uch as for hers.

The true parting took place ere the household was astir. Afterwards,
Mary, fully equipped for travelling, in a dark cloth riding-dress and
hood, came across to the great hall of the Manor-house, and there sat
while each one of the attendants filed in procession, as it were,
before her. To each lady she presented some small token wrought by her
own hands. To each gentleman she also gave some trinket, such as the
elaborate dress of the time permitted, and to each serving man or maid
a piece of money. Of each one she gravely but gently besought pardon
for all the displeasures or offences she might have caused them, and as
they replied, kissing her hand, many of them with tears, she returned a
kiss on the brow to each woman and an entreaty to be remembered in
their prayers, and a like request, with a pressure of the hand, to each
man or boy.

It must have been a tedious ceremony, and yet to every one it seemed as
if Mary put her whole heart into it, and to any to whom she owed
special thanks they were freely paid.

The whole was only over by an hour before noon. Then she partook of a
manchet and a cup of wine, drinking, with liquid eyes, to the health
and prosperity of her good host, and to the restoration of his family
peace, which she had so sorely, though unwittingly, disturbed.

Then she let him hand her out, once more kissing Susan Talbot and Cis,
who was weeping bitterly, and whispering to the latter, "Not over much
grief, ma petite; not more than may befit, ma mignonne."

Lord Shrewsbury lifted her on her horse, and, with him on one side and
Sir Ralf Sadler on the other, she rode down the long avenue on her way
to Wingfield.

The Bridgefield family had already made their arrangements, and their
horses were waiting for them amid the jubilations of Diccon and Ned.
The Queen had given each of them a fair jewel, with special thanks to
them for being good brothers to her dear Cis. "As if one wanted thanks
for being good to one's own sister," said Ned, thrusting the delicate
little ruby brooch on his mother to be taken care of till his days of
foppery should set in, and he would need it for cap and plume.

"Come, Cis, we are going home at last," said Diccon. "What! thou art
not breaking thine heart over yonder Scottish lady--when we are going
home, home, I say, and have got rid of watch and ward for ever?
Hurrah!" and he threw up his cap, and was joined in the shout by more
than one of the