ave herself to the description of the peaceful cloister life,
reviewing in turn the nunneries she had heard described, and talking
over their rules. There would indeed be as little liberty as here, but
she would live in the midst of prayer and praise, and be at rest from
the plots and plans, the hopes and fears, of her long captivity, and be
at leisure for penitence. "For, ah! my child, guiltless though I be of
much that is laid to my charge, thy mother is a sinful woman, all
unworthy of what her brave and innocent daughter has dared and done for
her."

Almost equally precious with that mother's greeting was the grave
congratulating look of approval which Cicely met in Humfrey's eyes when
he had heard all from his father. He could exult in her, even while he
thought sadly of the future which she had so bravely risked, watching
over her from a distance in his silent, self-restrained, unselfish
devotion.

The Queen's coldness towards Humfrey had meantime diminished daily,
though he could not guess whether she really viewed his course as the
right one, or whether she forgave this as well as all other injuries in
the calm gentle state into which she had come, not greatly moved by
hope or fear, content alike to live or die.

Richard, in much anxiety, was to remain another day or two at
Fotheringhay, on the plea of his wearied horses and of the Sunday rest.

Meantime Mary diligently wrote the conditions, but perhaps more to
satisfy her daughter than with much hope of their acceptance.

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE WARRANT

"Yea, madam, they are gone! They stole away at once, and are far on
the way to Fotheringhay, with these same conditions." So spoke
Davison, under-secretary, Walsingham being still indisposed.

"And therefore will I see whether the Queen of Scots will ratify them,
ere I go farther in the matter," returned Elizabeth.

"She will ratify them without question," said the Secretary,
ironically, "seeing that to escape into the hands of one of your
Majesty's enemies is just what she desires."

"She leaves her daughter as a pledge."

"Yea, a piece of tinsel to delude your Majesty."

Elizabeth swore an oath that there was truth in every word and gesture
of the maiden.

"The poor wench may believe all she said herself," said Davison. "Nay,
she is as much deluded as the rest, and so is that honest, dull-pated
sailor, Talbot. If your Majesty will permit me to call in a fellow I
have here, I can make