ted her on to the horse in front of
me, and dashed, in the gathering night, through the forest roads.

Two days later, as the snow fell thick in the London streets, I stood
with the maiden at my master's door without Temple Bar. There were
crowds in the Strand, I remember, talking over some notable news which
had just come in; and so full was every one of the same, that we passed
unheeded, and not a man had time to recognise me or wonder who was my
companion. Even my master and mistress were abroad gossiping; so that,
to my vast relief, when I opened the door and walked in, there was
Jeannette to meet us and no one else.

"Thee art welcome, dear Humphrey," said she, coming forward; "and so is
this lady."

And she dropped a curtsey as she turned to my companion. But seeing her
pale face and sad looks, she went to her and, taking her hand, kissed
her on the cheek. I think that sisterly welcome put new life into the
maiden, for the colour came again to her face, and a smile to her lips,
as she said--

"We are not strangers, sweet Jeannette. It does me good to see thee
now."

And somehow I was overlooked in the talk that ensued betwixt those two,
and so left them and went out to the street to hear what this great news
might be.

It was indeed great news. Yesterday, in the early morning, the Scotch
Queen had paid the penalty of her grievous treasons, and had been
beheaded at Fotheringay Castle. Men seemed half dazed by the news. To
many it had seemed that the dangers of which she was the author were to
trouble England's peace for ever; and now that, by a single blow, the
cloud had been lifted, some of us fetched a great sigh of relief and had
time to pity the fate of the fair woman, whose name we had so lately
hated. So there was not much shouting or burning of bonfires. But
every one felt something wonderful had happened, and rubbed their eyes,
like those awakened out of some long drawn nightmare.

When I returned my master and mistress were still abroad. Jeannette, I
found, had carried the maiden to her own bed, and having left her there
to rest--and indeed she needed it, for we had travelled hard two days by
long and tiresome roads--awaited me with a grave face.

"All this is passing strange," said she, "and I love this maiden. But,
my Humphrey, I have sad news to tell you since you left. Twas the
evening of the very day you went; as I was helping the father draw his
charges, there came suddenly int