“Am I not a fair boy, my lord?” she cried gaily. “Do I not grace the garb?”
“By my halidom, thou dost in very truth,” exclaimed her father laughing. “But thy tresses? Should they not be clipped?”
“Nay, good my lord,” spoke Lady Stafford entreatingly. “Command not that, I pray 35 thee. Thou shalt see how cunningly my hand can knot them up with silken strings. It will not be amiss in a lad.”
“Leave them then, if thou wilt be the better contented,” said the father. “And now, child, if thou wilt but bring thy nimble wit into the part, thou shalt please me well. How say thee? Wilt thou bear me company upon a grave mission? Will thy courage fail, or canst thou, as if thou wert in very truth my son, aid me to compass that to which I am pledged? How now, girl? Hast courage for such an undertaking?”
“My father, what mean you?” asked Francis in bewilderment.
“Take heed to my words. There is on foot a movement to release from her vile durance Mary, Queen of Scots. Too long hath she lain imprisoned. I am to carry to her letters of import that inform her of the design. But Mary is so immured, that heretofore it hath been impossible to gain access to her. A lad would serve the purpose, but there be none known to me of like courage and wit as thyself. Girl, canst thou wear that garb and bear thyself as a man?” 36
“Ay, my lord; and to do more if needful,” spoke Francis boldly.
“There spoke myself in you,” said her father approvingly. “Then hearken! at the first sign of the dawn we set forth, thou and I, for Chartley. How now, sweet chuck?” as a sob escaped the mother. “Fear naught. Thy birdling will return to thee the better for having stretched her wings beyond the nest.”
“I fear, my lord, for you both,” said the lady brokenly. “You know how all these attempts have ended, and Elizabeth hath no mercy for the perpetrators of them.”
“Now, now, be of good cheer. There is naught of harm meant to the queen. ’Tis only to give Mary freedom. Think only of thy daughter. Not many mothers in England can boast of such a girl.”