Sleep now, my dear, and take thy rest; And if with riper years thou'rt blest Increase in wisdom, day and night, Till thou attain'st th' eternal light! For a little time there was silence in the room, when I ended, and then, with a heaving sigh, the deep voice came from the bed-- 'I'm only a frail woman, though I am queen, and I need wisdom. But go on singing, child. Go on singing.' I began a favourite hymn of Master Montgomery's, and it brought to my mind so many memories that sobs trembled in my voice, as I sang-- When my dying hour must be, Be not absent then from me; In that dreadful hour I pray, Jesus, come without delay, See and set me free! When thou biddest me depart Whom I cleave to with my heart, Lover of my soul, be near, With Thy saving Cross appear, Show Thyself to me. Mary lay so still when I ended that I thought she was asleep; but no, she was awake, and as I looked closely at her, I perceived that tears were slowly stealing down her face. I fell on my knees by the bedside, but I was not kneeling to her, as she seemed to think, when opening her eyes and looking at me, she said, in a softer tone than before-- 'Child, do you want something?' Did I want something? Yes, I wanted something so much, that now when the time had come for asking for it, I could not say a word, 'Your singing is marvellously sweet,' continued Queen Mary. 'Yet it has not sent me to sleep. I should like to hear you every night. Will you stay here in the palace and sing to me every night? You shall have a fair wage.' 'I do not want a wage,' I answered, thanking her. 'But I crave a boon at your hands, madam.' 'And that is----' 'That I may be allowed to go to Lady Jane Grey----' 'Lady Jane! My cousin? Methinks that you are a bold girl to ask that,' exclaimed the queen, starting up in bed and speaking very angrily. I rose slowly, and, with clasped hands, stood before her, pleading my love for her sweet cousin and beseeching that I might be allowed to attend Lady Jane in her prison. I described her youth, her innocence, and the great unwillingness with which she had permitted herself to be dragged into the dangerous position of queen, and also mentioned the quickness and satisfaction with which she abandoned the undesired sovereignty. 'You plead well, Meg,' said the Queen, when I stopped, partly because my breath failed, 'and you have a wonderful voice for singing, aye, and for speaking. If I let you go to Lady Jane, and allow you to attend her in her prison, will you come and sing to me when I require you?' 'I will. I will,' I exclaimed delightedly. 'I will sing you to sleep whenever you like, madam.' 'Nay, not to sleep, Meg, not to sleep,' said Queen Mary. 'As a promoter of sleep you are a failure, for your singing awakens me out of the sleep of years, making me feel as if I should never want to sleep again.'