Part 7 (2/2)
Left alone, Mary let her glance stray back to the little house in Kinross, her sole hope; but the distance was too great to distinguish anything; besides, its shutters remained closed all day, and seemed to open only in the evening, like the clouds, which, having covered the sky for a whole morning, scatter at last to reveal to the lost sailor a solitary star. She had remained no less motionless, her gaze always fixed on the same object, when she was drawn from this mute contemplation by the step of Mary Seyton.
”Well, darling?” asked the queen, turning round.
”Your Majesty is not mistaken,” replied the messenger: ”it really was Sir Robert Melville and Lord Lindsay; but there came yesterday with Sir William Douglas a third amba.s.sador, whose name, I am afraid, will be still more odious to your Majesty than either of the two I have just p.r.o.nounced.”
”You deceive yourself, Mary,” the queen answered: ”neither the name of Melville nor that of Lindsay is odious to me. Melville's, on the contrary, is, in my present circ.u.mstances, one of those which I have most pleasure in hearing; as to Lord Lindsay's, it is doubtless not agreeable to me, but it is none the less an honourable name, always borne by men rough and wild, it is true, but incapable of treachery.
Tell me, then, what is this name, Mary; for you see I am calm and prepared.”
”Alas! madam,” returned Mary, ”calm and prepared as you may be, collect all your strength, not merely to hear this name uttered, but also to receive in a few minutes the man who bears it; for this name is that of Lord Ruthven.”
Mary Seyton had spoken truly, and this name had a terrible influence upon the queen; for scarcely had it escaped the young girl's lips than Mary Stuart uttered a cry, and turning pale, as if she were about to faint, caught hold of the window-ledge.
Mary Seyton, frightened at the effect produced by this fatal name, immediately sprang to support the queen; but she, stretching one hand towards her, while she laid the other on her heart-
”It is nothing,” said she; ”I shall be better in a moment. Yes, Mary, yes, as you said, it is a fatal name and mingled with one of my most b.l.o.o.d.y memories. What such men are coming to ask of me must be dreadful indeed. But no matter, I shall soon be ready to receive my brother's amba.s.sadors, for doubtless they are sent in his name. You, darling, prevent their entering, for I must have some minutes to myself: you know me; it will not take me long.”
With these words the queen withdrew with a firm step to her bedchamber.
Mary Seyton was left alone, admiring that strength of character which made of Mary Stuart, in all other respects so completely woman-like, a man in the hour of danger. She immediately went to the door to close it with the wooden bar that one pa.s.sed between two iron rings, but the bar had been taken away, so that there was no means of fastening the door from within. In a moment she heard someone coming up the stairs, and guessing from the heavy, echoing step that this must be Lord Lindsay, she looked round her once again to see if she could find something to replace the bar, and finding nothing within reach, she pa.s.sed her arm through the rings, resolved to let it be broken rather than allow anyone to approach her mistress before it suited her. Indeed, hardly had those who were coming up reached the landing than someone knocked violently, and a harsh voice cried:
”Come, come, open the door; open directly.”
”And by what right,” said Mary Seyton, ”am I ordered thus insolently to open the Queen of Scotland's door?”
”By the right of the amba.s.sador of the regent to enter everywhere in his name. I am Lord Lindsay, and I am come to speak to Lady Mary Stuart.”
”To be an amba.s.sador,” answered Mary Seyton, ”is not to be exempted from having oneself announced in visiting a woman, and much more a queen; and if this amba.s.sador is, as he says, Lord Lindsay, he will await his sovereign's leisure, as every Scottish n.o.ble would do in his place.”
”By St. Andrew!” cried Lord Lindsay, ”open, or I will break in the door.”
”Do nothing to it, my lord, I entreat you,” said another voice, which Mary recognised as Meville's. ”Let us rather wait for Lord Ruthven, who is not yet ready.”
”Upon my soul,” cried Lindsay, shaking the door, ”I shall not wait a second”. Then, seeing that it resisted, ”Why did you tell me, then, you scamp,” Lindsay went on, speaking to the steward, ”that the bar had been removed?
”It is true,” replied he.
”Then,” returned Lindsay, ”with what is this silly wench securing the door?”
”With my arm, my lord, which I have pa.s.sed through the rings, as a Douglas did for King James I, at a time when Douglases had dark hair instead of red, and were faithful instead of being traitors.”
”Since you know your history so well,” replied Lindsay, in a rage,” you should remember that that weak barrier did not hinder Graham, that Catherine Douglas's arm was broken like a willow wand, and that James I was killed like a dog.”
”But you, my lord,” responded the courageous young girl, ”ought also to know the ballad that is still sung in our time-
”'Now, on Robert Gra'am, The king's destroyer, shame! To Robert Graham cling Shame, who destroyed our king.'”
”Mary,” cried the queen, who had overheard this altercation from her bedroom,-”Mary, I command you to open the door directly: do you hear?”
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