In the morning he was awakened by a rough grasp on his shoulder.

“We have meshed one of the knaves at least,” said a stern voice.  Konrad found himself amidst knights and men-at-arms, and he was led back to the city.

The citizens were in arms, furious at the outrage of the night before.  The appearance of a suspected murderer aroused their passion to the utmost; Konrad’s escort was overpowered and thrust aside.  “Awa’ wi’ him to the Papist’s pillar!” cried a voice.  Down they went with him to the North Loch, and tied him there to an oaken stake about five feet deep in the water—­a spot where many a luckless Catholic had perished.  The mob retired, and Konrad was left alone, helpless, and to die.

Bothwell sat by the fire in his apartments at Holyrood, with knit brows and muttering lips; the word he muttered was, “Murderer.”  The shriek of the man whose death-blow he had struck still echoed in his ears.

Presently there entered the room one of his followers, Hepburn of Bolton.

“The Norwegian hath been bound to the Papist’s pillar,” said he; “and by this time he must be dead, for it rains heavily, and the loch fills fast.”

“One other life!” said the earl gloomily.  “By heaven, Bolton! if I can save him—­come!”

In the darkness and the rain, with the water rising around him, Konrad waited for death.  A sound of oars roused him from the stupefaction into which he had fallen.  “Here, here!  His head is above water still,” said a voice.  The bonds were cut, Konrad was dragged into the boat and taken to land, and offered a draught that revived him.

“Here we part,” said the voice.  “Give him dry garments, and take him to the Norwegian vessel, and bid him cross my path no more!”

“Who art thou?” asked Konrad feebly.

“Thy greatest enemy, James, Earl of Bothwell!”

Slowly Konrad mounted the horse that had been brought for him, and with difficulty he rode; but the morning saw him on board a vessel of Bergen, in the hands of countrymen and friends.

Bothwell was tried for the murder of Darnley, and triumphantly acquitted.  He procured the secret assent of the nobles to his marriage with Mary; he divorced the Countess Jane; one more vigorous action, and the goal would be attained.

On an April day, as Mary rode along the Stirling road towards Edinburgh, her way was barred by a thousand armed horsemen in close array; and Bothwell, riding up, requested that she should accompany him to his castle of Dunbar.  It was useless to resist.  Once in the castle, Bothwell offered her his hand, and was proudly refused.

“Lord Earl,” cried Mary, “thou mayest tremble when I leave Dunbar!”

“Madame,” he replied, “thou shalt never leave Dunbar but as the bride of Bothwell!”

In May, Mary and Bothwell were married.  A month later Bothwell fled before the wrath of an outraged nation, never to see Mary again; and within a week of their parting he roamed a pirate on the northern seas.