n granted him by the Queen as Governor of Flushing. How young he
looked as he sat erect on his noble horse, scanning his men, whose names
were called by his sergeant-at-arms as they answered one by one in deep,
sonorous tones to the roll call. Drawn up on either side of the court, it
was a goodly display of brave, stalwart followers, all faithful servants of
the house of Sidney, bearing their badge on their arm, and the boar and
porcupine on the helmets.

The Earl of Leicester was by his nephew's side, and his gentlemen and
esquires in attendance in brilliant array, for Robert, Earl of Leicester,
loved display, and nothing could be more gorgeous than the trappings of his
own horse, nor the dazzling armour which he wore.

In the background, under the main entrance of the house, Sir Henry Sidney
and Lady Mary stood with the Earl and Countess of Pembroke, and Dame
Frances Sidney, leaning on the arm of her father, Sir Francis Walsingham.
So fair and young she looked that all hearts went out in sympathy with her,
for she was very pale, and she was evidently trying to control herself, and
let her husband's last look be answered by smiles rather than tears.

Sir Philip had bidden his good-bye to those to whom he was so dear in
private, and there was a general determination amongst everyone to be brave
and repress any demonstration of sadness at the last moment. And indeed the
splendid military career opening before Sir Philip was a joy in the hearts
of many who loved him, which silenced any expression of grief at his loss
to themselves.

Humphrey Ratcliffe, in command of his men, presently left the ranks, and,
approaching Sir Philip, said,--

'We await the word of command to start, sir.'

Just at this moment the feeble cry of an infant was heard. And Sir Philip,
throwing the reins to his esquire, said to the Earl,--

'Your pardon, my lord, if I delay for one moment,' and then, with a quick,
springing step, Sir Philip returned to the entrance, where his little
daughter had just been brought by her nurse. 'Nay, then, my lady
Elizabeth,' he said, 'it would ill-beseem me to forget to bid you
farewell,' and, taking the child in his arms, he kissed her twice on the
little puckered forehead, saying, 'Go for comfort to your sweet mother,' as
he put her into his wife's arms, 'and God bring you both safe to me ere
long.'

In another moment he had again sprung on the saddle, and, with a last look
at the group collected under the