Chapter III: Part 3

"Unless she belong to another," said Ormiston, coarsely closing the sentence.

"By the rood! a good jest and a merry," laughed Bothwell; but Morton's olive cheek glowed with anger.

"Be not chafed, my lord," said Ormiston; "by cock and pie! I spoke but in boon fellowship. Drink with me! This Rochelle is famously spiced, and stirred with a rosemary sprig for good-luck."

"Does Master Ainslie warrant it old?"

"Old! my Lord Morton," reiterated Adam, turning up his eyes; "ay! auld as the three trees of Dysart; for it lay many a long year before the '59, among the stoor and cobwebs o' the Blackfriars' binns, up the brae yonder."

"By the way," said the Lord Coldinghame, "as thou talkest of the Blackfriars, what tale of a roasted horse is this, anent whilk the whole city is agog, concerning a spectre which is said to have appeared there on the night the king was slain, and hath haunted the ruins of St. Mary's kirk ever since?"

"Knowest thou aught of this, Adam?" asked Bothwell, whose mind, though he endeavoured to maintain his usual aspect of nonchalance, wandered constantly to the gigantic projects he had in view.

"As ye know, my lord," replied Adam, setting his head on one side and his left leg forward, with the air of a man who has a story to tell; "on the night of that deadly crime in the Kirk-of-Field, two especial gentlemen of the Earl of Athol, the umquhile king's gude-cousin, were both a-bed at his lordship's lodging, which is just within the town wall, and not a bowshot frae auld St. Mary's kirk. In the mirk mid hour of the night, Sir Dougal Stuart, who slept next the wall, was awaked by a death-cauld hand passing owre his cheek, and which thereafter took him by the beard, while an unearthly voice, sounding as if from afar off, said--'Arise, or violence will be offered unto you!' At the same moment his friend, a half-wud Hielandman, awoke, saying furiously--'Where is my durk, for some one hath boxed mine ear?' And both started up to see, close by their bed, a dusky figure, of which no feature could be defined save a clenched hand, bare, and long, and glistening in the siller moonlight, that shone through the grated window; then it melted away like morning mist; the turnpike door was heard to close with a bang, as if some one had left the house; and while, with fear and alarm, they started to their sword's, lo! they heard the explosion that sent king and kirk-house into the air together."[*]

[*] See Buchanan.

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Bothwell angrily, for this story was then current in the city; "'tis a tale befitting only the old dames who play basset and primero in the queen's antechamber. Wert thou at sermon in the High Kirk this morning, Hob?" he asked, to change the subject.

"Cock and pie, no!" said Ormiston, as he gulped down his wine with surprise.

"Marry!" said Lord Lindesay; "thou didst miss a rare discourse."

"On what did Master Knox expone?" asked several Protestant peers; while Huntly and other Catholics curled their mustaches, and exchanged glances of scorn. Lindesay replied--

"Anent the story of that strong loon, Samson, tying three hundred torches to the tails of sae mony tod-lowries, to burn the corn of the Philistines--likening himself unto Samson--the ministry o' the reformit kirk to the three hundred tods, and their discourses unto the bleezing torches--the corn o' the Philistines unto the kirk o' the Pope, whilk their burning tails would utterly overthrow, ruinate, and consume. God speed the gude wark!" added the stern peer, as he brushed aside his heavy white beard with one hand, and tossed over his wine-cup with the other.

"What spell hath come over thee, compere Bothwell?" said d'Elboeuff; "thou seemest grave as a judge. Here is the _merry-thought_ of a capercailzie to scare thy melancholy."

"Marquis," replied the Earl gaily, "thy wit would require the addition of a _wing_ to make it soar. What a tall goblet thou hast! Dost mean to get drunk to-night?"

"Why not, _parbleu!_ when I am to ride to Holyrood?"

"What difference doth that make?"

_"Mon Dieu!_ because, if I stumble, there is more effect when falling from a saddle, than sprawling endlong in the kennel like a beastly bourgeoise."

"'Tis time with thee, Marquis, that siclike follies were left owre, for thy beard getteth frosted wi' eild," said Lord Lindesay.

"_Tete Dieu!_ dost thou say so, and live? But remember, most sombre Lord of the Byres, that Paris is as different from this city as the fields of Elysium are from those on the other side of the Styx. There the gaieties and glories of youth begin when we are yet children; when ye are boys, we are men; when ye are in your prime, we are in old age--exhausted with pleasure, _ennui_, drinking and gaming, roistering and"----

"Enough, Marquis!" said Bothwell, who had two ends in view--to drench his guests with wine, and to keep them all in excellent humour. "Enough!" he whispered; "for there are some stern spirits here who do not relish this discourse; and bethink thee of the reverend bishops who are among us."

"_Tonnere!_ apostates! heretics!" muttered the Marquis. Meanwhile Ormiston, Bolton, Morton, and others who were Bothwell's friends, seeing how his spirit alternately flagged and flashed, left nothing undone to increase the hilarity of the evening, and keep the wine circulating; for there were many present whom descent, religion, or faction had set at deadly feud, and who, had they met on a hillside or highway, or perhaps in the adjacent street, would have fought like mad bulls; but these had been artfully and politicly separated, and thus the unrestrained jesting and revelry increased apace.

Some talked of creaghs upon the northern frontier, of forays on the southern, of partition of kirk lands, and the flavour of wines, in the same breath. D'Elboeuff chattered like a magpie of new doublets and perfumes, of Paris and pretty women: old Lindesay spoke solemnly and portentously, over his ale, on the prospects of the holy kirk; and Glencairn responded with becoming gravity and ferocity of aspect.

Morton sat opposite Lethington, and from time to time they sipped their wine and exchanged those deep glances which the most acute physiognomist would have failed to analyse; but, as they watched the ebb and flow of the conversation around them, Morton seemed almost to say in his eyes, "Thou art wise as Nestor;" and the secretary to reply, "And _thou_ cunning as Ulysses."

Gradually the latter led the conversation to the politics of the day--the misgovernment that, since the death of James V., had characterised each succeeding year; how the sceptre, feebly swayed by the hands of a facile woman, had never been capable of aweing the great barons and their predatory vassalage--the urgent necessity of some powerful peer espousing the queen, and assuming the reins of government, otherwise the destruction of Scotland by foreign invasion and domestic brawl--the subversion of the rights of the nobles, the power of the church, the courts of law, and the liberties of the people, would assuredly ensue.

This half-false and half-fustian speech, which the able Lethington delivered with singular emphasis and grace, was received with a burst of acclamation.

"My lords and gentles," said the aged Lindesay, standing erect, and leaning on his six feet sword as he spake; "here we are convened, as it seemeth, as mickle for council as carousal; albeit, ye have heard the premises so suitably set forth by the knight of Lethington, it causeth me mickle marvel to know whom among us he would name as worthy of the high honour of espousing our fair queen."

"Cock and pie!" exclaimed the impetuous Hob Ormiston, erecting his gigantic figure, and speaking in a voice that made the rafters ring; "whom would we name but her majesty's prime favourite and sorely maligned first counsellor, James Earl of Bothwell, Governor of Edinburgh and Dunbar, and Lord High Admiral of the realm? Who, I demand, would not rather see him the mate of Mary Stuart, than the beardless Lord of Darnley--that silken slave, that carpet knight, and long-legged giraffe in lace and taffeta? What say ye, my lords and barons, are we unanimous?"

There was a pause, and then rose a shout of applause, mingled with cries of "A Bothwell! a Bothwell!" from Morton and other allies of the Earl, who were so numerous that they completely overcame the scruples, or hushed into silence the objections, of the hostile and indifferent.

The Earl, whose heart was fired anew by the glow of love and ambition--for never did a prospect more dazzling open to the view of a subject than the hope of sharing a throne with a being so beautiful as Mary--thanked his friends with a grace peculiarly his own, and immediately produced that famous BOND--a document in which the nobles in parliament assembled, asserted his innocence of the crime of the 11th February, and earnestly recommended him to Mary as the most proper man in Scotland to espouse her in her widowhood--and bind themselves by every tie, human and divine, "to fortify the said Earl in the said marriage," so runs the deed, "as we shall answer to God, on our fidelity and conscience. And in case we do on the contrary, never to have reputation or credit in time hereafter, but to be accounted _unworthy and faithless traitors_."

"God temper thy wild ambition, Bothwell!" said the Archbishop, as he signed the document to which the seven other prelates appended their names. That of Moray--Mary's dearly loved brother--had _already_ been given before his departure; and its appearance had a powerful effect on all present.

"Deil stick me, gif I like mickle to scald my neb in another man's brose!" growled Glencairn; "yet I will subscrive it, albeit I would rather have had a suitor to whose maintainance of the Holy Reformit Kirk Master Knox could have relied on."

Morton gave one of his cold and sinister smiles as he appended his name in silence; while the Marquis d'Elboeuff also smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and applied to his nostrils an exquisitely chased silver pouncet-box of fragrant essences, to conceal the merriment with which he watched the arduous operation of fixing the signatures; for writing was a slow and solemn process in those days.

A new and terrible difficulty occurred, which nearly knocked the whole affair on the head.

Very few of these potent peers could sign their names, and others objected to making their mark, which, from its resemblance to a cross, savoured of popery; but Lethington effected a conscientious compromise, by causing them to make a T, as those did who signed the first solemn league--a smallness of literary attainment which did not prevent those unlettered lords from demolishing the hierarchy of eight hundred years, and giving a new creed to a nation as ignorant as themselves.

Bothwell felt as if he trode on air when consigning this tremendous paper, which had the signatures of so many bishops, earls, and lords, the most powerful in Scotland, to the care of Pittendreich, the Lord President.

The rere-supper lasted long.

Deeply they drank that night, but none deeper than the Earl and his friends; and the morning sun was shining brightly into the narrow wynd--the city gates had been opened, and the booths which, from 1555 till 1817, clustered round St. Giles, were all unclosed for business, and carlins were brawling with the _acquaoli_ at the Mile-end well, ere the company separated; and the Earl, accompanied by Hob Ormiston and the knights of Tallo and Bolton, with their eyes half closed, their cloaks and ruffs awry, and their gait somewhat oscillating and unsteady, threaded their way down the sunlit Canongate, and reached Bothwell's apartments in Holyrood--that turreted palace, where the unconscious Mary was perhaps asleep with her child in her bosom, and little foreseeing the storm that was about to burst on her unhappy head.

*CHAPTER X.*

*HANS AND KONRAD.*

Yes, she is ever with me! I can feel,
Here as I sit at midnight and alone,
Her gentle breathing! On my breast can feel
The presence of her head! God's benison
Rest ever on it!
_Longfellow._

On this morning, the sun shone brightly on the blue bosom of the Forth, and the grey rocks of all its many isles. The sea-mews were spreading their broad white pinions to the wind, as they skimmed from their nests in the ruins of Inchcolm, and the caves of Wemyss.

The little fisher-hamlet that bordered the New haven, with its thatched and gable-ended cottages, its street encumbered by great brown boats, rusty anchors, and drying nets, looked cheerful in the warm sunshine; and troops of ruddy-cheeked children were gamboling on those broad links that lay where now the water rolls.

Near a little window in the confined cabin of a Norwegian ship, lay Konrad of Saltzberg, faint, feeble, and exhausted; for the fever of a long and weary sickness had preyed upon his body and mind, prostrating every energy. He was pale, attenuated, and hollow-eyed; and now, for the first time since the night we last saw him, had emerged from insensibility to a state of consciousness. He felt the cool air of the April morning blow freshly on his pallid cheek; he heard the ripple of the water, and saw its surface gleaming in the sunshine afar off, where its waves broke in purple and gold on a distant promontory; and close by (for the crayer lay within ten yards of the shore) he heard the merry voices of the children as they gamboled and tumbled on the bright green grass.

Konrad had been dreaming of his home, and these voices came to his slumbering ear in old familiar tones. He had heard the hearty greeting of old Sir Erick Rosenkrantz, and the merry laugh of Anna, as it had sounded in the days of his boyhood and joy; and he heard the murmur of the sea, as, wafted by the summer wind, its waves rolled upon the rocks of Bergen.

The morning breeze from the German ocean roused him from this dreamy lethargy, and for the first time in many weeks he raised his head, and endeavoured to recollect where he was; but the aspect of the little cabin, with its arched deck, and massive beams, confused and puzzled him.

"I am still dreaming," he murmured, and closed his eyes.

He opened them again, but still saw the same objects--the same little cabin, with its pannelled locker--a brass culverin on each side; a crossbow, maul, and helmet hanging on the bulkhead, and the open port affording a glimpse of the shining estuary, with its castled isle, and distant sails, that seemed like white birds resting on the faint and far off horizon.

Steps were heard, and then a stout and thick-set man was seen slowly descending the ladder from the deck. First appeared a pair of broad feet encased in rough leather shoes--then two sturdy legs in brown stockings, gartered with red ribbons; a vast obesity clad in chocolate-coloured breeches, garnished with three dozen of metal knobs at the seams; a waist encircled by a belt, sustaining a Norway knife; then square bulky shoulders in a white woollen jacket, and then a great bullet head, covered by a cap of black fox's fur, under which, on the person turning round, appeared the moonlike face of honest Hans Knuber, open-mouthed and open-eyed--expressive only of good-humour and hilarity; and, where not hidden by his thick red beard, exhibiting a hue that, by exposure to the weather, had turned to something between brick-dust and mahogany.

"Cheerily, ho!" said he, patting Konrad's shoulder with his broad hard hand; "and now, St. Olaus be praised, thou art come to life again! I knew the pure breeze that blew right over the sea from old Norway would revive thee."

"Honest Hans," replied Konrad, in a feeble voice, "I have often heard thy deep tones in the dreams of my sleep, as I thought."

"And so thou wert in a dream, lad--and a plaguy long one! such a dream as the wood-demon used to weave about those who dared to take a nap under his oak. Asleep! why, lad, thou'st been delirious"----

"How! since I came on board thy ship last night, in a plight so pitiful?"

"St. Olaus bless thee, Master Konrad! Thou hast lain by that gun-port for these eight long weeks!"

"Weeks--weeks!" muttered Konrad, pressing his hands on his temples, and endeavouring in vain to recollect himself.

"Ay, weeks; and a sad time we have had of it, with leeching and lancing, drugging and dosing, plastering and patching. Mass! I thought thou would have slipped thy cables altogether, though under the hands of Maitre Picauet." For Hans had spared no expense, and had brought even the royal physician to see his young charge; and so, thanks to the same skill that brought James VI. into the world, and nearly recovered Darnley from the grave, Konrad, when the delirium left him, began to find himself a new man.

"Eight weeks! I remember me now. Thou hadst landed thy cargo of Norway deals from our old pine-woods of Aggerhuis--hazel cuts and harrowbills"----

"Ay, ay; and had stowed on board my new lading, being crammed to the hatches with tanned leather, earthenware, and Scottish beer, wheat and malt, for which I expect to realize a goodly sum in round dollars among the cities on the Sound, where I would long since have furled my topsails, but for a rascally English pirate that hath cruised off the mouth of the fiord (or frith as the Scots call it), and I dared not put to sea, though ready to sail, with the free cocquet of the queen's conservator in my pouch, and my ship hove short upon her cable; for this is my last venture, and under hatches I carry all that must make or mar for ever the fortune of old Hans Knuber."

"Thou didst tell me some news from old Norway, I now remember, on that night Earl Bothwell's page led me here."

"Why, thou wert like the spectre of a drowned man--St. Erick be with us! But here--drain thy cup of barley ptisan, and I will tell thee more in good time."

Konrad drank the decoction prescribed by the physician, and impatiently said--

"Thou sawest my good friend, the old knight Rosenkrantz, I warrant?"

"I did," replied Hans gravely.

"And how looked he?"

"Stiff enow, Master Konrad; for he was lying in his coffin, with his spurs on his heels, and his sword girt about him."

Konrad was thunderstruck, and barely able to articulate; he gazed inquiringly at Hans.

"True it is, this sad story," said the seaman, wiping a tear away with the back of his brawny hand; "thou knowest well how all the province loved the bluff old knight, who was never without a smile or a kind word for the humblest among us; and faith he never allowed old Hans Knuber to pass his hall door without putting a long horn of dricka under his belt. But Sir Erick is gone now, and the king's castle of Bergen (ah! thou rememberest _that_) is a desolate place enough. And honest Sueno Throndson, that most puffy and important of chamberlains, he is gone to his last home too. He went to Zealand in the ship of Jans Thorson, to hang Sir Erick's shield, with all his arms fairly emblazoned thereon, among those of other dead Knights of the Elephant, in the subterranean chapel of Fredericksborg; but Jans, as thou knowest, could never keep a good reckoning, and, by not allowing duly for variation and leeway, was sucked by the moskenstrom, with all his crew, right down into the bowels of the earth. St. Olaus sain them!"

"Poor Sir Erick!" said Konrad, heedless of the fate of Jans, while his tears fell fast.

"Dost thou not know that King Frederick had created him Count of Bergen, and Lord of Welsoeoe, for his services in the old Holstein war?"

"Of all these passages, I have heard nothing."

"His niece, the Lady Anna, will be a countess now, as well as the richest heiress in the kingdom. Baggage that she is! Her uncle never recovered her desertion of his home for the arms of that Scottish lord, whom, if I had him here, I would string up to my gaff peak. By the mass! the old knight's heart was broken, for he loved thee as a son, and Anna as a daughter; but to the devil say I with women, for they all yaw in their course somehow, and require a strong hand at the tiller to make them lie well to the wind. This Anna, God's murrain"----

"Hold thee, Hans Knuber!" said Konrad, with something of his old air of dignity and authority; "for, nevertheless all thy kindness, I will not permit thee to breathe one word that is ungracious of Anna."

"As thou pleasest, lad," replied the seaman, taking off his fur cap to wipe his capacious head; "I thought 'twould relieve thee somewhat to hear one who had so shamefully misused thee roundly cursed."

"Oh no! never!" replied the young man in a low voice; "Oh, Hans! thou knowest not the depth and the enthusiasm of this passion that hath bewitched me. It banishes every angry thought from my mind, and leaves only a sense of desolation and agony, that can never die but with myself."

"Now, by the bones of Lodbrog! but I have no patience with this. How! a bold fellow like thee to be caterwauling thus, like a cat on a gutter? Go to! The Lubeckers and Holsteiners are again displaying their banners on the Elbe and Weser. Assume thy sword and helmet again. Thou hast the world before thee, with a fair wind; and what matters it leaving a false woman and a slighted love behind? Cheerily, ho! Master Konrad; a love that is easily won is lightly lost."

"False as this girl has been to me, Hans, there are times when her bright smile and her winning voice, and all the memory of our happy early days, come back to me in their first freshness and joy, and my soul melts within me. _Then_, Hans--in moments like these--I feel that, were she repentant, I could love her as of old. Oh, yes! I could forgive her--I could press her to my breast, and worship her as I did even in those days that have passed to return no more.

"Well, well--as thou pleasest. Take another gulp of this barley drench--thy ptisan. Get strong and healthy ere we see old Norway, where she is gone before thee with Christian Alborg, in the _Biornen_, and who knoweth what the clouds of futurity may conceal? An old love is easily rekindled, I have heard, though, by the mass! I know little of such gear; though _this_ I know, that the castle of Bergen, with the young countess's lordship of Welsoeoe, would make a very snug roadstead to drop one's anchor in;" and, with a leering wink, Hans Knuber once more clambered to the upper deck, where he drew his fur cap over his bushy brows, thrust his hands into his pockets, and scowled defiance at the small white speck that, near the Isle of May, still marked where the English pirate lay cruising in the offing.

*CHAPTER XI.*

*HOW BOTHWELL MADE USE OF THE BOND.*

I love you better--oh! better far than
Woman was ever loved. There's not an hour
Of day or dreaming night, but I am with thee;
There's not a wind but whispers of thy name,
And not a flower that sleeps beneath the moon,
But in its hues or fragrance tells a tale
Of thee, my love!
_Mirandola, a Tragedy._

It was the 23rd of April, four days after the great supper described in chapter 9th, when the queen, without her guard of archers, and accompanied only by a slender retinue, passed along the Stirling road towards Edinburgh. She was mounted on her celebrated white palfrey, with its bridle and housings covered with silver bosses and elaborate embroidery; and with surpassing grace she managed it, the stately animal bowing its arched neck, and champing the burnished bit, as if proud of its beautiful rider.

Mary wore a long and flowing riding-habit of dark cloth, laced with silver about the neck and sleeves. It came close up to her dimpled chin, where a thick frill, or little ruff, stuck stiffly out all round. She had her glossy hair drawn back from her snow-white temples, under her lace cap of widowhood (the far-famed Queen Mary cap), that drooped over her brow, while cocked jauntily a little on one side, she wore one of those small sugar-loaf hats which were then so fashionable. A diamond band encircled it, and a veil of the richest lace danced from it in the evening wind, as she caricoled along the old narrow horseway that wound among the fields near the ancient manor of Sauchton.

She was accompanied by only five attendants, among whom were Huntly, Lethington the secretary, and Sir James Melville of Halhill. With her colour brightened by the exercise of riding, and her eyes sparkling with animation and pleasure, (for she had just been paying a visit to the infant prince at Stirling--a visit fated to be her last,) when her veil was wafted aside, Mary's face seemed to glow with a beauty and vivacity, to which her smart beaver hat lent additional piquancy; and she conversed with more than her usual gaiety and thoughtlessness to the politic Melville, the subtle secretary, and their better man, the stately young chieftain of the house of Gordon. On her wrist sat the gift of her father's aged falconer, (James Lindesay of Westschaw,) one of those beautiful falcons which made their eyry in a perpendicular rock on the West-hill of Alva, where, says the Magister Absalom, never more than one pair have been known to build a nest, even unto this time.

The day was serene; the sun was verging westward, and large masses of shadow lay deepening on the Pentland hills, while the bright flush of the sunlight beamed upon their steep acclivities and heather-brows with a golden tint. The sky was cloudless, and the whole of that magnificent plain, which spreads from the western gates of Edinburgh to those of Glasgow, was clad in all the rural beauty of an early summer. Warmed by the April showers, the trees were putting forth their greenest leaves, and the pink foxglove and blue-bells were bordering the highway; while the wildbrier, the mountain thyme, and the rose of Gueldres, filled the air with perfume.

"Oh joy! how beautiful!" said Mary, as she checked her palfrey on the high and ancient bridge that crossed the Leith near the old baronial manor of the Elphinstones, whose broad dark chimneys were seen peeping above a grove of beeches. "See! yonder is the town, with its castle and St. Giles' spire shining blood-red in the light of the sunset, above the bright green copsewood. And look, Monsieur Huntly, what a delightful little cottage by the side of that river! The green ivy, the wild roses, and the woodbine, are all clambering about its thatched roof--nothing is visible but its little door. Ah, Jane, _ma bonne_!" she exclaimed to her sister Argyle, "how I should love to live there, with nothing to attend to but my flowers and music, and a nice little cow to milk."

"I fear your majesty would soon be ennueeyed to death, and longing for Holyrood, with its floors of oak and walls of velvet tapestry, with your archers at the gate and pages in the corridor," replied the grave Lethington, with a smile of something between amusement and sarcasm at the simplicity of the young queen.

At the cottage door an old woman was sprinkling water on a herd of cattle, with broom dipped from time to time in a tub, at the bottom of which lay a perforated stone, which was deemed a sovereign remedy against all witchcraft; but, suddenly ceasing her employment, she curtsied lowly to the lady, of whose exalted rank she was ignorant.

The scenery was very fine, for the country was then more thickly wooded almost than now, and afar off shone the rugged outline of Edinburgh, rearing up on its ridgy hills, with the great square spire of its cathedral, and the lofty towers and bastel-houses of its castle, clustering on lofty and perpendicular rocks. Close by the road, arose the double peaks of Craiglockhart; one covered with pastures of emerald green, the other bluff with whin-tufted basalt, and crowned with gloomy firs; while, following its winding and devious course, the Leith brawled and gurgled over its pebbled bed. Brightly the sunlight danced upon the dimpled water; already in blossom, the lilac groves that shaded it were filling the air with fragrance; their white and purple flowers being at times relieved by the pale green of the willow, the golden laburnum, and the pink cups of the wild-roses; while every flower and blade of grass were glittering in the early dew of the April evening. Unseen, amid the thick foliage that bordered the highway, a thousand birds were filling the air with a melody, that died away even as the sun's rays died upon the distant hills, and the saffron glow of the west assumed the sombre tint of the gloaming.

The young Highland earl, who rode by Mary's side, was charmed with her vivacity, and conversed with her alone; while the more phlegmatic Lethington and Melville jogged together a few paces behind, very intent on their own intrigues and correspondence with Elizabeth of England, with Cecil, and with Killigrew; both of whom, though able statesmen and subtle politicians, will be found, if tried by the rules of justice and honour, the greatest villains that ever breathed. The beauty of the scenery, and the buoyancy of the air, raised Mary's vivacity, and increased her brilliant wit; and she often made the thickets echo with her musical laugh, or a verse of a merry French song; till a sudden turn of the road brought them full in view of a sight that made her utter a faint cry of alarm, rein up her palfrey with one hand, and with the other grasp the arm of Huntly, who instantly drew his sword.

Right across that narrow path was drawn up the imposing line of a thousand horsemen in close array, all sheathed in armour, with the points of their uplifted lances, their breastplates, and conical helmets, glittering in the setting sun. Their flanks, which extended into the fields on each side, were well thrown forward, so as completely to encircle the terrified queen and her little retinue. A few yards in front were two knights with their visors up; one bore a standard displaying two Scottish lions rending a red rose, and by his sable armour, his negro-like visage, and colossal frame, all recognised Hob of Ormiston; but in the other, whose light suit of mail, engrained with gold, was white as winter frost, and reached only to the knees of his scarlet hose, they knew the Earl of Bothwell. He leaped from his horse, and, drawing off his right gauntlet, advanced reverentially towards the queen on foot.

"What foul treason is meditated here?" asked Huntly sternly, as the Earl passed him.

"None; but thou shalt see," replied the other with a smile, "that I will now wed the queen--yea, _whether she will or not_!"[*]

[*] See Melville.

"Now by my father's soul!" began Huntly furiously.

"How!" said Secretary Lethington, with one of his cold and placid smiles; "has your lordship already forgotten the supper, and the bond?"

"Jesu Maria!" muttered Huntly; "I foresaw not this!"

"Your grace will hold me excused," said the Earl of Bothwell, grasping the bridle of Mary's palfrey; "but your own safety and the commonweal require that I should, without a moment's delay, lead you to my castle of Dunbar."

"Mother of God! How--why?" asked Mary in an agitated voice, as she gazed on the face of the Earl, which was pale as death; for the magnitude of the crime he contemplated, had for a moment appalled even himself. "With what am I menaced? Is there a raid among the Lennox men--an invasion of the English--or what? Who is my enemy?"

"James of Bothwell, as this sword shall prove!" exclaimed the young Earl of Huntly, making a furious blow at the noble's tempered helmet--a blow that must have cloven him to the chin, had not Bolton and Hob Ormiston crossed their lances, and interfered with the speed of light; but Hob's tough ash standard pole was cut in two.

"Mass!" he exclaimed; "now hold thee, Earl Huntly, or, with my jeddart staff, I will deal thee a dirl on the crown that will hang a scutcheon on the gate of castle Gordon for the next year."

The horsemen closed up with levelled lances, and the gentlemen of the queen's train were immediately disarmed.

"To Dunbar! to Dunbar!" cried Bothwell, leaping on horseback, but still retaining the queen's bridle.

"For what end, Lord Earl, and for what purpose, am I to be thus escorted, or made captive, I know not which? Tell me, I implore--nay, I demand of thee as my liegeman and vassal?"

"I refer your majesty to my advisers here present, to the Earl of Huntly and the Knight of Lethington; but fear not, dearest madam, for I am devoted to you in body and in soul, and I swear to you by the four blessed gospels, that I have only your weal at heart. Oh, come with me--come without resistance; for resistance would be vain!"

"Darest thou to say so?"

"Pardon me; but once within the gates of Dunbar, that stately castle with which thou didst so graciously gift me, I will tell thee all. On, on--knights and horsemen! for the night is closing fast, and I can foresee that, natheless the beauty of this April eve, we shall have a storm of no common potency."

Mary's pride, which never for a moment deserted her, impelled resistance; her dark eyes filled with fire; she grew very pale; her beautiful mouth expressed all the scorn and anger that swelled up in her breast, and she endeavoured to snatch her bridle from the hand of the Earl; but at that moment the soft persuasive voice of Secretary Maitland addressed her, and his hand touched her arm lightly. He spoke in an under tone, and what he said was unheard by the Earl; but his wily eloquence was never exercised in vain, and that tact which bent the most stubborn nobles to his purpose, was not likely to prove ineffectual upon the too facile and gentle Mary.

"Be it so!" she replied with hauteur. "_De tout, mon coeur_! I will bide my time; but, Sir William of Lethington, if this raid should prove as my mind misgiveth me, by every blessed saint my vengeance will be terrible!"

The cold statesman bowed with one of his inexplicable smiles as he reined back his horse; and then, by the command of Bothwell, the whole train set forward at a furious pace, which the Earl had no wish to diminish, for the double purpose of avoiding the alternate questions, threats, and intreaties of the queen, and escaping the fury of a sudden storm, that, with singular rapidity, had converted that beautiful evening into one of darkness and gloom.

Agitated, by turns, with astonishment, vexation, indignation, and fear, the queen rode on, reserving her enquiries till they should reach Dunbar.

But why to Dunbar, and not to Holyrood?

A thousand terrors and fancies flitted across her mind. Perhaps the principal nobles had again leagued to slay her, as they had done when her brother rose in rebellion; perhaps he was again in arms, with Lindesay, Glencairn, and all the furious upholders of that new doctrine, which she openly feared and secretly abhored.

The clank of a thousand suits of armour, and the rush of four times that number of galloping hoofs on the hard dusty road, stunned and confused her; while the figures of the mail-clad riders, their tall lances, and Bothwell's rustling banner, the hills and copsewood that overhung their way, grew darker and duskier as the sky became veiled by the heavy clouds that came up in masses from the German sea.

The summits of the mountains were veiled in descending mist; the air became close and still, and afar off the broad red gleams of the sheet lightning brightened in the sky, revealing in bold outline the ridges of the distant hills, and the waving woods that crowned their summits.

Edinburgh, with its walls and gates, was left behind in night and obscurity; the marshes of Restalrig, where every moment their chargers floundered to the girths; the dreary Figgate whins, where every pace was encumbered with roots and other remains of an old primeval forest; and the ruined chapel of Mary Magdalene--were passed; and the captive queen, with her escort, were galloping along that far expanse of sandy beach, where the white-crested waves rolled with a sullen boom on the desert shore.

Now the clanging hoofs rang like thunder on the broad flagged pavement of the ancient Roman way, that led directly over the picturesque old bridge built by the soldiers of Agricola, and where a strong iron gate, erected transversely across the centre arch, closed the passage after nightfall. But a blast from Ormiston's bugle-horn summoned the gateward, cowering and shivering from his seat by the ingle; for now, from the darkened sky, the heavy rain was pattering upon the hurrying river. At the imperious command, to "make way for the Lord Earl of Bothwell!" the barrier was instantly unclosed, and on swept the train in all its military show, each horseman stooping his helmeted head, and lowering the point of his long Scottish spear, as he passed under the low-browed gate, and wheeled to the left, by the base of the mound, where still the Roman trenches lay, as strong and as visible as when the cohorts of the empire raised there a temple to "Apollo, the long-haired."

Then Musselburgh, the chapel of Loretto, with its demolished tombs and desecrated shrines, old Pinkiecleugh, with its woods and tower, where Abbot Durie dwelt, were left behind, and once more the train was sweeping along the echoing shore, by the margin of the midnight sea--with the thunder rumbling among the hills, and the rain and the storm adding spurs to their headlong speed. By midnight they reined up before the castle of Dunbar, where broad and vast, in all their ancient strength and feudal pride, the strong round towers of Bothwell's princely dwelling stood in clusters on the sea-beaten rocks.

Despite the darkness of the night, and the fury of the storm, which was pouring the German sea in waves of snow-white foam against the castle cliffs, the roar of three salvoes of brass culverins from the lower battlements, burst like peals of thunder on the air; while, red and forky, the flashes shot forth between the strong embrasures and deep-mouthed gun-ports of curtain-wall and flanking tower, as the drawbridge fell, the portcullis ascended, and the glare of twenty blazing torches flashed under its iron teeth, displaying a court-yard crowded with the Earl's retainers in jack and morion, his servitors in livery, and pages glittering in lace and embroidery, grouped beneath the strong-ribbed archway to receive the queen.

Somewhat assured by this display of loyalty, respect, and security, the queen permitted Bothwell to kiss her hand as he assisted her to alight, and led her half sinking from fatigue to the hall, where every thing appeared as if prepared for her reception; for, thanks to the forethought of Hob of Ormiston, nothing was ever wanting to complete those dangerous dramas in which the Earl was now the leading actor; and, by his contrivance, while the Earl led Mary up the great staircase, French Paris conducted Sir James Melville and the other gentlemen of her retinue to a detached tower, where some of his vassals guarded them till daybreak, when they were expelled from the castle, the gates closed, and they were left (as Sir James tells us in his memoirs) somewhat unceremoniously to shift for themselves, and to bear to Edinburgh and its astonished citizens, the tidings of Bothwell's daring and the queen's captivity.

*CHAPTER XII.*

*LOVE AND SCORN.*

This gushing life
Is all that I can give in reparation
Of all the wrongs I have done thee.
We shall lie down together in the grave;
And, when the sound of Heaven shall rouse the dead,
We shall awake in one another's arms.
_Shiels' Apostate._

Though the ardour of Bothwell's daring and ambitious passion for Mary was increased almost to a frenzy, on finding her completely in his power, within the strong gates and stronger walls of that magnificent fortress, of which, in an unfortunate moment of liberality, she had made him governor; he felt his courage sink when the moment came for revealing the bond of the nobles, the hopes he had cherished, and the deed of which he had been guilty.

Three great chandeliers of wax candles, which hung from the arched roof of the lofty hall, shed a blaze of light upon the gobeline tapestry that covered its walls, from the base to the spring of the vault, which was profusely decorated with the richest fresco work, where the royal cipher and the _fleur-de-lys_ were prominently seen. Four gothic pillars sustained the carved arch of the fireplace, where an enormous grate, standing on four knobs of brass, was filled with blazing coal. The floor was covered with thick rush matting; and a magnificent collation of fruit, confections, and dainties, in baskets of chased silver, flasks of crystal, and jasper vases, were laid upon the tables by French Paris, little Calder, and other attendants.

Meanwhile the storm continued with unabated fury without; with the noise of thunder the ocean dashed against the bluffs on which the castle stood, and roared in the far recesses of those deep caverns that perforate its cliffs of dark red basalt. The rain poured like a cataract against the barred windows, and hissed in the wide chimney; the mournful cry of the solan goose, and the shriek of the seamew, were heard on the passing wind, as it dashed them with the surf against the castle walls; and the streaming of the wax lights, and undulations of the tapestry within, increased the dreary effect of the tempest without; and its fury seemed the greater, from very contrast with the beautiful evening which had preceded it.

The Earl, like other men of his time, was not without a tinge of superstition; and the storm contributed greatly to increase his irresolution.

"Being at Dunbar," says Mary in one of her letters, "we reproached him with the favour we had always shewn him--his ingratitude, and all other remonstrances that might serve to release us out of his hands; albeit we found his doings rude, yet his words and answers were gentle, that he would honour and serve us. He asked pardon for the boldness of conveying us to one of our own houses, constrained by love, the vehemence of which made him set apart the reverence which naturally he bore us as our subject, as also the safety of his own life."

Thus far the artless Mary; but the papers of the worthy Magister Absalom Beyer are more full in their details.

Pale, from the hurry of the journey, and the current of her own thoughts, Mary stood in the centre of the hall, divested of her hat and riding-habit, which had been drenched by rain. Her plain but rich dress of black satin fell in deep and shining folds around her figure, but presented nothing to indicate her rank; for, save her amber beads, her gold crucifix, and celebrated diamond ring, she was without other ornament than her own bright auburn hair. In some degree damp and disordered, it fell in heavy braids upon her neck, which, on her ruff being removed, contrasted by its delicate whiteness with her black satin dress.

Bothwell had hurriedly thrown aside his wet armour, and assumed a manteau, or robe of scarlet, which was trimmed with ermine, and usually worn by knights upon state occasions; and it lent additional dignity to his towering figure, as, with a beating heart, he approached Mary, and welcomed her to the castle of Dunbar.

Her eyes were full of enquiry, and her mouth, half-opened, displayed all her beautiful teeth; and Bothwell, dazzled and intoxicated, dreaded only that his own eyes might too soon reveal the passion which now, when he gazed upon its object, made every scruple to vanish.

"And now, Lord Earl," said the Queen gravely, but with a slight tinge of her usual playfulness, "for what have we had this terrible ride to Dunbar, passing in our hurry even the gates of our own palace and capital? Now, say--for what didst thou bring me here?"

"To say, madam, that I love you with other sentiments than those a subject bears a sovereign," replied the Earl, as he pressed her hand to his heart, for at the end of that vast hall they were almost alone. "Oh! thou too winning Mary," he added, in his low and most persuasive tones; "I have long adored thee, and with a love surpassing that of men."

Starting back a pace, the queen withdrew her hand; her brow crimsoned, and her flashing eyes were firmly bent on Bothwell.

"Lord Earl," she replied, in a voice that trembled between anger and dread, "what is this thou hast dared to do?"

"To love thee--is it a crime?"

"No, if it be such love as I may receive; but such is not thine, Lord Earl."

"Oh! visionary that I have been!" exclaimed the astonished noble, as he clasped his hands; "and to a dream have I given up my soul, my peace, my honour! Oh, madam! shew me some way in which I may yet farther prove the ardour of this passion, of which thou art the idol! Give me sufferings to be borne--difficulties to surmount--dangers to encounter; shew me battles to fight and fortresses to storm. Didst thou wish it, I would invade England to-morrow, and carry fire and sword even to the gates of York; for five hundred knights and ten thousand horsemen follow my banner."

"_Je vous remercie!_" exclaimed Mary, with irony, as she turned away--"I thank thee, Lord Earl; but ere I go to war with my good cousin Elizabeth, I must punish my rebels at home."

"Oh, madam! thou, to win whose love I have dared so much--thou, the object of my boyish dreams and manhood's bold ambition--towards whom I have ever been borne by an irresistible and inevitable tide--the sure, dark current of fatality--hear me? But look not upon me thus, for an aspect so stony will wither my heart."

"Lord Bothwell," replied the Queen gravely; "thou deceivest thyself with a volume of sounding words, but seek not to delude me, too. Till morning, I will rest me in this, my castle of Dunbar; and to-morrow in Holyrood will seek a sure vengeance for the raid of to-night."

"Sayest thou so, madam?" replied the Earl, whose proud heart fired for a moment at her scorn; "then thine will be the greater remorse."

"Remorse? _mon Dieu!_" said Mary, laughing.

"Ah, madam! why didst thou encourage me to love thee?"

"I encourage you!" reiterated the Queen with astonishment. "Mother Mary! thou ravest. Never! never! I needed not to encourage men to love me."

"Thou didst so to me, madam. By God's death! thou didst; and it was cruel to inspire me with a passion which thou couldst not return."

"Thou hast mistaken my too affable manner," replied the Queen; "but I will not stoop to defend myself before thee, presumptuous vassal!"

Bothwell's spirit now fell as the queen's rose; for he felt certain that, should she continue in this mood, he was lost.

Ambition and policy supplied him with that eloquence, of which, perhaps, the excess of his romantic passion might have deprived him; and his voice, ever persuasive and seductive, poured all his practised blandishments like a flood upon her ear. Borne away by the tide of feeling, he painted his torments, his ardour, his long-treasured love, his stifled despair; and Mary listened with pity and interest, for her heart was the gentlest of the gentle; and she saw in him a handsome and gallant noble, who had drawn his sword in her service when a whole peerage held aloof--who had shed his blood to uphold her authority--and who had lately suffered deeply (so she thought) by the mere malevolence of his enemies; but not one glance even of kindness would she bestow upon him.

Even the bond signed by those reverend prelates, whom she almost worshipped--those powerful peers, whom she sometimes respected, but more often feared--and that politic brother, whom she had ever loved better than herself--even that document was urged upon her in vain. It served but to increase her anger, and she told Bothwell she "could never, never, love him!"

"Madam, madam, repulse me not! Oh, thou knowest not how long, how deeply, I have loved thee!"

"Summon my attendants! This night I will rest me here; but," she added threateningly, "to-morrow is a new day; and thou, Lord Earl, mayest tremble when I leave Dunbar!"

"Madam," replied the Earl proudly, but sadly, "from the hour my eyes first opened on the light, I have never trembled; and now I swear to thee, by the joys of heaven and the terrors of hell, thou shalt NEVER leave Dunbar but as the bride of Bothwell!"

And turning, he retired abruptly.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*THE CRY.*

She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;
She is a woman, therefore may be won.
_Titus Andronicus._

That night, in his private apartment, Bothwell drank deeply with Ormiston and Bolton.

The storm still raged without; the dash of the waves on the bluffs, their clangour in the caverns below, and the mournful moaning of the wind as it swept round the battlements above, were heard incessantly; but the fire burned merrily on the broad flagged hearth; the hounds yawned lazily as they stretched themselves before it; a supper of mutton sottens, broiled capon, a solan goose, and pout-pie, lay untouched on a buffet, which two oak wyverns upheld on their outspread wings.

The bright wines of Rochelle and Bordeaux sparkled as they were poured from great Flemish jugs into the elaborately chased silver maizers, from which the Earl and his friends were drinking--and drinking, as we have said, deeply; Bolton, to drown the memory of a deed that was likely to drive him distracted; Bothwell, to obtain nerve for whatever might ensue; and Hob Ormiston, to please himself, and keep them company. After a pause--

"Courage, brave Bothwell!" he exclaimed, striking the Earl on the shoulder; "for thou seemest the chosen son of the fickle little goddess."

"Fortune has been smiling on me of late; but, as I have told thee, I begin to scorn her favour since the rejection of my suit by Mary."

"All coy reluctance. By St. Anthony's pig! were I thou"----

"Nay, Nay! Mary is above acting so childishly. But wert thou me, what then?"

"By cock and pie! I would make her mine ere the sun rises from the sea to-morrow."

"Peace!" said the Earl, through whose heart there thrilled a fierce and sudden joy as Ormiston spoke.

"Take courage; for the same day that sees thee Duke of Orkney and Regent of Scotland, beholds me Earl of Ormiston and Marquis of Teviotdale; and by Tantony's bell and bones, and pig to boot, the sooner the better say I, for every rood of my barony, main and milne, holm and haugh, are mortgaged to the chin among the rascally notaries and usurers of Edinburgh, whom the devil confound! What sayest thou, Bolton? Sorrow take him! he is drunk and asleep. Poor fool! he hath never been himself since that night. Hearken," continued this ruffian, approaching the Earl, whom it was his interest to urge yet further on that desperate course in which they had embarked together; "doth not the queen and her sister, the Lady Argyle, sleep in the chambers of the Agnes tower?"

"Yes; so sayeth Sandy of Whitelaw, my seneschal. The queen is in the vaulted chamber on the first floor; Jane of Argyle above."

"Well!" said Ormiston, fixing his keen dark eyes on those of the Earl.

"Well?" reiterated the Earl.

"It is folly to pause midway in the career of ambition; and it lies with thyself to make this woman thine; for what is she but a pretty woman after all? It lieth with thyself, I say, to make her thine, to end her scruples, and to close for ever the web thou hast woven around her."

"Silence!" said the Earl, rising abruptly, but immediately reseating himself; "silence! thy villanous counsels will destroy me."