d down his throat was poured down his sleeve. Therefore to avoid this
species of rustic sport I drank much more than was good for me. When the
feast closed I thought I was sober enough to go to my room unassisted; so
I took a candle, and with a great show of self-confidence climbed the
spiral stone stairway to the door of my room. The threshold of my door was
two or three feet above the steps of the stairway, and after I had
contemplated the distance for a few minutes, I concluded that it would not
be safe for me to attempt to climb into my sleeping apartments without
help. Accordingly I sat down upon the step on which I had been standing,
placed my candle beside me, called loudly for a servant, received no
response, and fell asleep only to be awakened by one of Sir George's
retainers coming downstairs next morning.

After that supper, in rapid succession, followed hunting and drinking,
feasting and dancing in my honor. At the dances the pipers furnished the
music, or, I should rather say, the noise. Their miserable wailings
reminded me of Scotland. After all, thought I, is the insidious, polished
vice of France worse than the hoggish, uncouth practices of Scotland and
of English country life? I could not endure the latter, so I asked Sir
George, on the pretext of ill health, to allow me to refuse invitations to
other houses, and I insisted that he should give no more entertainments at
Haddon Hall on my account. Sir George eagerly acquiesced in all my wishes.
In truth, I was treated like an honored guest and a member of the family,
and I congratulated myself that my life had fallen in such pleasant lines.
Dorothy and Madge became my constant companions, for Sir George's time
was occupied chiefly with his estates and with his duties as magistrate. A
feeling of rest and contentment came over me, and my past life drifted
back of me like an ever receding cloud.

Thus passed the months of October and November.

In the meantime events in Scotland and in England proved my wisdom in
seeking a home at Haddon Hall, and showed me how great was my good fortune
in finding it.

Queen Mary was a prisoner at Lochleven Castle, and her brother Murray had
beheaded many of her friends. Elizabeth, hating Mary as only a plain,
envious woman can hate one who is transcendently beautiful, had, upon
different pretexts, seized many of Mary's friends who had fled to England
for sanctuary, and some of them had suffered imprisonment or death.

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