'Then do not behave as a babe,' Mary said, 'but thank Master Humphrey for his patience and for sparing you the climb uphill. If you love me, Ambrose, be amenable and good.'
The appeal had its effect. The child sat quietly on his perch on Humphrey's broad shoulder, and soon forgot his vexation in watching the rapid evolutions of a hawk in chase of a flight of small birds, one of which at last was made its prey.
'See, see, mother; hark, that is the cry of the little bird, the hawk has got it.'
Mary Gifford stopped, and, looking up, saw the hawk in full swing, not many hundred yards distant, with the bird in its beak, fluttering and struggling in vain.
'Ah!' she said, with a shudder, 'the weak is ever the prey of the strong, Master Humphrey,' and then she stopped.
He looked down on her troubled face with intense sympathy.
'Master Humphrey, the Countess of Pembroke and Lady Mary said they would fain make my boy a page in attendance. Oh! I cannot, I dare not part with him, he is my all—my all.'
'Nor shall you part from him,' Humphrey said. 'No one could wish to force you to do so.'
'No one—no one; but if a trap were laid, if a net were spread, if a ruthless hawk pursues a defenceless bird, the end is gained at last!'
Humphrey could not follow her meaning, and he said,—