the cat, Antony hurried to the rescue to help her disentangle it, and
received a fierce scratch for his pains, which made him start back,
while Mrs. Talbot put in her word. "Ah, Master Babington, it is ill
meddling with a cat in the toils, specially for men folk! Here, Cis,
hold her fast and I will soon have her free. Still, Tib!"

Cicely's cheeks were of a still deeper colour as she held fast the
mischievous favourite, while the good mother untwisted the flax from
its little claws and supple limbs, while it winked, twisted its head
about sentimentally, purred, and altogether wore an air of injured
innocence and forgiveness.

"I am afraid, air, you receive nothing but damage at our house," said
Mrs. Talbot politely. "Hast drawn blood? Oh fie! thou ill-mannered
Tib! Will you have a tuft from a beaver to stop the blood?"

"Thanks, madam, no, it is a small scratch. I would, I would that I
could face truer perils for this lady's sake!"

"That I hope you will not, sir," said Richard, in a serious tone,
which conveyed a meaning to the ears of the initiated, though Will
Cavendish only laughed, and said,

"Our kinsman takes it gravely! It was in the days of our
grandfathers that ladies could throw a glove among the lions, and bid
a knight fetch it out for her love."

"It has not needed a lion to defeat Mr. Babington," observed Ned,
looking up from his book with a sober twinkle in his eye, which set
them all laughing, though his father declared that he ought to have