out his hand
towards the arm-chair as if to push it towards her; but the queen made a
sign that she had no need of it, and gazed at the door with apparent
calm. Lord Ruthven appeared; it was the first time that she had seen the
son since Rizzio had been assassinated by the father.

Lord Ruthven was both a warrior and a statesman, and at this moment his
dress savoured of the two professions: it consisted of a close coat of
embroidered buff leather, elegant enough to be worn as a court undress,
and on which, if need were, one could buckle a cuirass, for battle: like
his father, he was pale; like his father, he was to die young, and, even
more than his father, his countenance wore that ill-omened melancholy by
which fortune-tellers recognise those who are to die a violent death.

Lord Ruthven united in himself the polished dignity of a courtier and the
inflexible character of a minister; but quite resolved as he was to
obtain from Mary Stuart, even if it were by violence, what he had come to
demand in the regent's name, he none the less made her, on entering, a
cold but respectful greeting, to which the queen responded with a
courtesy; then the steward drew up to the empty arm-chair a heavy table
on which had been prepared everything necessary for writing, and at a
sign from the two lords he went out, leaving the queen and her companion
alone with the three ambassadors. Then the queen, seeing that this table
and this arm-chair were put ready for her, sat down; and after a moment,
herself breaking this silence more gloomy than any word could have been--

"My lords," said she, "you see that I wait: can it be that this message
which you have to communicate to me is so terrible that two soldiers as
renowned as Lord Lindsay and Lord Ruthven hesitate at the moment of
transmitting it?"

"Madam," answered Ruthven, "I am not of a family, as you know, which ever
hesitates to perform a duty, painful as it may be; besides, we hope that
your captivity has prepared you to hear what we have to tell you on the
part of the Secret Council."

"The Secret Council!" said the queen. "Instituted by me, by what right
does it act without me? No matter, I am waiting for this message: I
suppose it is a petition to implore my mercy for the men who have dared
to reach to a power that I hold only from God."

"Madam," replied Ruthven, who appeared to have undertaken the painful
role of spokesman, while Lindsay, mute and impatient, fidgeted wit