ne. Who be these? who be they, I say? Cicely, answer
me!"

Afore I could speak word, I was called by another voice. I was fain
enough of the reprieve. Leaving Dame Joan with the Queen, I ran forth
into the Queen's closet, where stood the King.

What change had come over him in those few hours! No longer a bashful
lad that was nearhand afraid to speak for himself ere he were bidden.
This was a young man [he was now close on eighteen years of age] that
stood afore me, a youthful warrior, a budding Achilles, that would stand
to no man's bidding, but would do his will. King of England was this
man. I louted low before my master.

He spake in a voice wherein was both cold constrainedness, and
bitterness, and stern determination--yet under them all something else--
I think it was the sorely bruised yet living soul of that deep
unutterable tenderness which had been ever his for the mother of his
love, but could be the same never more. Man is oft cold and bitter and
stern, when an hour before he hath dug a grave in his own heart, and
hath therein laid all his hopes and his affections. And they that look
on from afar behold the sheet of ice, but they see not the grave beneath
it. They only see him cold and silent: and they reckon he cares for
nought, and feels nothing.

"Dame Cicely, you have been with the Queen?"

"Sir, I have so."

"Take heed she hath all things at her pleasure, of such as lie in your
power. Let my physician be sent for if need arise, as well as her own;
and if she would see any holy father, let him be fetched incontinent
[immediately]. See to it, I charge you, that she be served with all
honour and reverence, as you would have our favour."

He turned as if to depart. Then all suddenly the ice went out of his
voice, and the tears came in.

"How hath she taken it?" saith he.

"Sir," said I, "full hardly as yet, and is sore troubled touching my
Lord of March, fearing some ill shall be done him. Moreover, my Lady
biddeth me tell her who these be. Is it your pleasure that I answer the
same?"

"Ay, answer her," saith he sorrowfully, "for it shall do no mischief
now. As for my Lord of March, no worser fate awaits him than he hath
given better men."

He strade forth after that kingly fashion which was so new in him, and
yet sat so seemly upon him, and I went back to the Queen's chamber.

"Cicely, is that my son?" she cried.

"In good sooth, Dame," said I.

"What said he to thee?"