e Prince of Parma in
London, she, if she hath the high courage she boasteth of, would soon
cause the Spanish pikes to use small ceremony with her! Why should I
concern myself about poor Antony and his five gentlemen? But it is the
same as it was twenty years ago. What I know will have to be, and yet
choose not to hear of, is made the head and front of mine offending,
that the real actors may go free! And because I have writ naught that
they can bring against me, they take my letters and add to and garble
them, till none knows where to have them. Would that we were in
France! There it was a good sword-cut or pistol-shot at once, and one
took one's chance of a return, without all this hypocrisy of law and
justice to weary one out and make men double traitors."

"Methought Walsingham winced when your Majesty went to the point with
him," said Bourgoin.

"And you put up with his explanation?" said Melville.

"Truly I longed to demand of what practices Mr. Secretary in his
office,--not as a private person--would be ashamed; but it seemed to me
that they might call it womanish spite, and to that the Queen of Scots
will never descend!"

"Pity but that we had Babington's letter! Then might we put him to
confusion by proving the additions," said Melville.

"It is not possible, my good friend. The letter is at the bottom of
the Castle well; is it not, mignonne? Mourn for it not, Andrew. It
would have been of little avail, and it carried with it stuff that Mr.
Secretary would give almost his precious place to possess, and that
might be fatal to more of us. I hoped that there might have been
safety for poor Babington in the destruction of that packet, never
guessing at the villainy of yon Burton brewer, nor of those who set him
on. Come, it serves not to fret ourselves any more. I must answer as
occasion serves me; speaking not so much to Elizabeth's Commission, who
have foredoomed me, as to all Christendom, and to the Scots and English
of all ages, who will be my judges."

Her judges? Ay! but how? With the same enthusiastic pity and
indignation, mixed with the same misgiving as her own daughter felt.
Not wholly innocent, not wholly guilty, yet far less guilty than those
who had laid their own crimes on her in Scotland, or who plotted to
involve her in meshes partly woven by herself in England. The evil done
to her was frightful, but it would have been powerless had she been
wholly blameless. Alas! is it not s