“What is all this, Mr. Norris?”
Anthony looked for a moment and saw the Queen’s eyes fixed on him; but he said nothing, and looked down again.
“Stand up,” said the Queen, not unkindly, “and walk with me.”
Anthony stood up at once, and heard the stiff rustle of her dress and the tap of her heels and stick on the polished boards as she came towards him. Then he turned with her down the long gallery.
Until this moment, ever since he had heard that he was to see the Queen, he had felt nervous and miserable; but now this had left him, and he felt at his ease. To be received in this way, in privacy, and to accompany her up and down the gallery as she took her afternoon exercise was less embarrassing than the formal interview he had expected. The two walked the whole length of the gallery without a word, and it was not until they turned and faced the end that looked on to the Tilt-yard that the Queen spoke; and her voice was almost tender.
“I understand that you were with Minnie Corbet when she died,” she said.
“She died for me, your Grace,” said Anthony.
The Queen looked at him sharply.
“Tell me the tale,” she said.
And Anthony told her the whole story of the escape and the ride; speaking too for his friend, Mr. Buxton, and of Mary’s affection for him.