"Madam," said she, in her soft Scotch voice, lowered considerably, but not whispering, and with her keen eyes fixed on Susan-"Madam, what garred ye gie your bit lassie yonder marks? Ye need not fear, that draught of Maister Gorion's will keep her sleeping fast for a good hour or two longer, and it behoves me to ken how she cam by yonder brands."
"She had them when she came to us," said Susan.
"Ye'll no persuade me that they are birth marks," returned Mistress Jean. "Such a thing would be a miracle in a loyal Scottish Catholic's wean, let alone an English heretic's."
"No," said Susan, who had in fact only made the answer to give herself time to think whether it were possible to summon her husband. "They never seemed to me birth marks."
"Woman," said Jean Kennedy, laying a strong, though soft hand, on her wrist, "this is not gear for trifling. Is the lass your ain bairn? Ha! I always thought she had mair of the kindly Scot than of the Southron about her. Hech! so they made the puir wean captive! Wha gave her till you to keep? Your lord, I trow."
"The Lord of heaven and earth," replied Susan. "My husband took her, the only living thing left on a wreck off the Spurn Head."
"Hech, sirs!" exclaimed Mrs. Kennedy, evidently much struck, but still exercising great self-command. "And when fell this out?"
"Two days after Low Sunday, in the year of grace 1568," returned Susan.
"My halidome!" again ejaculated Jean, in a low voice, crossing herself. "And what became of honest Ailie-I mean," catching herself up, "what befell those that went with her?"
"Not one lived," said Susan, gravely. "The mate of my husband's ship took the little one from the arms of her nurse, who seemed to have been left alone with her by the crew, lashed to the wreck, and to have had her life freshly beaten out by the winds and waves, for she was still warm. I was then lying at Hull, and they brought the babe to me, while there was still time to save her life, with God's blessing."
"And the vessel?" asked Jean.
"My husband held it to be the Bride of Dunbar, plying between that port and Harfleur."
"Ay! ay! Blessed St. Bride!" muttered Jean Kennedy, with an awe- stricken look; then, collecting herself, she added, "Were there no tokens, save these, about the little one, by which she could be known?"
"There was a gold chain with a cross, and what you call a reliquary about her little neck, and a scroll written in cipher among her swaddling bands; but they are laid up at home, at Bridgefield."
It was a perplexing situation for this simple-hearted and truthful woman, and, on the other hand, Jean Kennedy was no less devoted and loyal in her own line, a good and conscientious woman, but shrewder, and, by nature and breeding, far less scrupulous as to absolute truth.
The one idea that Susan, in her confusion, could keep hold of was that any admission of knowledge as to who her Cis really was, would be a betrayal of her husband's secret; and on the other hand she saw that Mrs. Kennedy, though most keen to discover everything, and no doubt convinced that the maiden was her Queen's child, was bent on not disclosing that fact to the foster-mother.
She asked anxiously whether Mistress Cicely knew of her being only an adopted child, and Susan replied that they had intended that she never should learn that she was of alien birth; but that it had been revealed by the old sailor who had brought her on board the Mastiff, though no one had heard him save young Humfrey and the girl herself, and they had been, so far as she knew, perfectly reserved on the subject.
Jean Kennedy then inquired how the name of Cicely had been given, and whether the child had been so baptized by Protestant rites.
"Wot you who the maid may be, madam?" Susan took courage to ask; but the Scotswoman would not be disconcerted, and replied,
"How suld I ken without a sight of the tokens? Gin I had them, maybe I might give a guess, but there was mony a leal Scot sairly bestead, wife and wean and all, in her Majesty's cause that wearie spring."
Here Cis stirred in her sleep, and both women were at her side in a moment, but she did not wake.
Jean Kennedy stood gazing at the girl with eagerness that she did not attempt to conceal, studying each feature in detail; but Cis showed in her sleep very little of her royal lineage, which betrayed itself far more in her gait and bearing than in her features. Susan could not help demanding of the nurse whether she saw any resemblance that could show the maiden's parentage.
The old lady gave a kind of Scotch guttural sound expressive of disappointment, and said, "I'll no say but I've seen the like beetle- broo. But we'll waken the bairn with our clavers. I'll away the noo. Maister Gorion will see her again ere night, but it were ill to break her sleep, the puir lassie!"
Nevertheless, she could not resist bending over and kissing the sleeper, so gently that there was no movement. Then she left the room, and Susan stood with clasped hands.
"My child! my child! Oh, is it coming on thee? Wilt thou be taken from me! Oh, and to what a fate! And to what hands! They will never never love thee as we have done! O God, protect her, and be her Father."
And Susan knelt by the bed in such a paroxysm of grief that her husband, coming in unshod that he might not disturb the girl, apprehended that she had become seriously worse.
However, his entrance awoke her, and she found herself much better, and was inclined to talk, so he sat down on a chest by the bed, and related what Diccon had told him of the reappearance of the woman with the basket of spar trinkets.
"Beads and bracelets," said Cicely.
"Ay?" said he. "What knowest thou of them?"
"Only that she spake the words so often; and the Queen, just ere that doctor began his speech, asked of me whether she did not sell beads and bracelets."
"'Tis a password, no doubt, and we must be on our guard," said Richard, while his wife demanded with whom Diccon had seen her speaking.
"With Gorion," returned he. "That was what made the lad suspect something, knowing that the chirurgeon can barely speak three sentences in any tongue but his own, and those are in their barbarous Scotch. I took the boy with me and inquired here, there, and everywhere this afternoon, but could find no one who had ever seen or heard of any one like her."
"Tell me, Cis," exclaimed Susan, with a sudden conviction, "was she like in any fashion to Tibbott the huckster-woman who brought young Babington into trouble three years agone?"
"Women's heads all run on one notion," said Richard. "Can there be no secret agents save poor Cuthbert, whom I believe to be beyond seas?"
"Nay, but hear what saith the child?" asked Susan.
"This woman was not nearly so old as Tibbott," said Cis, "nor did she walk with a staff, nor had she those grizzled black brows that were wont to frighten me."
"But was she tall?" asked Susan.
"Oh yes, mother. She was very tall-she came after Diccon and me with long strides-yet it could never have been Tibbott!"
Susan had reasons for thinking otherwise, but she could not pursue the subject at that time, as she had to go down to supper with her husband, and privacy was impossible. Even at night, nobody enjoyed extensive quarters, and but for Cicely's accident she would have slept with Dyot, the tirewoman, who had arrived with the baggage, which included a pallet bed for them. However, the young lady had been carried to a chamber intended for one of Queen Mary's suite; and there it was decreed that she should remain for the night, the mother sleeping with her, while the father and son betook themselves to the room previously allotted to the family. Only on the excuse of going to take out her husband's gear from the mails was Susan able to secure a few words with him, and then by ordering out Diccon, Dyot, and the serving-man. Then she could succeed in saying, "Mine husband, all will soon out-Mistress Kennedy and Master Gorion have seen the brands on the child's shoulders. It is my belief that she of the 'beads and bracelets' bade the chirurgeon look for them. Else, why should he have thrust himself in for a hurt that women-folk had far better have tended? Now, that kinsman of yours knew that poor Cis was none of ours, and gave her a hint of it long ago-that is, if Tibbott were he, and not something worse."