her
Majesty smiled as though she had read my heart. "I wish thee to be the
bearer of a letter unto my brother, Lord Rivers, which now resides at
Ludlow Castle. This business concerns my son, your King, and is
therefore of great importance. I shall have the packet ready to-morrow
morning; so thou wilt not have much time for thine adieux." And again
she glanced at Hazel, and then at me, smiling the while, with that
sweet smile which could have sent me through fire and water to serve
this most excellent, and yet unfortunate, Queen.

"I shall be ready and waiting for thine instructions, Madam," I
replied, as I bowed myself from the room.

Hazel followed me into the next apartment, with an anxious look upon
her dear face. "Is thine arm yet healed enough for thee to make this
journey, Walter dear?" she asked. "I had forgot thy wound, until I saw
thee try to open the door, just now. I was so proud to have thee
chosen as the Queen's messenger, when there are so many upon whom she
hath conferred favours, and yet which she doth not trust, that I
thought not of thy wound. Had I not better tell the Queen, and have
her choose another?"

"Not for the world, my dear. It is too great an honour to fling to one
side on account of a scratch, when one is chosen from so many which are
more worthy of her trust. Besides, my wound is almost well." This
latter was not in strict conformity with the scripture, which commands
us to speak the truth; but it was necessary for me to keep her from
saying anything to the Queen that might put a stop to my going.

I hastened to my rooms and instructed my servant to have everything in
readiness for my journey in the morning. Then I went in search of Sir
Frederick. I found him in his room, seated near the window, and poring
over a volume of Virgil.

"Well, well!" cried I, "a pretty occupation for a soldier. For the
love of Heaven leave such matters to the priests. I had too much of
that ere I did buckle on the sword."

"My dear Bradley," he replied, "one can never have too much of such
material.

"Do but listen:--

"'_Jamaque ibat dicto pareus et dona Cupido
Regia portabat Tyrues, duce laetus Achate!_'"

"Stop, stop! if thou dost have any love or respect for me!" I cried.
"If thou goest on with that I shall surely die. The only Latin line
that I do consider worth remembering was writ by one of those great
pagans, and goeth somewhat in this manner:--'_Dulce et decorum est pr