"The bearer is my Messenger.
"Margaret R.I."
"Kneel," she said, gravely, and he bent his knee to the ground.
"This is a token of our love and trust."
He glanced at the paper. "I can't take that, dear Queen. It might
compromise you; it's too dangerous." He would have risen.
"No, don't get up yet."
The Duke of Lancaster had come in bearing a suit of armour and a
cloak.
"Give me your sword, Tom."
The soldier bent his knee and presented the hilt.
"Now," she stood up waving the sword lightly above the master's head,
"will you be my true knight?"
The master sank down on both knees, and lifted up his clasped hands.
"Rise," cried the Queen, striking the accolade on his shoulder. "You
are too great for any poor titles or dignities of my chivalry, but be
my friend, Mr. Brand, and put on the harness of my knights. Staunch
champion," her voice broke, "true, loyal friend, there's nothing left
for the Queen to do but pray. God save you this wild night, God save
and keep you in this fearful war."