cided with my friends?" said the queen, raising
Douglas, who till then had remained on his knees before her.

"Nothing yet," George replied; "for we scarcely had time to see one
another. Your escape, impossible without me, is difficult even with me;
and your Majesty has seen that I was obliged publicly to fail in respect,
to obtain from my mother the confidence which gives me the good fortune
of seeing you to-day: if this confidence on my mother's or my brother's
part ever extends to giving up to me the castle keys, then you are saved!
Let your Majesty not be surprised at anything, then: in the presence of
others, I shall ever be always a Douglas, that is an enemy; and except
your life be in danger, madam, I shall not utter a word, I shall not make
a gesture which might betray the faith that I have sworn you; but, on
your side, let your grace know well, that present or absent, whether I am
silent or speak, whether I act or remain inert, all will be in appearance
only, save my devotion. Only," continued Douglas, approaching the window
and showing to the queen a little house on Kinross hill,--"only, look
every evening in that direction, madam, and so long as you see a light
shine there, your friends will be keeping watch for you, and you need not
lose hope."

"Thanks, Douglas, thanks," said the queen; "it does one good to meet with
a heart like yours from time to time--oh! thanks."

"And now, madam," replied the young man, "I must leave your Majesty; to
remain longer with you would be to raise suspicions, and a single doubt
of me, think of it well, madam, and that light which is your sole beacon
is extinguished, and all returns into night."

With these words, Douglas bowed more respectfully than he had yet done,
and withdrew, leaving Mary full of hope, and still more full of pride;
for this time the homage that she had just received was certainly for the
woman and not for the queen.

As the queen had told him, Mary Seyton was informed of everything, even
the love of Douglas, and, the two women impatiently awaited the evening
to see if the promised star would shine on the horizon. Their hope was
not in vain: at the appointed time the beacon was lit. The queen trembled
with joy, for it was the confirmation of her hopes, and her companion
could not tear her from the window, where she remained with her gaze
fastened on the little house in Kinross. At last she yielded to Mary
Seyton's prayers, and consented to go to bed;