u in the morning, ere you depart," she said, as
with unwilling yet prompt steps she returned to the house, Humfrey
feeling that she was indeed his little Cis, yet that some change had
come over her, not so much altering her, as developing the capabilities
he had always seen.

For herself, poor child, her feelings were in a strange turmoil, more
than usually conscious of that dual existence which had tormented her
ever since she had been made aware of her true birth. Moreover, she
had a sense of impending danger and evil, and, by force of contrast,
the frank, open-hearted manner of Humfrey made her the more sensible of
being kept in the dark as to serious matters, while outwardly made a
pet and plaything by her mother, "just like Bijou," as she said to
herself.

"So, little one," said Queen Mary, as she returned, "thou hast been
revelling once more in tidings of Sheffield! How long will it take me
to polish away the dulness of thy clownish contact?"

"Humphrey does not come from home, madam, but from London. Madam, let
me tell you in your ear--"

Mary's eye instantly took the terrified alert expression which had come
from many a shock and alarm. "What is it, child?" she asked, however,
in a voice of affected merriment. "I wager it is that he has found his
true Cis. Nay, whisper it to me, if it touch thy silly little heart so
deeply."

Cicely knelt down, the Queen bending over her, while she murmured in
her ear, "He saw Cuthbert Langston, by a feigned name, admitted to Mr.
Secretary Walsingham's privy chamber."

She felt the violent start this information caused, but the command of
voice and countenance was perfect.

"What of that, mignonne?" she said. "What knoweth he of this Langston,
as thou callest him?"

"He is my--no--his father's kinsman, madam, and is known to be but a
plotter. Oh, surely, he is not in your secrets, madam, my mother,
after that day at Tutbury?"

"Alack, my lassie, Gifford or Babington answered for him," said the
Queen, "and he kens more than I could desire. But this Humfrey of
thine! How came he to blunder out such tidings to thee?"

"It was no blunder, madam. He came here of purpose."

"Sure," exclaimed Mary, "it were too good to hope that he hath become
well affected. He--a sailor of Drake's, a son of Master Richard! Hath
Babington won him over; or is it for thy sake, child? For I bestowed
no pains to cast smiles to him at Sheffield, even had he come in my
way."

"I