The Queen whipped her horse and galloped ahead; but he had seen the pleased smile on her face.

“My lord,” she said over her shoulder, “you are offensive. Pray do not ride beside me. I do not wish to scold my host, yet so great is my anger that I fear I shall do so.”

Nevertheless he kept beside her. “Your Majesty … nay … Elizabeth, sweetest Elizabeth as you were to me in the Tower … you have forgotten, but I shall remember till I die. You put too great a strain upon me.”

She spurred on her horse; and she did not speak to him again, but all her good humor was restored; and when the hart was caught alive in a pool, she cried: “Do not kill him. I am in a merciful mood. I will grant him his life, on condition that he loses his ears for a ransom.”

And she herself cut off the poor creature’s ears, and smiling, watched him rush bewildered away with the blood dripping from his head. Then she called out: “Where is mine host? Why is he not beside me?”

Robert came to her and they rode side by side back to Kenilworth.

“I trust, my lord,” she said primly, “that you will not so far forget yourself again. I might not be so lenient if you were to do so.”

“I would not swear it,” he answered. “I am but a man, and perchance must take the consequences of my rash speech.”

And while he complimented her he was thinking of Lettice and the many passionate meetings between them, the delight they found in each other, the sudden surrender of both which would not be checked, the knowledge that nothing on Earth could keep them apart, nor stem the violent passion which they each had for the other.

And if Elizabeth discovered this? He kept thinking of the trapped animal with the haunted look in his eyes as she had stood over him with the knife; he thought of the blood-lust of the huntress which showed in her face; and he thought of the poor creature, running from them. That was the Queen’s mercy.

In the Park a pageant was awaiting her. A tall man, dressed as the god Sylvanus, stood before her and recited a eulogy of her charms. But she was tired of his oration before he reached the end and, turning her horse, rode on. But the young poet, not to be outdone, and determined to serve his master in the praise of Her Majesty, ran beside her horse, declaiming her virtues; and she, with a wry smile, pulled up, for he was clearly suffering from loss of breath.

He bowed before her. “Your Majesty,” he said, “if it is your wish to proceed, pray do so. If my rude speech doth not offend your royal ears, I can run and speak for twenty miles or so. I would rather run as Your Majesty’s footman than be a god on horseback in heaven.”

She rewarded the man with a smile and gracious words, for she liked that tribute better than his verses. “I like,” she said, “that which comes from the heart better than that learned by it.”

But when Sylvanus had finished his speech, he broke the branch he was carrying and threw it from him. Unfortunately it fell near the Queen’s horse, which reared violently.

There was immediate consternation, but the Queen, controlling her horse, cried out: “No hurt! No hurt!” Then she turned to console Sylvanus, who was beside himself with grief.

Robert brought his horse close to the Queen’s. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I pray you let us go into the castle. I feel your precious person will be safer there.”

He was apprehensive as they entered the castle.

It had been an exciting day with the bears. Ban dogs, which had been kept locked away, were suddenly let loose on thirteen of them. The noise, the shrieks, the growls, and the tearing of flesh had set the Queen’s eyes sparkling.

The sun was hot and the Queen and some of her ladies were sitting in the shade of the trees on one of the lawns when a small boy made his way toward them.

He stood still and stared at the Queen. He was such a handsome little boy and the Queen, being fond of all handsome people, including children, called to him: “What is it, my little man? Have you come to see the Queen?”

“Yes,” said the boy.

“Then come closer that the Queen may see you.”

He came, his eyes wide. He laid his hands on her knees and looked up into her face. “You are a beautiful lady,” he said.

Nothing could have delighted her more.

“You are handsome enough yourself,” she answered. “You know who I am. Now tell me who you are.”

“I am Robert,” said the child.

She laughed. “That is my favorite name.”

He smiled and touched one of the aglets on her gown; as he bent his little head to study it she noticed how the dark hair curled about his neck. Involuntarily she put out a hand to touch it.

“What do you here, my child?”

He looked at her in astonishment.

“Who brought you?” she asked.

“My Mamma.”

“And who is your Mamma?”

“My Mamma!” he said with surprise.

“Of a certainty. How foolish of your Queen!” she beckoned to one of her women. “Whose boy is this, do you know?”

“My lady Sheffield’s, Your Majesty.”

The Queen frowned. “Sheffield died some time ago, did he not? I thought it long ago. How old are you, little one?”

“Three.”

Robert, seeing from afar that his son was with the Queen, felt dismayed and angry that this should be so. Who was responsible for this? He hesitated, wondering how much damage had been done, and whether it would be wiser now or later to face anything that had to be faced. He decided to go straight to the Queen and discover the worst.

He quickly realized that this was a mistake for, as soon as the child saw him, he deserted the Queen and running to Robert caught him about the knees and looked up at him with an expression which clearly indicated that this was not their first meeting.

With perfect naturalness Robert picked him up and said: “And what is this, and what do you here?”

The boy laughed and pulled at Robert’s beard.

“The young man seems very familiar with the Earl of Leicester,” said the Queen; and Robert fancied he heard the sharp note of suspicion in her voice.

“Who would not be friends with a boy like this?” he said lightly. He put down the boy and came to kneel before the Queen; he took her hand and asked if his humble entertainment left anything to be desired.

“We are being well entertained,” said Elizabeth with a trace of tartness.

The boy again trotted up.

“Whose son is this?” asked the Queen, looking at Robert.

“Lady Sheffield’s.”

“She is not of the Court now.”

“You remember Sheffield, Your Majesty. He was a friend of mine. His widow, with the boy, her friends and servants, has been resting here at Kenilworth while I was at Court. Then, Your Majesty, they expressed such a desire to see you that I could not turn them away.”

“We do not remember having seen them. Why have they not been presented?”

“Lady Sheffield has been indisposed.”

“I will see her at once.”

“I will myself inform her of Your Majesty’s pleasure.”

“Let a servant go to her and command her to come to me.”

Robert turned in order to see if there was any servant, whom he could trust, within reach. He saw such a man and called to him.

“Her Majesty wishes Lady Sheffield to come to her. Pray bring her here.”

“I will, my lord.”

“And,” added Robert, “take the boy with you. Doubtless his nurse will be looking for him.”

The servant went away with young Robert, while his father fervently hoped that Douglass would do what was expected of her.

The Queen talked of the bears, and how she had enjoyed the spectacle. But all the time Robert sensed that she was watching him closely.

To his great relief the servant came back alone.

“Lady Sheffield sends her thanks to Your Most Gracious Majesty. Lady Sheffield is distraught because she is so unwell that she cannot leave her bed. She begs that Your Majesty, with your well-known clemency, will excuse her for this occasion.”

“We will,” said the Queen. “Yet will we see her before we leave. We will visit her in her bedchamber if need be. But tell her now that we excuse her for this day.”

Robert felt almost gay.

“I seem to have seen that boy before,” said the Queen.

“I am fond of him,” said Robert, “and I have a reason for being so.”

She was alert.

“He reminds me of a boy I knew long ago … in the Tower of London. I was a desolate prisoner and he took flowers from me to a goddess whom I adored from the moment I saw her.”

Such flattery was food and drink to Elizabeth. She remembered too.

“He was a pleasant child,” she said, “but methinks he lacked the good looks of this young Robert.”

Robert went on: “I remember the day you came by, and I looked through my prison bars. I firmly believe that I have never been happier in the whole of my life than I was then.”

“A poor life has been yours, my lord, if your best moments were those of a poor prisoner. Is that the way for a proud man to talk?”

“It is indeed, gracious Majesty, for then I had hopes … great hopes. I dreamed of love … of a perfect being. But alas, my dreams were only partly fulfilled. I had high hopes once.”

“A man should never give up hope, my lord. Surely you know that. Never as long as he lives.”

“But, Madam, what is a man to do when he finds the woman he loves is a goddess, above all earthly desires and needs?”

“He might become a god. Gods may mate with goddesses.”

So did he delight her with this flattering conversation, luring her away from a train of thought which, started by a handsome boy named Robert who had something of the Dudley looks, might have led to grave disaster.

Robert and Lettice met in a quiet chamber of the castle. Their meetings must be brief for they must not both be missed at the same time; and Robert was expected to be in constant attendance upon the Queen.

Meetings were very precious. Lettice might have urged him to recklessness, but she was looking far ahead. Once she had lost him through the Queen, and she was determined not to do so again.

She said to him as they lay behind locked doors in that small room: “And what afterward?”

“We must see each other,” he said, “and often.”

“How so?”

“Doubtless it can be arranged.”

“The Queen watches you as a dog watches a rabbit. And what when my husband returns from Ireland?”

“Essex must not return from Ireland.”

“How can that be prevented when his task is completed?”

“There will be a way.”

“There may be a way. But we shall not meet. There is too much to prevent our doing so.”

“We shall,” he insisted. “We must.”

“I would that we might marry. I long for that. To live graciously … without these secret meetings … to have sons like my own Robert, but your sons.”

“You cannot know how fervently I wish that.”

“Will you spend the rest of your days behaving like the Queen’s lap-dog, yapping at her heels, cowering from her anger, being taken up and set down at the whim of a moment?”

“Nay!” he said passionately.

She strained herself against him. “Should we not mold our own lives, Robert? Were we not meant to marry, to have children?”

“You are right. We were meant to. But,” he added, “there is Essex.”

She was silent for a while, then she said: “Mean you, my lord, that only Essex stands between our marriage … not the Queen?”

“But for Essex we would marry. We could keep that secret from the Queen.”

She said quietly: “It would have to be a true marriage. My family would insist on that. My sons would be your heirs … nothing less.”

“Nothing less,” he repeated.

“And only Essex is between us and that?”

“Only Essex.”

He thought of the boy whom she had borne Essex—young Robert Devereux—one of the tallest and most beautiful children he had ever seen. Such would his sons be if he married Lettice. He loved Douglass’ boy, but not enough to make Douglass his true wife.

Her next words startled him: “How much do you love me?”

He answered: “Infinitely.”

He knew then that she was thinking of Amy Robsart; and next day, during the water pageant he had planned for the Queen’s delight, he also was thinking of Amy.

Douglass knelt before the Queen. She had never been so frightened in the whole of her life. She had scarcely seen Robert since the Queen had come to Kenilworth. He had paid one visit to her to tell her how she must conduct herself before the Queen. He had been cold, and she had sensed his deep anger; and that anger she knew was directed against herself.