whose summer length made them seem the more endless.
Cicely, who had never before in her life been shut up in the house so
many hours, was pale, listless, and even fretful towards the Queen, who
bore with her petulance so tenderly as more than once to make her weep
bitterly for very shame. After one of these fits of tears, Mary
pleaded earnestly with Sir Walter Ashton for permission for the maiden
to take a turn in the garden every day, but though the good gentleman's
complexion bore testimony that he lived in the fresh air, he did not
believe in its efficacy; he said he had no orders, and could do nothing
without warrant. But that evening at supper, the serving-maid brought
up a large brew of herbs, dark and nauseous, which Dame Ashton had sent
as good for the young lady's megrim.

"Will you taste it, sir?" asked the Queen of Sir Walter, with a revival
of her lively humour.

"The foul fiend have me if a drop comes within my lips," muttered the
knight. "I am not bound to taste for a tirewoman!" he added, leaving
it in doubt whether his objection arose from distaste to his lady's
messes, or from pride; and he presently said, perhaps half-ashamed of
himself, and willing to cast the blame on the other side,

"It was kindly meant of my good dame, and if you choose to flout at,
rather than benefit by it, that is no affair of mine."

He left the potion, and Cicely disposed of it by small instalments at
the windows; and a laugh over the evident horror it excited in the
master, did the captives at least as much good as the camomile,
centaury, wormwood, and other ingredients of the bowl.

Happily it was only two days later that Sir Walter announced that his
custody of the Queen was over, and Sir Amias Paulett was come for her.
There was little preparation to make, for the two ladies had worn their
riding-dresses all the time; but on reaching the great door, where Sir
Amias, attended by Humfrey, was awaiting them, they were astonished to
see a whole troop on horseback, all armed with head-pieces, swords and
pistols, to the number of a hundred and forty.

"Wherefore is this little army raised?" she asked.

"It is by order of the Queen," replied Ashton, with his accustomed
surly manner, "and need enough in the time of such treasons!"

The Queen turned to him with tears on her cheeks. "Good gentlemen,"
she said, "I am not witting of anything against the Queen. Am I to be
taken to the Tower?"

"No, madam, back to Chart