Cicely knelt down, the Queen bending over her, while she murmured in her ear, "He saw Cuthbert Langston, by a feigned name, admitted to Mr. Secretary Walsingham's privy chamber."
She felt the violent start this information caused, but the command of voice and countenance was perfect.
"What of that, mignonne?" she said. "What knoweth he of this Langston, as thou callest him?"
"He is my—no—his father's kinsman, madam, and is known to be but a plotter. Oh, surely, he is not in your secrets, madam, my mother, after that day at Tutbury?"
"Alack, my lassie, Gifford or Babington answered for him," said the Queen, "and he kens more than I could desire. But this Humfrey of thine! How came he to blunder out such tidings to thee?"
"It was no blunder, madam. He came here of purpose."
"Sure," exclaimed Mary, "it were too good to hope that he hath become well affected. He—a sailor of Drake's, a son of Master Richard! Hath Babington won him over; or is it for thy sake, child? For I bestowed no pains to cast smiles to him at Sheffield, even had he come in my way."
"I think, madam," said Cicely, "that he is too loyal-hearted to bear the sight of treachery without a word of warning."
"Is he so? Then he is the first of his nation who hath been of such a mind! Nay, mignonne, deny not thy conquest. This is thy work."
"I deny not that—that I am beloved by Humfrey," said Cicely, "for I have known it all my life; but that goes for naught in what he deems it right to do."