quietly on: "That is why Gregory Goole doth call me
'ma'm'selle'--because my mother was a Frenchwoman. But I am a right
English girl for all that; and when they shout, 'God save the Queen!' at
the play, why, I do too! And, oh, boy," she cried, "it is a brave thing
to hear!" and she clapped her hands with sparkling eyes. "It drove the
Spaniards off the sea, my father ofttimes saith."

"Poh!" said Nick, stoutly, for he saw the pasty coming in, "they can na
beat us Englishmen!" and with that fell upon the pasty as if it were the
Spanish Armada in one lump and he Sir Francis Drake set on to do the
job alone.

As he ate his spirits rose again, and he almost forgot that he was
stolen from his home, and grew eager to be seeing the wonders of the
great town whose ceaseless roar came over the housetops like a distant
storm. He was still somewhat in awe of this beautiful, flower-like
little maid, and listened in shy silence to the wonderful tales she
told: how that she had seen the Queen, who had red hair, and pearls like
gooseberries on her cloak; and how the court went down to Greenwich. But
the bandy-legged man kept popping his head in at the door, and, after
all, Nick was but in a prison-house; so he grew quite dismal after
a while.

"Dost truly think thy father will leave me go?" he asked.

"Of course he will," said she. "I cannot see why thou dost hate him so?"

"Why, truly," hesitated Nick, "perhaps it is not thy father that I hate,
but only that he will na leave me go. And if he would but leave me go,
perhaps I'd love him very much indeed."

"Good, Nick! thou art a trump!" cried Master Carew's voice suddenly from
the further end of the hall, where in spite of all the candles it was
dark; and, coming forward, the master-player held out his hands in a
most genial way. "Come, lad, thy hand--'tis spoken like a gentleman.
Nay, I will kiss thee--for I love thee, Nick, upon my word, and on the
remnant of mine honour!" Taking the boy's half-unwilling hands in his
own, he stooped and kissed him upon the forehead.

"Father," said Cicely, gravely, "hast thou forgotten me?"

"Nay, sweetheart, nay," cried Carew, with a wonderful laugh that somehow
warmed the cockles of Nick's forlorn heart; and turning quickly, the
master-player caught up the little maid and kissed her again and again,
so tenderly that Nick was amazed to see how one so cruel could be so
kind, and how so good a little maid could love so bad a man; for she
twin