but somewhat vexed Cicely. "Indeed, madam mother," she said, "if I
must wed under my degree, I had rather it were Humfrey than Antony
Babington."

"I tell thee, simple child, thou shall wed neither. A woman does not
wed every man to whom she gives a smile and a nod. So long as thou
bear'st the name of this Talbot, he is a good watch-dog to hinder
Babington from winning thee: but if my Lady Countess choose to send the
swain here, favoured by her to pay his court to thee, why then, she
gives us the best chance we have had for many a long day of holding
intercourse with our friends without, and a hope of thee will bind him
the more closely."

"He is all yours, heart and soul, already, madam."

"I know it, child, but men are men, and no chains are so strong as can
be forged by a lady's lip and eye, if she do it cunningly. So said my
belle mere in France, and well do I believe it. Why, if one of the
sour-visaged reformers who haunt this place chanced to have a daughter
with sweetness enough to temper the acidity, the youth might be
throwing up his cap the next hour for Queen Bess and the Reformation,
unless we can tie him down with a silken cable while he is in the mind."

"Yea, madam, you who are beautiful and winsome, you can do such things,
I am homely and awkward."

"Mort de ma vie, child! the beauty of the best of us is in the man's
eyes who looks at us. 'Tis true, thou hast more of the Border lassie
than the princess. The likeness of some ewe-milking, cheese-making
sonsie Hepburn hath descended to thee, and hath been fostered by
country breeding. But thou hast by nature the turn of the neck, and
the tread that belong to our Lorraine blood, the blood of Charlemagne,
and now that I have thee altogether, see if I train thee not so as to
bring out the princess that is in thee; and so, good-night, my bairnie,
my sweet child; I shall sleep to-night, now that I have thy warm fresh
young cheek beside mine. Thou art life to me, my little one."

CHAPTER XXII.

TUTBURY

James VI. again cruelly tore his mother's heart and dashed her hopes by
an unfeeling letter, in which he declared her incapable of being
treated with, since she was a prisoner and deposed. The not
unreasonable expectation, that his manhood might reverse the
proceedings wrought in his name in his infancy, was frustrated. Mary
could no longer believe that he was constrained by a faction, but
perceived clearly that he merely considered he