any should know it, not even my
father; but mother, mother, I could not help telling you. You will let
no one guess? I know it is unworthy, but--"

"Not unworthy to fear, my poor child, so long as thou dost not waver."

"It is, it is unworthy of my lineage. My mother queen would say so,"
cried Cis, drawing herself up.

"Giving way would be unworthy," said Susan, "but turn thou to thy God,
my child, and He will give thee strength to carry through whatever is
the duty of a faithful daughter towards this poor lady; and my husband,
thou sayest, holds that so it is?"

"Yea, madam; he craved license to take me home, since I have truly
often been ailing since those dreadful days at Tixall, and he hath
promised to go to London with me."

"And is this to be done in thine own true name?" asked Susan, trembling
somewhat at the risk to her husband, as well as to the maiden.

"I trow that it is," said Cis, "but the matter is to be put into the
hands of M. de Chateauneuf, the French Ambassador. I have a letter
here," laying her hand on her bosom, "which, the Queen declares, will
thoroughly prove to him who I am, and if I go as under his protection,
none can do my father any harm."

Susan hoped so, but she trusted to understand all better from her
husband, though her heart failed her as much as, or even perhaps more
than, did that of poor little Cis. Master Richard had sped on before
their tardy conveyance, and had had time to give the heads of his
intelligence before they reached the Manor house, and when they were
conducted to my Lady's chamber, they saw him, by the light of a large
fire, standing before the Earl and Countess, cap in hand, much as a
groom or gamekeeper would now stand before his master and mistress.

The Earl, however, rose to receive the ladies; but the Countess, no
great observer of ceremony towards other people, whatever she might
exact from them towards herself, cried out, "Come hither, come hither,
Cicely Talbot, and tell me how it fares with the poor lady," and as the
maiden came forward in the dim light-- "Ha! What! Is't she?" she
cried, with a sudden start. "On my faith, what has she done to thee?
Thou art as like her as the foal to the mare."

This exclamation disconcerted the visitors, but luckily for them the
Earl laughed and declared that he could see no resemblance in Mistress
Cicely's dark brows to the arched ones of the Queen of Scots, to which
his wife replied testily, "Who said th