he prisoner had been entirely due to the
slanders and deceits of her own daughter Mary, and her husband Gilbert,
with whom she was at this time on the worst of terms. And thus she
laid on them the blame of the Queen's death (if that was really
decreed), but though she outwardly blamed every creature save herself,
such agony of mind, and even terror, proved that in very truth there
must have been the conviction at the bottom of her heart that it was
her own fault.

The Earl had beckoned away Master Richard, both glad to escape; but
Cicely had to remain, and filled with compassion for one whom she had
always regarded previously as an enemy, she could not help saying,
"Dear madam, take comfort; I am going to bear a petition to the Queen's
Majesty from the captive lady, and if she will hear me all will yet be
well."

"How! What? How! Thou little moppet! Knows she what she says, Susan
Talbot?"

Susan made answer that she had had time to hear no particulars yet, but
that Cicely averred that she was going with her father's consent,
whereupon Richard was immediately summoned back to explain.

The Earl and Countess could hardly believe that he should have
consented that his daughter should be thus employed, and he had to
excuse himself with what he could not help feeling were only half
truths.

"The poor lady," he said, "is denied all power of sending word or
letter to the Queen save through those whom she views as her enemies,
and therefore she longed earnestly either to see her Majesty, or to
hold communication with her through one whom she knoweth to be both
simple and her own friend."

"Yea," said the Countess, "I could well have done this for her could I
but have had speech with her. Or she might have sent Bess Pierrepoint,
who surely would have been a more fitting messenger."

"Save that she hath not had access to the Queen of Scots of late," said
Richard.

"Yea, and her father would scarcely be willing to risk the Queen's
displeasure," said the Earl.

"Art thou ready to abide it, Master Richard?" said the Countess,
"though after all it could do you little harm." And her tone marked
the infinite distance she placed between him and Sir Henry Pierrepoint,
the husband of her daughter.

"That is true, madam," said Richard, "and moreover, I cannot reconcile
it to my conscience to debar the poor lady from any possible opening of
safety."

"Thou art a good man, Richard," said the Earl, and therewith both he