During the numerous councils held at Haddon, Elizabeth allowed Cecil to question John to his heart’s content; but while she listened she formulated a plan of her own which she was sure would be effective in extracting all the truth from John, if all the truth had not already been extracted.  Elizabeth kept her cherished plan to herself.  It was this:—­

She would visit Dorothy, whom she knew to be ill, and would by her subtle art steal from John’s sweetheart all that the girl knew of the case.  If John had told Dorothy part of the affair concerning Mary Stuart, he had probably told her all, and Elizabeth felt confident that she could easily pump the girl dry.  She did not know Dorothy.  Accordingly our queen, Elizabeth, the adroit, went to Dorothy’s room under the pretence of paying the girl a gracious visit.  Dorothy wished to arise and receive her royal guest, but Elizabeth said gently:—­

“Do not arise, Dorothy; rest quietly, and I will sit here beside you on the bed.  I have come to tell you that you must recover your health at once.  We miss you greatly in the Hall.”

No one could be more gracious than Elizabeth when the humor was upon her; though, in truth, the humor was often lacking.

“Let us send all save you and me from the room,” said the queen, “that we may have a quiet little chat together.”

All who were in the room save Dorothy and Elizabeth of course departed at once.

When the door was closed, the queen said:  “I wish to thank you for telling me of the presence of her Scottish Majesty at Rutland.  You know there is a plot on foot to steal my throne from me.”

“God forbid that there should be such a plot,” replied Dorothy, resting upon her elbow in the bed.

“I fear it is only too true that there is such a plot,” returned Elizabeth, “and I owe you a great debt of gratitude for warning me of the Scottish queen’s presence in my kingdom.”

“I hope the danger will be averted from your Majesty,” said Dorothy; “but that which I did will cause my death—­it will kill me.  No human being ever before has lived through the agony I have suffered since that terrible night.  I was a traitress.  I betrayed the man who is dearer to me than my immortal soul.  He says that he forgives me, but your Majesty knows that my fault is beyond forgiveness.”

“Sir John is a noble gentleman, child,” said the queen.  “I hope that he is loyal to me, but I fear—­I fear.”

“Do not doubt, do not fear, my queen,” returned Dorothy, eagerly; “there is nothing false in him.”

“Do you love him deeply, little one?” asked the queen.

“No words can tell you my love for him,” answered the girl.  “I feel shame to say that he has taken even the holy God’s place in my heart.  Perhaps it is for that sin that God now punishes me.”

“Fear not on that score, Dorothy,” replied the queen.  “God will not punish you for feeling the love which He Himself has put into your heart.  I would willingly give my crown could I feel such love for a worthy man who would in return love me for myself.  But I cannot feel, nor can I have faith.  Self-interest, which is so dominant in all men, frightens me, and I doubt their vows.”