The week which followed the fall of St. Quentin was a period of strenuous exertion on the part of the conquerors.

The dead were buried, the city was cleansed of its many impurities, and the devastating fires which had threatened the destruction of the whole town were at length subdued.

Of all the religious edifices in the city the cathedral alone remained unconsumed by the devouring element. Philip had himself superintended the efforts made for its preservation; streets were pulled down, strong buildings were blown up by gunpowder, and at length the noble building stood in grand isolation, but safe from fire.

A strong Spanish garrison was placed in possession of St. Quentin; the remainder of the army was under orders to prepare for instant and active service.

The neighbouring towns of Picardy, Catelet, Ham, and Chanley were to be besieged forthwith, and the camp was full of zeal and animation—for surely fresh spoils awaited the soldiers of Philip, and bright visions of glory and honour filled the minds of the chieftains. In the English camp alone these feelings held no sway. The war had never been popular with them—they felt that they were fighting the battles of King Philip, and not those of their own country.

And now that the main object of the expedition had been won, and the chief town in Picardy captured, the English contingent were eager to return home.

In the evening of a fine September day Lord Clinton's three aides-de-camp were reposing in their tent after a day's active exertion.

That day a courier had brought them letters from England, and the young men were eagerly discussing home news.

Susan had written to each of them, for she had much to tell.

The fires of Smithfield had burst forth anew, to the horror of the people and the grief of all good men. That very day three victims had perished, and the Queen's guards had scarce prevented the London people from attempting forcible rescue.

One condemned man had been pardoned by the Cardinal Archbishop, and many were said to have been freed by him after brief examination and apparent but doubtful submission.

Rumours were afloat in London, Susan said, that the Cardinal had fallen out of favour at Rome, and that the Pope (Paul IV) had deprived him of his legatine commission and had recalled him to Rome. The Archbishop was in bad health, and on this plea the Queen had refused to give him permission to leave the country.

These things brought great unhappiness to the Queen, and added to them was the increasing malignity of her disorder—she was evidently sinking into the grave—and there was none to pity her!

"Alas, poor Queen," wrote Susan, "unloved by her people, deserted by her husband, worried by the Pope, and conscious, above all, that she had failed in the one object of her life, and that her successor, the Princess Elizabeth, would undo all her work for the 'conversion' of England."

Yet Susan had some good news to tell them.

"Sir John was in excellent health, and he had lately received news from their beloved father that he and their dear Vicar were well, and were determined to return to England on the day when the Princess should be declared Queen.

"Oh, when will you three dear boys come home?" she wrote. "How I long for that day, how I picture ourselves at the beloved home in Sussex, the sweet old house at Chiddingly!

"I close my eyes, and my mind pictures to me the green woods and the noble sweep of the Sussex downs. I seem to hear the cawing of the rooks in the tall trees and the singing of the birds in the shrubberies. Oh, I grow mad with deep longing! God send you home quickly, safe and sound."

The boys listened to these words with bated breath—perhaps with moistened eyes—for Susan's passionate love for her Sussex home expressed their own deep longings.

"Here comes Lord Clinton," said Geoffrey suddenly, as he saw their lord's well-known figure approaching the tent.

They rose to receive him; then, as he took a seat, after some pleasant words of greeting, William spoke—

"We are happy to see you, my Lord; we are anxious to know if our marching orders have been given."

"It is on that very point that I am come to see you. I have my marching orders, but I am not sure that I shall take you with me."

The young "aides" started with surprise; but ere they could seek an explanation of his words Lord Clinton proceeded to say—

"I wish to hold a brief consultation with you. Count Mansfeld has just brought me some sinister news. He tells me that his reiters have discovered that it was Ralph's poniard which disabled the man who was afterwards hung from the cathedral turret, and they have sworn to avenge his death.

"He has sent them a message that he will sharply punish the perpetrators of any such an attempt, but Mansfeld tells me that his men are in a dangerous humour, and he wished me to warn you to keep to the limits of your own camp, and that even within those limits Ralph should never wander alone."

The young soldiers smiled disdainfully.

"Our swords can guard our heads, my Lord, we have no fear!" said Geoffrey.

"Yes, I know that," cried Clinton, "but I want to make assurance doubly sure.

"Now, listen. By to-day's courier the King has received some disquieting news. Guise is collecting a great army under King Henry's orders, and Philip has a suspicion that Calais is to be the object of his attack.

"From his spies at the French Court he hears that the Bishop of Acqs, the French envoy to England, has just returned home, and that he passed through Calais en route. He reports that the town is practically defenceless; the garrison is small, the fortifications are in a state of ruin.

"The King is sending swift messengers to Queen Mary to urge her to remedy this condition of things, but he wishes to obtain proof that the Bishop's statements are true. I have offered him your services, if you are willing to undertake the duty. What say you?

"Your mission will be a secret one, and it will be attended with many dangers both by land and sea; but it will bring you much honour if you succeed. From Calais you would proceed direct to Dover, and so to London to lay your report before the Queen."

The boys listened with glistening eyes; this was the Heaven-sent fulfilment of their dearest hopes! With one voice they cried—

"We accept!"

"I knew that you would do so," replied Clinton, "and I go to ask the King to give you a letter to be presented to Lord Wentworth, the Governor of Calais. Make your preparations with all possible secrecy—you will start to-night under cover of darkness. Your route will be to Brussels, and thence to Antwerp, where you will embark on a King's ship for Calais.

"I will provide you with three strong horses; at Brussels you will change these for three others, which you will leave at Antwerp. There is no moon to-night, happily; you must start at eight o'clock, and I will be here to give you money and your last instructions. Now I go to the King; commence your preparations at once; I return to you in an hour's time," and therewith Lord Clinton left them.

What joy he left behind him! The three boys flung their caps in the air, they shook each other by the hand, they would have given hearty cheers but for the remembrance that secrecy had now become their watchword.

Their preparations would be few, but even for these they required the help of their three faithful serving lads, strong Chiddingly lads of approved courage, who loved their young masters better than their lives.

"Oh, that we might take the lads with us," cried Ralph. "I will follow Lord Clinton and seek his permission," he added.

"That you may not do," said Geoffrey firmly; "do you not remember that you are not to leave the tent alone? If you go we must accompany you.

"But stay; is there not a better way? If Lord Clinton consent, the three lads can ride on our horses, though they are somewhat sorry nags; we will lay the matter before him when he returns at eight o'clock. Meanwhile, they can help us furbish our weapons and prepare our travelling packs, they can feed the horses and have them ready to set forth, we need not tell them more than is necessary, that we have to ride forth on the King's business to-night will suffice."

So it was decided.

The lads occupied an adjoining tent; they were at this moment awaiting their masters' summons to prepare their simple evening meal. They were called in, and speedily all things were proceeding according to Geoffrey's suggestions.

The shades of night were deepening as they sat down to supper, it was a quarter to eight o'clock. The camp fires were being lit, and the soldiers of the English contingent were gathering around them in merry groups.

It was eight o'clock and the young Englishmen had supped, all their preparations were complete.

The flap of the tent lifted silently, and two cloaked figures entered, their features hidden in the folds of their outer garments. These they now cast aside, and by the dim light which illumined the tent the "aides" recognized Lord Clinton, and with him the King!

Instantly the young men knelt on one knee before him and kissed his hand.

Philip gazed intently upon their countenances: he knew them fairly well, but it seemed as if he wished to reassure himself. Then in a low, cold, but distinct voice he said to Lord Clinton—

"They will do; we have met under many different circumstances, and I know them to be brave men."

"Your Majesty is right," replied Lord Clinton, "they will do their duty or die in endeavouring to fulfil it."

Then Philip addressed the Englishmen.

Their mission required secrecy, speed, courage and endurance. They were to make close inspection of the fortifications, guns, material of war, and the garrison of Calais with Lord Wentworth's help, to whom he had written. This letter, which he now gave them, must never fall into the hands of the enemy, to whom it would reveal all his suspicions and plans. He delivered this letter into the hands of Monsieur de Fynes, as the eldest of the three. If danger befell them it were better that the two younger men should perish, so long as the bearer of the letter escaped. If he fell into the hands of the foe let him see that the letter was destroyed at all hazards. The perilous part of their journey would be the portion of it which lay in French territory, but twelve hours hard riding would carry them into Flanders, after which there would be little danger, yet let them never remit their precautions.

The King then handed to each man a heavy purse of gold wherewith to defray expenses, the surplus, if any, would be their own.

"I hear the sound of your horses outside the tent," said the King; "have I made all explicit, is there any question you would like to ask?"

The young men looked at each other. Then Geoffrey spoke—

"Your Majesty may rely on our carrying out your gracious commands, or we shall perish in the attempt. We have but one thing to suggest, and that is that our three faithful servants may accompany us; they can ride our own horses and they will be of great service to us."

The King and Lord Clinton conversed in low tones, then Clinton announced their decision.

"His Majesty agrees to your request," he said; "we think it will attract less observation and suspicion if three gentlemen be accompanied by their serving men than if they travelled alone: it is a wise suggestion on your part."

Then the King and Lord Clinton arose from their seats and prepared to depart. The King extended his hand, which the young men again knelt to kiss, and he bade them farewell. Lord Clinton shook hands warmly with them.

"Adieu! mes braves gens," he said: "God grant you a safe and successful journey. We shall next meet in London, I trust. Farewell, farewell." And so they left the tent.

The young men stood in silence for a moment, then Geoffrey spoke—

"The King has laid a heavy trust upon us," he said, "and therein has conferred on us great honour, for we shall now be doing service to our own dear country as well as to his. Let us ask a greater King than Philip, even our Heavenly Father, to bless our enterprise."

With one impulse the young men knelt, and for a few minutes held silent converse with God. Ere they left the tent William spoke.

"In this matter, my brothers, we need a leader whom we swear to obey in all things. I propose that Geoffrey be our captain."

"Nay," urged Geoffrey; but ere he could proceed further Ralph intervened.

"I consent, and that most heartily," he said.

Geoffrey grasped the hands of his two comrades and said—

"Let it be as you wish, my brothers, and my first word of command is to horse! to horse!"

It was a lovely night, the stars shone brilliantly in the autumnal sky, a light refreshing breeze had sprung up.

Outside the tent six horses stood awaiting their riders. Three of these were held by Lord Clinton's grooms; they were great Flemish war-horses of a renowned breed, beside which the three English horses, held by the Sussex lads, looked small and insignificant. Yet these latter were wiry and strong; happily they were in excellent condition and fit for the long journey before them.

Before they mounted their horses the Englishmen closely inspected every part of the harness, to assure themselves that nothing was amiss. The lads' horses were examined with equal care, and the weapons of their riders underwent Geoffrey's keen scrutiny. Every man was armed with a brace of pistolets and with poniard and dagger. The inspection was over, and, at the word of command, the six men swung into their saddles.

"Slowly through the camp," said Geoffrey in a low voice.

As they moved forward a camp follower, apparently the worse for drink, lurched heavily against one of the lads' horses and caught at his stirrup to steady himself.

"Where away, comrade?" he hiccuped to the lad, who in reply slashed at the impudent villain with his whip.

Geoffrey's quick ear had caught the sound of a voice, and he instantly r............