ing; 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
the dwelling assigned him; but the queen made answer that she could not
receive him at that moment, either at Holyrood or at Stirling, for fear,
if his illness were infectious, lest he might give it to his son: Darnley
was then obliged to make the best of the abode allotted him.

It was an isolated abbey, and little calculated by its position to
dissipate the fears that the king entertained; for it was situated
between two ruined churches and two cemeteries: the only house, which was
distant about a shot from a cross-bow, belonged to the Hamiltons, and as
they were Darnley's mortal enemies the neighbourhood was none the more
reassuring: further, towards the north, rose some wretched huts, called
the "Thieves' cross-roads". In going round his new residence, Darnley
noticed that three holes, each large enough for a man to get through