The inconvenience caused by the hurt was short, but, before the girl resumed her place among the pages, Lord Shrope again ventured to speak of her to the queen. "My liege," he said one morning when the queen had been particularly gracious to him, "I would that you would let me speak of Francis Stafford. There is somewhat----" "Now a murrain on thee, Shrope, for mentioning that name," cried Elizabeth her humor changing instantly. "We, too, have somewhat to say of Francis Stafford, but the time is not yet ripe. When it is, then will I hear what thou hast to say. Until then we would not be plagued with the matter. Hearest thou?" "I do, my sovereign mistress," answered Lord Shrope humbly. "I hear and will heed thy commands. Only take not from me thy divine favor." "Hadst thou ever been connected with any enterprise against her," he said to Francis as he reported the result of the interview, "I could understand it. As it is, her mood toward thee gives me great concern." "Trouble not thyself, my good friend," answered Francis, though she herself was more disturbed than she cared to admit. Perhaps the journey to Chartley had come to the queen's ears, and that enterprise wore a different complexion now to the girl than it had done ere her coming to the court. "Trouble not about me. Thou canst do no more than thou hast done." And so she went back to her place among the pages. The greeting between her and Edward Devereaux was formal. As the time passed she became aware that the lad's manner toward her was quite different from what it had been before their encounter. Now he seemed to regard her with something akin to admiration, and assumed a protecting air toward her, assuming many of her duties, that irked the girl exceedingly. "Prithee, sirrah," she said one day pettishly when his guardianship was more than usually apparent, "who gave thee leave to watch over me? It irks me to have thee play the protector. Beshrew me, but Francis Stafford can care for herself." "I crave pardon, Master Stafford," replied Devereaux who never by word or deed dropped a hint that he knew aught of her sex. "I crave pardon if I have offended. I will vex thee no more." From that time his care was more unobtrusive, but Francis was still conscious of it, and it was gall and wormwood to her. She could not forget the acknowledgment of his skill had been wrung from her when she thought herself dying. Although she could not but admit that Devereaux was innocent in the matter, she felt as though a fraud had been perpetrated upon her, and, girl-like, held him responsible for it.