“No, assuredly,” said Henry dryly. “I have not done so ill by her hitherto, by thine own showing, that I should not be trusted with her for the future.” “The parting would be bitter,” began Edward “but thou shouldst see her often.” “Slay me, and make her a ward of the crown,” said Henry. “Otherwise I will need no man’s leave for seeing my daughter. But ask her. If she will go with thee, I will say no more.” King Edward was fond of children—most indulgent to his own, and kind to all little ones, who, attracted by the sweetness which his stern, grave, beautiful countenance would assume when he looked at them—always made friends with him readily. So he trusted to this fascination in the case of the little Lady Elizabeth. He held out his hands to her, and claimed her as his cousin; and she came readily to him, and stood between his knees. “Little cousin,” he said, “wilt thou come home with me, to be with my two little maids, the elder much of thine age?” “You are a red monk!” said Bessee, amazed. “That’s his shell, Bessee,” said her father; “he has come a-masking, and forgot his part.” “I don’t like masking,” said Bessee, trying to get away. “Then we will mask no more,” said Edward. “Thou hast looked in my face long enough with those great black eyes. Dost know me, child?” Bessee cast the black eyes down, and coloured. “Dost know me?” he repeated. “I think,” she whispered at last, “that you are masking still. You are like—like the King that was crowned at the Abbey.” “Well said, little maid! And shall I take thee home, and give thee pearls and emeralds to braid thy locks, instead of these heath-bells?” “Father,” said Bessee, trying to withdraw her little hands out of Edward’s large one, which held both fast. “O father, is he masking still?” “No, child; it is the King indeed,” said Henry. “Hear what he saith to thee.” And again Edward spoke of all that would tempt a child. “Father,” said Bessee, “if father comes!” “No, Bessee,” said her father; “I have done with palaces. No places they for blind beggars.” “Oh, let me go! let me go!” cried Bessee, struggling. And as the King released her hands, she flew to her father. “He would lose himself without me! I must be with father. O King, go away! Father, don’t let him take me! Let me cry for Jock of the Wooden Spoon, and Trig One Leg, and Hedgerow Wat!” “Hush, hush, Bess!” said Henry, not desirous that his royal cousin should understand the strength of his body-guard of honour. “The King here is as trusty and loyal as the boldest beggar among us. He only gave thee thy choice between him and me!” “Thee, thee, father. He can’t want me. He has two eyes and two hands, and a queen and two little girls; and thou hast only me!” and she clung round her father’s neck.