t day, it
being already late, according to the early habits of the time.

Cicely had been entirely carried along by her mother's pleading. Tears
had started as Queen Mary wept her indignant tears, and a glow had
risen in her cheeks at the accusation of Walsingham. Ever and anon she
looked to Humfrey's face for sympathy, but he sat gravely listening,
his two hands clasped over the hilt of his sword, and his chin resting
on them, as if to prevent a muscle of his face from moving. When they
rose up to leave the galleries, and there was the power to say a word,
she turned to him earnestly.

"A piteous sight," he said, "and a right gallant defence."

He did not mean it, but the words struck like lead on Cicely's heart,
for they did not amount to an acquittal before the tribunal of his
secret conviction, any more than did Walsingham's disavowal, for who
could tell what Mr. Secretary's conscience did think unbecoming to his
office?

Cicely found her mother on her couch giving a free course to her tears,
in the reaction after the strain and effort of her defence. Melville
and the Maries were assuring her that she had most bravely confuted her
enemies, and that she had only to hold on with equal courage to the
end. Mrs. Kennedy and Dr. Bourgoin came in to join in the same
encouragements, and the commendation evidently soothed her. "However it
may end," she said, "Mary of Scotland shall not go down to future ages
as a craven spirit. But let us not discuss it further, my dear
friends, my head aches, and I can bear no farther word at present."

Dr. Bourgoin made her take some food and then lie down to rest, while
in an outer room a lute was played and a low soft song was sung. She
had not slept all the previous night, but she fell asleep, holding the
hand of Cicely, who was on a cushion by her side. The girl, having
been likewise much disturbed, slept too, and only gradually awoke as
her mother was sitting up on her couch discussing the next day's
defence with Melville and Bourgoin.

"I fear me, madam, there is no holding to the profession of entire
ignorance," said Melville.

"They have no letters from Babington to me to show," said the Queen. "I
took care of _that_ by the help of this good bairn. I can defy them to
produce the originals out of all my ransacked cabinets."

"They have the copies both of them and of your Majesty's replies, and
Nan and Curll to verify them."

"What are copies worth, or what are dead