to me only. For I name as belonging to me what I have purchased
with the tender and constant love with which I have burned for you, a
love more alive to-day than ever, and which will end only with my
life; a love, in short, which makes me despise both the dangers and
the remorse which will be perhaps its sad sequel. As the price of this
sacrifice, I ask you but one favour, it is to remember a spot not far
from here: I do not exact that you should keep your promise to-morrow;
but I want to see you to disperse your suspicions. I ask of God only one
thing: it is that He should make you read my heart, which is less mine
than yours, and that He should guard you from every ill, at least during
my life: this life is dear to me only in so far as it pleases you, and
as I please you myself. I am going to bed: adieu; give me your news
to-morrow morning; for I shall be uneasy till I have it. Like a bird
escaped from its cage, or the turtle-dove which has lost her mate, I
shall be alone, weeping your absence, short as it may be. This letter,
happier than I, will go this evening where I cannot go, provided that
the messenger does not find you asleep, as I fear. I have not dared to
write it in the presence of Joseph, of Sebastian, and of Joachim, who
had only just left me when I began it."

Thus, as one sees, and always supposing these letters to be genuine,
Mary had conceived for Bothwell one of those mad passions, so much
the stronger in the women who are a prey to them, that one the less
understands what could have inspired them. Bothwell was no longer young,
Bothwell was not handsome, and yet Mary sacrificed for him a young
husband, who was considered one of the handsomest men of his century. It
was like a kind of enchantment. Darnley, the sole obstacle to the union,
had been already condemned for a long time, if not by Mary, at least
by Bothwell; then, as his strong constitution had conquered the poison,
another kind of death was sought for.

The queen, as she announces in her letter to Bothwell, had refused
to bring back Darnley with her, and had returned alone to Edinburgh.
Arrived there, she gave orders for the king to be moved, in his turn, in
a litter; but instead of taking him to Stirling or Holyrood, she decided
to lodge him in the abbey of the Kirk of Field. The king made some
objections when he knew of this arrangement; however, as he had no power
to oppose it, he contented himself with complaining of the solitude of
t