clasped her hands, while a rapt expression came upon her countenance.

Her chief desire seemed to be that neither Cicely nor her foster-father
should run into danger on her account, and she much regretted that she
had not been able to impress upon Humfrey messages to that effect
before he wrote in answer to his father, sending his letter by
Cavendish.

"Thou wilt not write again?" she asked.

"I doubt its being safe," said Humfrey. "I durst not speak openly even
in the scroll I sent yesterday."

Then Mary recurred to the power which he possessed of visiting Sir
Andrew Melville and the Almoner, the Abbe de Preaux, who were shut up
in the Fetterlock tower and court, and requested him to take a billet
which she had written to the latter. The request came like a blow to
the young man. "With permission--" he began.

"I tell thee," said Mary, "this concerns naught but mine own soul. It
is nothing to the State, but all and everything to me, a dying woman."

"Ah, madam! Let me but obtain consent."

"What! go to Paulett that he may have occasion to blaspheme my faith
and insult me!" said the Queen, offended.

"I should go to Sir Drew Drury, who is of another mould," said Humfrey--

"But who dares not lift a finger to cross his fellow," said Mary,
leaning back resignedly.

"And this is the young gentleman's love for your Grace!" exclaimed Jean
Kennedy.

"Nay, madam," said Humfrey, stung to the quick, "but I am sworn!"

"Let him alone, Nurse Jeanie!" said Mary. "He is like the rest of the
English. They know not how to distinguish between the spirit and the
letter! I understand it all, though I had thought for a moment that in
him there was a love for me and mine that would perceive that I could
ask nothing that could damage his honour or his good faith. I--who had
almost a mother's love and trust in him."

"Madam," cried Humfrey, "you know I would lay down my life for you, but
I cannot break my trust."

"Your trust, fule laddie!" exclaimed Mrs. Kennedy. "Ane wad think the
Queen speired of ye to carry a letter to Mendoza to burn and slay,
instead of a bit scart of the pen to ask the good father for his
prayers, or the like! But you are all alike; ye will not stir a hand
to aid her poor soul."

"Pardon me, madam," entreated Humfrey. "The matter is, not what the
letter may bear, but how my oath binds me! I may not be the bearer of
aught in writing from this chamber. 'Twas the very reason I would not
bri