2. II.
I AM SENT WITH A FLAG TO LORD ESSEX.
The rumor of Lord Essex's approach was speedily
followed by the appearance of his cavalry vanguard on
the high hills northeast of Exeter.
I was looking from an upper window of Bedford
House, when I saw clear cut against the sky the figures
of armed men, on spirited horses; and these descended,
followed by others. In a few minutes a column of
light dragoons was defiling into the plain.
I went at once to give information of the enemy's
approach to her majesty, and she commanded that I
should be introduced into her sitting-room, where she
lay upon a couch, holding her babe resting upon her
right arm, passed beneath the little one's neck. The
attitude of the queen was exquisite, and her pale face
was quite illuminated by the charming smile of the
mother who looks at her babe.
“You have something to communicate, Mr. Cecil?”
she said.
“Yes, your majesty; 'tis my duty; and yet I shrink
from performing that duty.”
The queen smiled.
“I am brave, I think, sir; not happy in my fortunes,
it may be, but not unnerved yet. Speak, Mr. Cecil.”
“The enemy are in sight, your majesty, approaching
Exeter.”
She closed her eyes, and her lips moved. I think it
was in prayer.
“God's will be done!” she said, a moment afterwards;
“and I expected this intelligence. Oh that I
had some of the brave friends of the king to go and
meet them!”
Her face flushed, and from the beautiful eyes darted
a sort of fire. It quickly died away.
“I must banish these feelings,” she murmured; “I
am no longer anything but a poor mother trying to
escape with my child.”
Some moments passed in silence. The queen was
evidently reflecting.
“I must send and parley with Lord Essex,” she said,
at length; “the woeful days have come upon me, and I
must act as I best may.”
I advanced a step and bowed low.
“If your majesty will permit me to be so bold as to
offer myself—”
“Yes, yes! This is not the time for ceremony.”
And, rising to a sitting position, the queen clasped
her babe to her bosom, and said,—
“Yes,—go to my lord Essex; I will give you a line
as your credentials. Inform him of my condition; say
that I am very ill, and that I crave his permission—
hateful, odious term!—Oh, it is too much!”
Her eyes flashed, and her voice shook.
“This is folly,” she murmured: “yes, yes,—ask his
august permission that I may retire with my child from
Exeter before the place is invested. I will go to Bristol
or Bath. I cannot bear, in my present condition, the
alarms of a siege.”
With a feverish hand she wrote a line on a portfolio
which Frances Villiers, at a sign from her, brought and
held before her. This she gave me hastily. Half an
hour afterwards I was spurring at full speed out of the
city, waving a white scarf upon my sword's point, to
indicate my errand.
