“Do you trust him as he trusts you?” I asked, “and would you demand an explanation were he to act toward Mary Stuart as you have acted toward Leicester?”

“He could not act toward her as I did toward Lord Leicester,” she said thoughtfully.  Then after a moment she laughingly continued:  “John can’t—­he can’t hang his head and—­droop his eyes and look.”

“But if—­” I began.

“I want no more of your hellish ‘ifs,’” cried the girl in sudden fury.  “If John were to—­to look at that Scottish mongrel as I looked at Leicester, I would—­I would kill the royal wanton.  I would kill her if it cost my life.  Now, for God’s sake, leave me.  You see the state into which you have wrought me.”  I left Madge with Dorothy and walked out upon Bowling Green to ponder on the events that were passing before me.

From the time we learned that John had gone to fetch the Scottish queen I had fears lest Dorothy’s inflammable jealousy might cause trouble, and now those fears were rapidly transforming themselves into a feeling of certainty.  There is nothing in life so sweet and so dangerous as the love of a hot-blooded woman.

I soon saw Dorothy again.  “Tell me,” said I, in conciliation, “tell me, please, what is your reason for acting as you do toward Leicester, and why should you look differently upon similar conduct on John’s part?”

“I will not tell you my plans,” she responded,—­“not now, at least.  Perhaps I shall do so when I have recovered from my ill-temper.  It is hard for me to give my reasons for feeling differently about like conduct on John’s part.  Perhaps I feel as I do because—­because—­It is this way:  While I might do little things—­mere nothings—­such as I have done—­it would be impossible for me to do any act of unfaithfulness to John.  Oh, it could not be.  But with him, he—­he—­well, he is a man and—­and—­oh, don’t talk to me!  Don’t talk to me!  You are driving me mad.  Out of my sight!  Out of my room!  Holy Virgin!  I shall die before I have him; I know I shall.”

There it was again.  The thought of Mary Stuart drove her wild.  Dorothy threw herself on her face upon the bed, and Madge went over and sat by her side to soothe her.  I, with a feeling of guilt, so adroit had been Dorothy’s defence, left the girls and went to my room in the tower to unravel, by the help of my pipe, the tangled web of woman’s incomprehensibility.  I failed, as many another man had failed before me, and as men will continue to fail to the end of time.

CHAPTER XIV

MARY STUART

And now I come to an event in this history which I find difficult to place before you in its true light.  For Dorothy’s sake I wish I might omit it altogether.  But in true justice to her and for the purpose of making you see clearly the enormity of her fault and the palliating excuses therefor, if any there were, I shall pause briefly to show the condition of affairs at the time of which I am about to write—­a time when Dorothy’s madness brought us to the most terrible straits and plunged us into deepest tribulations.