an. You will conquer at last,
and come out of the fight a nobler man. The very beauty around us seems to
bid us rejoice to-day. Come, let us speak of happier themes. You will like
to see my little Will, and carry back good news of him to the Queen, whose
godson he is. Tell her she hath a brave knight in store in our little Will.
You scarce ever saw such tricks as he has, and is not yet one year old.'

Philip Sidney threw off his melancholy mood at his sister's bidding, and,
looking down at her, kissed her pure, fair forehead.

'Pembroke has reason to rejoice in possessing your love, Mary, and I doubt
not the boy is worthy of you, though he does not, or did not, when I saw
him, resemble you.'

'No, he is far handsomer; he has dark eyes and lashes; they lay curled upon
his fair cheeks, making the only shadow there. Will has not the
amber-coloured hair of us Sidneys.'

As this brother and sister stood together in the morning light under the
spreading boughs of the trees, they bore a striking similarity to each
other.

Theirs was not the mere beauty of form and feature, though that was in both
remarkable.

Intellectual power was seen in the wide, straight brow, and the light of
that inner fire we call genius shone in the eyes. It has been said by
contemporary records that Philip Sidney's beauty was too feminine in its
character; but, if in colouring of hair and complexion and delicate outline
of feature, this might be true; there was wonderful strength of purpose in
the mouth and upward curve of the chin which indicated resolution and
courage, and determination to conquer difficulties.

His sister's words were to come true, 'You will conquer at last, and come
out of the fight a nobler man.'

'We must turn homewards now. How long do you tarry here, Philip?'

'But two or three days. Shall we not journey to London in company with
Mary. This tournament needs much preparation; I did but snatch a few days
to speak on our father's affairs and to breathe freely for a short space,
and then I must return.'

Philip Sidney sighed.

'Nay, Philip, what hardship is there in being the favourite of the Queen,
save for the jealousy it may breed. Our good Uncle Leicester tells
marvellous tales of the manner in which the fair ladies of the Court are
ever ready to smile on you, to say nought of the Queen's own delight to
have you near her. She seems to have forgotten your former protest against
the Duke of Anjou, and to believe in