'Ah, there is Mistress Crawley!' as she tripped away to meet her, Sir Philip repeating as she left him,--'Fare you well, Mistress Lucy. _Au revoir._' CHAPTER XI LUMEN FAMILIÆ SUÆ 'Was ever eye did see such face? Was never ear did hear that tongue? Was never mind did mind his grace, That ever thought the travail long? But eyes, and ears, and every thought, Were with his sweet perfections caught.' SPENSER. Penshurst Castle never, perhaps, wore a more festive air than when in the November days of lengthening twilight and falling leaves, Sir Philip Sidney's friends and relatives gathered under the hospitable roof to congratulate him on his appointment to the Governorship of Flushing and Rammekins, the patent having been granted at Westminster on the seventh day of the month. Sir Philip had taken leave of the Queen after she had honoured him by standing as godmother to his little daughter. He had now brought her and her mother to Penshurst to leave them there in safety, till he had arranged for their reception at Flushing, and found proper accommodation for them. It was a goodly company that assembled in the grand old hall on the day before Sir Philip's departure. There were, we may be sure, many present whose names live on the pages of the history of the time. The courtly Earl of Leicester was there, who, with whatever outward show of satisfaction at his nephew's promotion, was never free from a latent jealousy which he was careful to hide. Sir Francis Walsingham was there, the proud grandfather of the tiny babe which Lady Mary Sidney held so tenderly in her arms, scanning her features to discover in them a likeness to her father. Sir Henry Sidney was with her, prematurely old and feeble, trying to shake off the melancholy which possessed him, and striving to forget his own troubled and ill-requited service to the Queen, in his pride that his son was placed in a position where his splendid gifts might have full play. 'The light of his family,' he always fondly called Philip, and he would not grudge that this light should shed its radiance far beyond his own home and country. Was it a strange prescience of coming sorrow that made Sir Henry for the most part silent, and sigh when the Earl of Leicester tried to rally him, saying that it was a time of rejoicing, and why should any face wear a look of sadness. [Illustration: THE GREAT HALL, PENSHURST CASTLE.] 'We part from our son, good nephew,' Lady Mary said, 'on the morrow, and partings in old age have a greater significance than in youth. We please ourselves with future meetings when we are young; when we are old, we know full well that there is but a short span of life left us, for reunion with those who are dear to us.'