well, my good lord. Are not we well guarded, not having one man with
a sword near me?"

"Here are three good swords, madam," returned he, "mine own, and
those of my two young kinsmen, whom I venture to present to your
Majesty, as they bear greetings from your trusty servant, Sir Francis
Drake."

While he spoke there had been a by-play unperceived by him, or by the
somewhat slow and tardy Hatton. A touch from Diccon had made Humfrey
follow the direction of the Queen's eye, and they saw it was fixed on
a figure in a loose cloak strangely resembling that which they had
seen on the stair of the house Babington had entered. They also saw
a certain quailing and cowering of the form, and a scowl on the
shaggy red eyebrows, and Irish features, and Humfrey at once edged
himself so as to come between the fellow and the Queen, though he was
ready to expect a pistol shot in his back, but better thus, was his
thought, than that it should strike her,--and both laid their hands
on their swords.

"How now!" said Hatton, "young men, you are over prompt. Her Majesty
needs no swords. You are out of rank. Fall in and do your
obeisance."

Something in the Queen's relaxed gaze told Humfrey that the peril was
over, and that he might kneel as Talbot named him, explaining his
lineage as Elizabeth always wished to have done. A sort of tremor
passed over her, but she instantly recalled her attention. "From
Drake!" she said, in her clear, somewhat shrill voice. "So, young
gentleman, you have been with the pirate who outruns our orders, and