The groom was about to take his place on the side of the pillion nearest the horse's head, when he remembered he had forgotten to fill the powder flask, for no horseman ever ventured on the Queen's highway without abundant supply for the musket, which lay across the saddle bow.
The delay caused by this gave Mr Sidney time to say,—
'Heaven grant you may find Mistress Gifford in better case than we fear. You do well to go to her, and comfort her; commend me to her, and say Humphrey Ratcliffe has my freely-given permission to scour the country to find her lost boy. He will do so if he is to be found, and it will be a double grace if he does, for we may be able to unearth some of these foxy Jesuits who are lying in wait in every hole and corner.'
Then, as Lucy did not speak, Philip laid his hand gently on hers as he leaned against the horse, with one arm caressing his old favourite's neck.
'Smile on me before you set off, Mistress Lucy, nor look so doleful. The clouds will clear away, I doubt not, and you will return to my sister, the Countess, to be blythe and happy in learning all Mistress Crawley would fain teach you of handicraft, and still more, all my sister can instruct you in, for she is ever ready to give out the treasures which she has stored up in her brain and heart.'
And now the groom appeared, and mounted to his place, and still Lucy could not find any words.
'God speed you in your journey,' was Philip's good-bye, and Lucy could only murmur a few half-inaudible words, as she looked down on the true knight who filled her girlish dreams, and to whom there never was, and never could be, any rival.
And as the steady-going Prince footed it with even steps over the stones, and trotted along the somewhat rugged roads on the way to Tunbridge, Lucy tormented herself with her folly in never telling Mr Sidney in so many words how grateful she was to him.
'Fool that I was!' she thought. 'And he so tender and careful for my comfort. What a poor idiot I must have seemed! Yet, sure, I must find favour in his eyes, or he would not have wrapt the cloth so deftly round my feet. Oh, is he not noble and beautiful beyond all men who ever lived? I hear them say the Queen calls him "her Philip" and "her bright gem," and that he is the wisest statesman, and grandest poet and finest scholar of the age, and yet he is not too great to be good to me—little Lucy Forrester. And it may be I shall never see him again—never return to Lady Pembroke—live up on that hill all my days, and get as stupid and dull as the old brindled cow that stares with big, dull eyes straight before her, and sees nought, nor cares for nought but to chew her food.
'Alack! I am right sorry for Mary's grief. But I wish, if Ambrose was to be stolen, she had not fallen sick, so that I must needs go and tend her. I am a selfish hussy to feel this—selfish and hard-hearted! But, oh, was ever anyone more grievously disappointed than I am. A few short, bright days, and then back, back to the old, dreary life. Still, I am young; yes, and I am fair too. I know it, and I may yet be happy.'