Was it only this, or was it the maternal instinct that made her face light up when the young girl entered the room and return the shy reverential kiss of the hand with a tender kiss on the forehead, that made her encourage the chatter, give little touches to the deportment, and present little keepsakes, which increased in value till Sir Richard began to look grave, and to say there must be no more jewels of price brought from the lodge?  And as his wife uttered a word that sounded like remonstrance, he added, “Not while she passes for my daughter.”

Cis, who had begun by putting on a pouting face, burst into tears.  Her adopted parents had always been more tolerant and indulgent to her than if she had been a child over whom they felt entire rights, and instead of rewarding her petulance with such a blow as would have fallen to the lot of a veritable Talbot, Richard shrugged his shoulders and left the room—­the chamber which had been allotted to Dame Susan at the Manor-house, while Susan endeavoured to cheer the girl by telling her not to grieve, for her father was not angry with her.

“Why—­why may not the dear good Queen give me her dainty gifts?” sobbed Cis.

“See, dear child,” said Susan, “while she only gave thee an orange stuck with cloves, or an embroidery needle, or even a puppy dog, it is all very well; but when it comes to Spanish gloves and coral clasps, the next time there is an outcry about a plot, some evil-disposed person would be sure to say that Master Richard Talbot had been taking bribes through his daughter.”

“It would be vilely false!” cried Cis with flashing eyes.

“It would not be the less believed,” said Susan.  “My Lord would say we had betrayed our trust, and there never has been one stain on my husband’s honour.”

“You are wroth with me too, mother!” said Cis.

“Not if you are a good child, and guard the honour of the name you bear.”

“I will, I will!” said Cis.  “Never will I take another gift from the Queen if only you and he will call me your child, and be—­good to me--” The rest was lost in tears and in the tender caresses that Susan lavished on her; all the more as she caught the broken words, “Humfrey, too, he would never forgive me.”

Susan told her husband what had passed, adding, “She will keep her word.”

“She must, or she shall go no more to the lodge,” he said.

“You would not have doubted had you seen her eye flash at the thought of bringing your honour into question.  There spoke her kingly blood.”

“Well, we shall see,” sighed Richard, “if it be blood that makes the nature.  I fear me hers is but that of a Scottish thief!  Scorn not warning, mother, but watch thy stranger nestling well.”

“Nay, mine husband.  While we own her as our child, she will do anything to be one with us.  It is when we seem to put her from us that we wound her so that I know not what she might do, fondled as she is—­by—­by her who—­has the best right to the dear child.”