“’Tis true,” corroborated Francis. “He is no more at fault for the encounter than I, my lord. And he knew not that I was not a boy, until, thinking that my end was near, I told him. I know not why I felt so weak.”
“Thou didst swoon, child,” said Lord Shrope. “’Tis a matter that is of frequent occurrence among thy sex. Didst never experience it before?”
“Never,” replied Francis with a light laugh. Save for the sting and smart of the wound she was fully herself. “And I like it not. I’ faith, were I to have them often, there would be few sins of Francis Stafford’s that would be unknown.”
“Didst confess to Edward?” laughed Lord Shrope. “You two should be great friends anent this.”
“No;” said Francis. “I confessed that he killed the deer, and that its horns were justly his. I will not retract that, but still do I 165 count him mine enemy, even as his father and mine are at feud.”
“So be it,” said Edward Devereaux mournfully. “Thou canst not, maiden, hate me more than I loathe myself.”
“Come, Francis,” said Lord Shrope, “we must to my lady. We were filled with alarm when thou didst not come at the usual hour, and my lord and I have sought for thee everywhere. It was lucky chance that brought us this way. Child, child, I would that thy father had thee with him, or else were here. I would also that the queen were not so obdurate in her mind against thee. But she will not have thy name broached to her. Something lies underneath it all. Hadst thou been concerned in treasonous undertakings the matter would be plain. As it is—but why think of it? That wound of thine which to a man would be a mere scratch must with thee be looked to. Let us away.”
The inconvenience caused by the hurt was short, but, before the girl resumed her place among the pages, Lord Shrope again ventured to speak of her to the queen. 166
“My liege,” he said one morning when the queen had been particularly gracious to him, “I would that you would let me speak of Francis Stafford. There is somewhat——”
“Now a murrain on thee, Shrope, for mentioning that name,” cried Elizabeth her humor changing instantly. “We, too, have somewhat to say of Francis Stafford, but the time is not yet ripe. When it is, then will I hear what thou hast to say. Until then we would not be plagued with the matter. Hearest thou?”