful young courtly page like the poor Antony, itmight have been a little difficult, but a great English carle likethat, whom thou hast not seen for five years--" She made a gesture withher graceful hands as if casting away a piece of thistledown.

  "Humfrey is my very good--my very g
ood brother, madam," cried Cicely,casting about for words to defend him, and not seizing the mostappropriate.

  "Brother, quotha? Yea, and as good brother he shall be to thee, andwelcome, so long as thou art Cis Talbot by day--but no more, child.Princesses mate not with Yorkshire esquires. When the Lady Bride takesher place in the halls of her forefathers, she will be the property ofScotland, and her hand will be sought by princes. Ah, lassie! let itnot grieve thee. One thing thy mother can tell thee from her ownexperience. There is more bliss in mating with our equals, by thechoice of others, than in following our own wild will. Thou gazest atme in wonder, but verily my happy days were with my gentle youngking--and so will thine be, I pray the saints happier and more enduringthan ever were mine. Nothing has ever lasted with me but captivity, Olibera me."

  And in the murmured repetition the mother fell asleep, and thedaughter, who had slumbered little the night before, could not butlikewise drop into the world of soothing oblivion, though with a dullfeeling of aching and yearning towards the friendly kindly Humfrey, yetwith a certain exultation in the fate that seemed to be carrying her oninevitably beyond his reach.