"Sir Walter, thou hast been recommended to me as one of my only too few faithful friends." As I glanced hastily in Hazel's direction, her Majesty smiled as though she had read my heart. "I wish thee to be the bearer of a letter unto my brother, Lord Rivers, which now resides at Ludlow Castle. This business concerns my son, your King, and is therefore of great importance. I shall have the packet ready to-morrow morning; so thou wilt not have much time for thine adieux." And again she glanced at Hazel, and then at me, smiling the while, with that sweet smile which could have sent me through fire and water to serve this most excellent, and yet unfortunate, Queen.
"I shall be ready and waiting for thine instructions, Madam," I replied, as I bowed myself from the room.
Hazel followed me into the next apartment, with an anxious look upon her dear face. "Is thine arm yet healed enough for thee to make this journey, Walter dear?" she asked. "I had forgot thy wound, until I saw thee try to open the door, just now. I was so proud to have thee chosen as the Queen's messenger, when there are so many upon whom she hath conferred favours, and yet which she doth not trust, that I thought not of thy wound. Had I not better tell the Queen, and have her choose another?"
"Not for the world, my dear. It is too great an honour to fling to one side on account of a scratch, when one is chosen from so many which are more worthy of her trust. Besides, my wound is almost well." This latter was not in strict conformity with the scripture, which commands us to speak the truth; but it was necessary for me to keep her from saying anything to the Queen that might put a stop to my going.
I hastened to my rooms and instructed my servant to have everything in readiness for my journey in the morning. Then I went in search of Sir Frederick. I found him in his room, seated near the window, and poring over a volume of Virgil.
"Well, well!" cried I, "a pretty occupation for a soldier. For the love of Heaven leave such matters to the priests. I had too much of that ere I did buckle on the sword."
"My dear Bradley," he replied, "one can never have too much of such material.
"Do but listen:—
"'Jamaque ibat dicto pareus et dona Cupido
Regia portabat Tyrüs, duce laetus Achate!'"
"Stop, stop! if thou dost have any love or respect for me!" I cried. "If thou goest on with that I shall surely die. The only Latin line that I do consider worth remembering was writ by one of those great pagans, and goeth somewhat in this manner:—'Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.' That," I continued, "is a line for every soldier to remember.