the day to attend to her toilet, her hair was
falling in disorder about her shoulders, her face was pale and showed
traces of tears; and finally, her clothes were covered with dust and mud.
As she proceeded through the town, the hootings of the people and the
curses of the crowd followed her. At last, half dead with fatigue, worn
out with grief, bowed down with shame, she reached the house of the Lord
Provost; but scarcely had she got there when the entire population of
Edinburgh crowded into the square, with cries that from time to time
assumed a tone of terrifying menace. Several times, then, Mary wished to
go to the window, hoping that the sight of her, of which she had so often
proved the influence, would disarm this multitude; but each time she saw
this banner unfurling itself like a bloody curtain between herself and
the people--a terrible rendering of their feelings.

However, all this hatred was meant still more for Bothwell than for her:
they were pursuing Bothwell in Darnley's widow. The curses were for
Bothwell: Bothwell was the adulterer, Bothwell was the murderer, Bothwell
was the coward; while Mary was the weak, fascinated woman, who, that same
evening, gave afresh proof of her folly.

In fact, directly the falling night had scattered the crowd and a little
quiet was regained, Mary, ceasing to be uneasy on her own account, turned
immediately to Bothwell, whom she had been obliged to abandon, and who
was now proscribed and fleeing; while she, as she believed, was about to
reassume her title and station of queen. With that eternal confidence of
the woman in her own love, by which she invariably measures the love of
another, she thought that Bothwell's greatest distress was to have lost,
not wealth and power, but to have lost herself. So she wrote him a long
letter, in which, forgetful of herself, she promised him with the most
tender expressions of love never to desert him, and to recall him to her
directly the breaking up of the Confederate lords should give her power
to do so; then, this letter written, she called a soldier, gave him a
purse of gold, and charged him to take this letter to Dunbar, where
Bothwell ought to be, and if he were already gone, to follow him until he
came up with him.

Then she went to bed and slept more calmly; for, unhappy as she was, she
believed she had just sweetened misfortunes still greater than hers.

Next day the queen was awakened by the step of an armed man who ent