List Of Contents | Contents of Mary Stuart, by Alexandre Dumas, Pere
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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; but twice in the night she rose noiselessly to go to the window:
the light was always shining, and was not extinguished till dawn,
with its sisters the stars.

Next day, at breakfast, George announced to the queen the return of
his brother, William Douglas: he arrived the same evening; as to
himself, George, he had to leave Lochleven next morning, to confer
with the nobles who had signed the declaration, and who had
immediately separated to raise troops in their several counties.  The
queen could not attempt to good purpose any escape but at a time when
she would be sure of gathering round her an army strong enough to
hold the country; as to him, Douglas, one was so used to his silent
disappearances and to his unexpected returns, that there was no
reason to fear that his departure would inspire any suspicion.

All passed as George had said: in the evening the sound of a bugle
announced the arrival of William Douglas; he had with him Lord
Ruthven, the son of him who had assassinated Rizzio, and who, exiled
with Morton after the murder, died in England of the sickness with
which he was already attacked the day of the terrible catastrophe in
which we have seen him take such a large share.  He preceded by one
day Lord Lindsay of Byres and Sir Robert Melville, brother of Mary's
former ambassador to Elizabeth: all three were charged with a mission
from the regent to the queen.

On the following day everything fell back into the usual routine, and
William Douglas reassumed his duties as carver.  Breakfast passed
without Mary's having learned anything of George's departure or
Ruthven's arrival.  On rising from the table she went to her window:
scarcely was she there than she heard the sound of a horn echoing on
the shores of the lake, and saw a little troop of horsemen halt,
while waiting for the boat to came and take those who were going to
the castle.

The distance was too great for Mary to recognise any of the visitors;
but it was clear, from the signs of intelligence exchanged between
the little troop and the inhabitants of the fortress, that the
newcomers were her enemies.  This was a reason why the queen, in her
uneasiness, should not lose sight for a moment of the boat which was
going to fetch them.  She saw only two men get into it; and
immediately it put off again for the castle.

As the boat drew nearer, Mary's presentiments changed to real fears,
for in one of the men coming towards her she thought she made out
Lord Lindsay of Byres, the same who, a week before, had brought her
to her prison.  It was indeed he himself, as usual in a steel helmet
without a visor, which allowed one to see his coarse face designed to
express strong passions, and his long black beard with grey hairs
here and there, which covered his chest: his person was protected, as
if it were in time of war, with his faithful suit of armour, formerly
polished and well gilded, but which, exposed without ceasing to rain
and mist, was now eaten up with rust; he had slung on his back, much
as one slings a quiver, a broadsword, so heavy that it took two hands
to manage it, and so long that while the hilt reached the left
shoulder the point reached the right spur: in a word, he was still
the same soldier, brave to rashness but brutal to insolence,
recognising nothing but right and force, and always ready to use
force when he believed himself in the right.

The queen was so much taken up with the sight of Lord Lindsay of
Byres, that it was only just as the boat reached the shore that she
glanced at his companion and recognised Robert Melville: this was
some consolation, for, whatever might happen, she knew that she
should find in him if not ostensible at least secret sympathy.
Besides, his dress, by which one could have judged him equally with
Lord Lindsay, was a perfect contrast to his companion's.  It
consisted of a black velvet doublet, with a cap and a feather of the
same hue fastened to it with a gold clasp; his only weapon, offensive
or defensive, was a little sword, which he seemed to wear rather as a
sign of his rank than for attack or defence.  As to his features and
his manners, they were in harmony with this peaceful appearance: his
pale countenance expressed both acuteness and intelligence; his quick
eye was mild, and his voice insinuating; his figure slight and a
little bent by habit rather than by years, since he was but forty-
five at this time, indicated an easy and conciliatory character.

However, the presence of this man of peace, who seemed entrusted with
watching over the demon of war, could not reassure the queen, and as
to get to the landing-place, in front of the great door of the
castle, the boat had just disappeared behind the corner of a tower,
she told Mary Seyton to go down that she might try to learn what
cause brought Lord Lindsay to Lochleven, well knowing that with the
force of character with which she was endowed, she need know this
cause but a few minutes beforehand, whatever it might be, to give her
countenance that calm and that majesty which she had always found to
influence her enemies.

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 ambassador, whose name, I am afraid, will
be still more odious to your Majesty than either of the two I have
just pronounced."

"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 circumstances, 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

"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 bloody 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 ambassadors, 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

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 passed 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 passed 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."

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