the night there came one to view the coffin, and
to see that all was well. And he came round the corner, and there stood
the great coffin--(for his Grace was a great stout man, my dear)--on
trestles in the moonlight, and beneath it a great black dog that lapped
something: and the dog turned as the man came, and some say, but not my
father, that the dog's eyes were red as coals, and that his mouth and
nostrils smoked, and that he cast no shadow; but (however that may be)
the dog turned and looked and then ran; and the man followed him into a
yard, but when he reached there, there was no dog. And the man went back
to the coffin afraid; and he found the coffin was burst open, and--and--"

Mrs. Marrett stopped abruptly. Isabel was white and trembling.

"There, there, my dear. I am a foolish old woman; and I'll tell you no
more."

Isabel was really terrified, and entreated Mrs. Marrett to tell her
something pleasant to make her forget these horrors; and so she told her
old tales of her youth, and the sights of the city, and the great doings
in Mary's reign; and so the time passed pleasantly till the gentlemen
came home.

At other times she told her of Elizabeth and the great nobles, and
Isabel's heart beat high at it, and at the promise that before she left
she herself should see the Queen, even if she had to go to Greenwich or
Nonsuch for it.

"God bless her," said Mrs. Marrett loyally, "she's a woman like ourselves
for all her majesty. And she likes the show and the music too, like us
all. I declare when I see them all a-going down the water to Greenwich,
or to the Tower for a bear-baiting, with the horns blowing and the guns
firing and the banners and the barges and the music, I declare sometimes
I think that heaven itself can be no better, God forgive me! Ah! but I
wish her Grace 'd take a husband; there are many that want her; and then
we could laugh at them all. There's so many against her Grace now who'd
be for her if she had a son of her own. There's Duke Charles whose
picture hangs in her bedroom, they say; and Lord Robert Dudley--there's a
handsome spark, my dear, in his gay coat and his feathers and his ruff,
and his hand on his hip, and his horse and all. I wish she'd take him and
have done with it. And then we'd hear no more of the nasty Spaniards.
There's Don de Silva, for all the world like a monkey with his brown face
and mincing ways and his grand clothes. I declare when Captain Hawkins
came home, just