thou wilt be the better contented," said the father.
"And now, child, if thou wilt but bring thy nimble wit into the part,
thou shalt please me well. How say thee? Wilt thou bear me company upon a
grave mission? Will thy courage fail, or canst thou, as if thou wert in
very truth my son, aid me to compass that to which I am pledged? How now,
girl? Hast courage for such an undertaking?"

"My father, what mean you?" asked Francis in bewilderment.

"Take heed to my words. There is on foot a movement to release from her
vile durance Mary, Queen of Scots. Too long hath she lain imprisoned. I
am to carry to her letters of import that inform her of the design. But
Mary is so immured, that heretofore it hath been impossible to gain
access to her. A lad would serve the purpose, but there be none known to
me of like courage and wit as thyself. Girl, canst thou wear that garb
and bear thyself as a man?"

"Ay, my lord; and to do more if needful," spoke Francis boldly.

"There spoke myself in you," said her father approvingly. "Then hearken!
at the first sign of the dawn we set forth, thou and I, for Chartley. How
now, sweet chuck?" as a sob escaped the mother. "Fear naught. Thy
birdling will return to thee the better for having stretched her wings
beyond the nest."

"I fear, my lord, for you both," said the lady brokenly. "You know how
all these attempts have ended, and Elizabeth hath no mercy for the
perpetrators of them."

"Now, now, be of good cheer. There is naught of harm meant to the queen.
'Tis only to give Mary freedom. Think only of thy daughter. Not many
mothers in England can boast of such a girl."

"Would that I had given thee a daughter of gentler spirit," sobbed the
lady. "Oh, my lord, pardon my utterance. I fear, I fear----"

"There! we will return safely and thou wilt forget thy misgivings in the
success of our enterprise. But now to bed, to bed. The first gray of the
morning must find us on our way. To bed, my child."

CHAPTER IV

ANTHONY BABINGTON

It was that darkest hour of the night, the one just before the dawn, that
Francis was summoned to attend her father. None of the household was
stirring save Brooks, an old servitor, who stood at the foot of the steps
with the horses. The statues of terrace and court gleamed ghostly white
in the darkness, and the grim old keep frowned darkly upon them. The
deserted aspect of the courtyard filled the girl with dismay. High
purposes and noble resolves