id
passionately. "Thou canst join me there and Denmark is as fair as
Scotland; but it boots not to joke and laugh, for I have heavy news to
tell thee. Thou must fly for thy life. 'Tis known that thou hast had
dealings with my Lord of Bothwell, that traitor to the King, and thy
life is in danger."

The young man looked at her in surprise. "Nay, sweet Meg," he said, "but
methinks the Christmas junketing hath turned thy brain, for no man can
bring a word against me, and I stand high in his Majesty's favour.
Someone hath been filling thy ears with old wives' tales."

"But I know thou art in danger," she persisted, wringing her hands in
despair when she saw how lightly he took the news. "I do not understand
all the court quarrels, for this land is not my land, but I know that my
Lord Bothwell hates the King, and that the King distrusts my Lord
Bothwell, and, knowing this, can I not see that there is danger in thy
having been seen talking to the Earl in a house in the Cowgate? and,
moreover, it is said that he gave thee a packet which thou art supposed
to have carried hither. Would that I could persuade thee to fly, to take
ship at Leith, and cross over to Denmark; my parents would harbour thee
till the storm blew past."

Margaret was in deadly earnest, but her lover only laughed again, and
assured her that she had been listening to idle tales. To him it seemed
incredible that he could get into any trouble because he had lately held
some intercourse with his father's old friend, the Earl of Bothwell, and
had, at his request, carried back a sealed packet to give to one of the
officials at the palace, on his return from a trip to France. It was
true that Lord Bothwell was in disfavour with the King, who suspected
him of plotting against his person, but Hugh believed that his royal
master was mistaken, and, as he had only been about the court a couple
of months or so, he had not yet learned how dangerous it was to hold
intercourse with men who were counted the King's enemies.

So he soothed Margaret's fears with playful words, promising to be more
discreet in the future, and keep aloof from the Earl, and in a short
time they were back in the ballroom, and he, at least, was dancing as
merrily as if there was no such word as treason.

For two or three weeks after the Twelfth-night ball, life at Holyrood
went on so quietly that Margaret Twynlace was inclined to think that her
lover had been right, and that she had put more mea