"What would be false now shall be true then. I will wring love from
thee by my deeds for her whom we both alike love, and then wilt thou
be mine own, my true Bride!"

By this time other guests had arrived, and the dinner was ready.
Babington was, in deference to the Countess, allowed to sit next to
his lady-love. She found he had been at Sheffield, and had visited
Bridgefield, vainly endeavouring to obtain sanction to his addresses
from her adopted parents. He saw how her eyes brightened and heard
how her voice quivered with eagerness to hear of what still seemed
home to her, and he was pleased to feel himself gratifying her by
telling her how Mrs. Talbot looked, and how Brown Dumpling had been
turned out in the Park, and Mr. Talbot had taken a new horse, which
Ned had insisted on calling "Fulvius," from its colour, for Ned was
such a scholar that he was to be sent to study at Cambridge. Then he
would have wandered off to little Lady Arbell's being put under
Master Sniggius's tuition, but Cicely would bring him back to
Bridgefield, and to Ned's brothers.

No, the boasted expedition to Spain had not begun yet. Sir Francis
Drake was lingering about Plymouth, digging a ditch, it was said, to
bring water from Dartmoor. He would never get license to attack King
Philip on his own shores. The Queen knew better than to give it.
Humfrey and Diccon would get no better sport than robbing a ship or
two on the way to the Netherlands. Antony, for his part, could not
see that piracy on the high seas was fit work for a gentleman.

"A gentleman loves to serve his queen and country in all places,"
said Cicely.