“I ensure you ’tis said in the Court that his grief for the beheading of the Scots Queen is but a blind, (Note 4) and that these two years gone and more hath King Philip been making ready his galleons for to invade the Queen’s Majesty’s dominions. And now they say that we may look for his setting forth this next year. Sir Francis Drake is gone by Her Highness’ command to the Spanish main, there to keep watch and bring word; and he saith he will singe the Don’s whiskers ere he turn again. Yet he may come, for all belike.”
The singeing of the Don’s whiskers was effected soon after, by the burning of a hundred ships of war in the harbour of Cadiz.
“Why, not a man in England but would turn out to defend the Queen and country!” exclaimed Sir Thomas.
“Here is one that so will, Sir, by your leave,” said another voice.
We may peep behind the green curtain, though Barbara did not. That elegant young man with such finished manners—surely he can never be our old and irrepressible friend Jack? Ay, Jack and no other; more courtly, but as irrepressible as ever.
“We’ll be ready for him!” said Sir Thomas grimly.
“Amen!” was Jack’s contribution, precisely in the treble tones of the parish clerk. The imitation was so perfect that even the grave Lord Strange could not suppress a smile.
“Shall I get thee a company, Jack Enville?”
“Pray do so, my good Lord. I thank your Lordship heartily.”
“Arthur Tremayne is set on going, if it come to hot water—as seemeth like enough.”