e had been made up, and Mistress Talbot was presiding over the
womenfolk of her household and their tasks with needle and distaff. She
had laid hands on her unwilling son Edward to show his father how well
he could read the piece de resistance of the family, Fabyan's
Chronicle; and the boy, with an elbow firmly planted on either side of
the great folio, was floundering through the miseries of King Stephen's
time; while Mr. Talbot, after smoothing the head of his largest hound
for some minutes, had leant back in his chair and dropped asleep.
Cicely's hand tardily drew out her thread, her spindle scarcely
balanced itself on the floor, and her maiden meditation was in an
inactive sort of way occupied with the sense of dulness after the
summer excitements, and wonder whether her greatness were all a dream,
and anything would happen to recall her once more to be a princess.
The kitten at her feet took the spindle for a lazily moving creature,
and thought herself fascinating it, so she stared hard, with only an
occasional whisk of the end of her striped tail; and Mistress Susan was
only kept awake by her anxiety to adapt Diccon's last year's jerkin to
Ned's use.

Suddenly the dogs outside bayed, the dogs inside pricked their ears,
Ned joyfully halted, his father uttered the unconscious falsehood, "I'm
not asleep, lad, go on," then woke up as horses' feet were heard; Ned
dashed out into the porch, and was in time to hold the horse of one of
the two gentlemen, who, with cloaks over their heads, had ridden up to
the door. He helped them off with their cloaks in the porch,
exchanging greetings with William Cavendish and Antony Babington.

"Will Mrs. Talbot pardon our riding-boots?" said the former. "We have
only come down from the Manor-house, and we rode mostly on the grass."

Their excuses were accepted, though Susan had rather Master William had
brought any other companion. However, on such an afternoon, almost any
variety was welcome, especially to the younger folk, and room was made
for them in the circle, and according to the hospitality of the time, a
cup of canary fetched for each to warm him after the ride, while
another was brought to the master of the house to pledge them in--a
relic of the barbarous ages, when such a security was needed that the
beverage was not poisoned.

Will Cavendish then explained that a post had come that morning to his
stepfather from Wingfield, having been joined on the way by Babington