thumberland and Norfolk, and the secret efforts of the unfortunate
Queen to obtain friends, and stir up enemies against Elizabeth, had
resulted in her bonds being drawn closer and closer. The Rising of the
North had taken place, and Cuthbert Langston had been heard of as
taking a prominent part beneath the sacred banner, but he had been
wounded and not since heard of, and his kindred knew not whether he
were among the unnamed dead who loaded the trees in the rear of the
army of Sussex, or whether he had escaped beyond seas. Richard Talbot
still remained as one of the trusted kinsmen of Lord Shrewsbury, on
whom that nobleman depended for the execution of the charge which
yearly became more wearisome and onerous, as hope decayed and plots
thickened.

Though resident in the new lodge with her train, it was greatly
diminished by the dismissal from time to time of persons who were
regarded as suspicious; Mary still continued on intimate terms with
Lady Shrewsbury and her daughters, specially distinguishing with her
favour Bessie Pierrepoint, the eldest grandchild of the Countess, who
slept with her, and was her plaything and her pupil in French and
needlework. The fiction of her being guest and not prisoner had not
entirely passed away; visitors were admitted, and she went in and out
of the lodge, walked or rode at will, only under pretext of courtesy.
She never was unaccompanied by the Earl or one of his sons, and they
endeavoured to make all private conversation with strangers, or persons
unauthorised from Court, impossible to her.

The invitation given to little Cicely on the arrival had not been
followed up. The Countess wished to reserve to her own family all the
favours of one who might at any moment become the Queen of England, and
she kept Susan Talbot and her children in what she called their meet
place, in which that good lady thoroughly acquiesced, having her hands
much too full of household affairs to run after queens.

There was a good deal of talk about this child's play, a thing which
had much better have been left where it was; but in a seclusion like
that of Sheffield subjects of conversation were not over numerous, and
every topic which occurred was apt to be worried to shreds. So Lady
Shrewsbury and her daughters heard the Queen's arch description of the
children's mimicry, and instantly conceived a desire to see the scene
repeated. The gentlemen did not like it at all: their loyalty was
offended a