sword, the right hand resting upon the hilt of
the heavy dagger in the girdle. The helmet's vizor was raised, revealing
the ghastly face of Ruthven--so ghastly that it must have seemed the
face of a dead man but for the blazing life in the eyes that scanned the
company. Those questing eyes went round the table, settled upon Rizzio,
and seemed horribly to smile.

Startled, disquieted by this apparition, the Queen half rose, Darnley's
hindering arm still flung about her waist.

"What's this?" she cried, her voice sharp.

And then, as if she guessed intuitively what it might portend, she
considered her husband with pale-faced contempt.

"Judas!" she called him, flung away from his detaining arm, and stood
forth to confront that man in steel. "What seek ye here, my lord--and in
this guise?" was her angry challenge.

Ruthven's burning eyes fell away before her glance. He clanked forward a
step or two, flung out a mailed arm, and with a hand that shook pointed
to the Seigneur Davie, who stood blankly watching him.

"I seek yon man," he said gruffly. "Let him come forth."

"He is here by my will," she told him, her anger mounting. "And so are
not you--for which you shall be made to answer."

Then to Darnley, who sat hunched on the settle:

"What does this mean, sir?" she demanded.

"Why--how should I know? Why--why, nothing," he faltered foolishly.

"Pray God that you are right," said she, "for your own sake. And you,"
she continued, addressing Ruthven again and waving a hand in imperious
dismissal, "be you gone, and wait until I send for you, which I promise
you shall be right soon."

If she divined some of the evil of their purpose, if any fear assailed
her, yet she betrayed nothing of it. She was finely tempered steel.

But Ruthven, sullen and menacing, stood his ground.

"Let yon man come forth," he repeated. "He has been here ower lang."

"Over long?" she echoed, betrayed by her quick resentment.

"Aye, ower lang for the good o' Scotland and your husband," was the
brutal answer.

Erskine, of her guards, leapt to his feet.

"Will you begone, sir?" he cried; and after him came Beaton and the
Commendator, both echoing the captain's threatening question.

A smile overspread Ruthven's livid face. The heavy dagger flashed from
his belt.

"My affair is not with any o' ye, but if ye thrust yersels too close
upon my notice--"

The Queen stepped clear of the table to intervene, lest violence should
be done