“Tilly vally, Susan Talbot, tell me not such folly as that.  Why, the maid is over seventeen at the very least!  Save for all the coil this Scottish woman and her crew have made, I should have seen her well mated a year ago.”

Here was a satisfactory prospect for Mistress Susan, bred as she had been to unquestioning submission to the Countess.  There was no more to be said on that occasion, as the great lady passed on to bestow her notice on others of her little court.

Humfrey meantime had been warmly greeted by the younger men of the suite, and one of them handed him a letter which filled him with eagerness.  It was from an old shipmate, who wrote, not without sanction, to inform him that Sir Francis Drake was fitting out an expedition, with the full consent of the Queen, to make a descent upon the Spaniards, and that there was no doubt that if he presented himself at Plymouth, he would obtain either the command, or at any rate the lieutenancy, of one of the numerous ships which were to be commissioned.  Humfrey was before all else a sailor.  He had made no engagement to Sir John Norreys, and many of the persons engaged on this expedition were already known to him.  It was believed that the attack was to be upon Spain itself, and the notion filled him with ardour and excitement that almost drove Cicely out of his mind, as he laid the proposal before his father.

Richard was scarcely less excited.  “You young lads are in luck,” he said.  “I sailed for years and never had more than a chance brush with the Don; never the chance of bearding him on his own shores!”

“Come with us, then, father,” entreated Humfrey.  “Sir Francis would be overjoyed to see you.  You would get the choicest ship to your share.”

“Nay, nay, my boy, tempt me not; I cannot leave your mother to meet all the coils that may fall in her way!  No; I’m too old.  I’ve lost my sea legs.  I leave thee to win the fame, son Humfrey!”

The decision was thus made, and Humfrey and Diccon were to start together for London first, and then for Plymouth, the second day after a great festival for the wedding of the little Alethea, daughter of Gilbert, Lord Talbot—­still of very tender age—­to the young heir of Arundel.  The Talbot family had been precluded from holding festival for full fourteen years, or indeed from entertaining any guests, save the Commissioners sent down to confer from time to time with the captive Queen, so that it was no wonder that they were in the highest possible spirits at their release, and determined to take the first opportunity of exercising the gorgeous hospitality of the Tudor times.

Posts went out, riding round all the neighbourhood with invitations.  The halls were swept and adorned with the best suit of hangings.  All the gentlemen, young and old, all the keepers and verdurers, were put in requisition to slaughter all the game, quadruped and biped, that fell in their way, the village women and children were turned loose on the blackberries, cranberries, and bilberries, and all the ladies and serving-women were called on to concoct pasties of many stories high, subtilties of wonderful curiosity, sweetmeats and comfits, cakes and marchpanes worthy of Camacho’s wedding, or to deck the halls with green boughs, and weave garlands of heather and red berries.