ered
her room. Both astonished and frightened at this neglect of propriety,
which could augur nothing good, Mary sat up in bed, and parting the
curtains, saw standing before her Lord Lindsay of Byres: she knew he was
one of her oldest friends, so she asked him in a voice which she vainly
tried to make confident, what he wanted of her at such a time.

"Do you know this writing, madam?" Lord Lindsay asked in a rough voice,
presenting to the queen the letter she had written to Bothwell at night,
which the soldier had carried to the Confederate lords, instead of taking
to its address.

"Yes, doubtless, my lord," the queen answered; "but am I already a
prisoner, then, that my correspondence is intercepted? or is it no longer
allowed to a wife to write to her husband?"

"When the husband is a traitor," replied Lindsay, "no, madam, it is no
longer allowed to a wife to write to her husband--at least, however, if
this wife have a part in his treason; which seems to me, besides, quite
proved by the promise you make to this wretch to recall him to you."

"My lord," cried Mary, interrupting Lindsay, "do you forget that you are
speaking to your queen."

"There was a time, madam," Lindsay replied, "when I should have spoken to
you in a more gentle voice, and bending the knee, although it is not in
the nature of us old Scotch to model ourselves on your French courtiers;
but for some time, thanks to your changing loves, you have kept us so
often in the field, in harness, that our voices are hoarse from the cold
night air, and our stiff knees can no longer bend in our armour: you must
then take me just as I am, madam; since to-day, for the welfare of
Scotland, you are no longer at liberty to choose your favourites."

Mary grew frightfully pale at this want of respect, to which she was not
yet accustomed; but quickly containing her anger, as far as possible--

"But still, my lord," said she, "however disposed I may be to take you as
you are, I must at least know by what right you come here. That letter
which you are holding in your hand would lead me to think it is as a spy,
if the ease with which you enter my room without being asked did not make
me believe it is as a gaoler. Have the goodness, then, to inform me by
which of these two names I must call you."

"Neither by one nor the other, madam; for I am simply your
fellow-traveller, chef of the escort which is to take you to Lochleven
Castle, your future residence. And yet,