“Odds bodkins!” cries Elizabeth, as he closes. “This is a story as romantic as the troubadours tell of Amadis de Gaul saving maidens from giants, as you did Miss Minx of Alva from the Sea Beggars. Egad, I’m afraid she has disturbed his loyalty, my Burleigh. When speaking of his Spanish wench, Master Chester looks at his sovereign of England in a manner that the Lords might condemn as high treason.” “Ah, Your Gracious Majesty,” replies Guy, who is courtier as well as pirate, “if love is high treason, then every young man who gazes upon his sovereign of England is a traitor.” His ardent glance emphasizes his speech, which is easy, as Elizabeth is in the zenith of her beauty—a beauty that is hardly understood now, most of her portraits having been taken when she was fifty and upward. But as Chester looks at her she is only thirty-five. “And I will punish this audacious gallant,” she says, laughing, “though he is no traitor. Give me your sword, Guy Chester.” The young man is about to unbuckle the weapon. “No, naked, as you use it on my enemies!” Drawing it from the scabbard and sinking on one knee, Guy, a sudden hope of unexpected glory coming to him, hands it to his sovereign. “He is of good birth, Burleigh, I hear?” “Your Majesty,” says Cecil, bowing, “on his mother’s side he has the blood of Lord Stanhope of Harrington. His father is cousin to the Stanleys and High Sheriff of Cheshire. His grandfather was belted knight.” “Then,” says the Queen of England, “he shall be knight also!” And administers with dainty hand the accolade, saying: “Rise up, Sir Guy Chester!” But Sir Guy does not rise before he does homage to the fair hand that has knighted him so gallantly that Her Majesty gets red in the face, and cries out: “What new science in hand kissing has this Spanish girl taught him?” Next the young man standing before her she tenders him his sword, holding it by the naked blade, the handle toward his hand, saying: “May you as belted knight use this as you have before to the terror of the enemies of England; especially he of Alva—do not spare him for his daughter’s sake.” “No,” returns Guy, “for every blow I strike against the father brings me nearer to the daughter.” “Odd stale fish!” jeers Her Majesty, “what does this new made popinjay of Chester think to do with the daughter of a prince?” “To marry her, by God’s will and Your Majesty’s most gracious permission,” cries Guy, and retires with Lord Burleigh, leaving the Queen of England in very good humor with her new knight.