the window, begged him not to go away, offering him one of his mattresses, or even to take him into his own bed.  However, in spite of this offer, Durham insisted, saying that he felt unwell, and that he should like to see a doctor the same evening.  So the queen interceded for Durham, and promised Darnley to send him another valet to spend the night with him:  Darnley was then obliged to yield, and, making Mary repeat that she would send him someone, he gave Durham leave for that evening.  At that moment Paris; of whom the queen speaks in her letters, came in:  he was a young Frenchman who had been in Scotland for some years, and who, after having served with Bothwell and Seyton, was at present with the queen.  Seeing him, she got up, and as Darnley still wished to keep her—­

“Indeed, my lord, it is impossible,” said she, “to come and see you.  I have left this poor Sebastian’s wedding, and I must return to it; for I promised to came masked to his ball.”

The king dared not insist; he only reminded her of the promise that she had made to send him a servant:  Mary renewed it yet once again, and went away with her attendants.  As for Durham, he had set out the moment he received permission.

It was nine o’clock in the evening.  Darnley, left alone, carefully shut the doors within, and retired to rest, though in readiness to rise to let in the servant who should come to spend the night with him.  Scarcely was he in bed than the same noise that he had heard the night before recommenced; this time Darnley listened with all the attention fear gives, and soon he had no longer any doubt but that several men were walking about beneath him.  It was useless to call, it was dangerous to go out; to wait was the only course that remained to the king.  He made sure again that the doors were well fastened, put his sword under his pillow, extinguished his lamp for fear the light might betray him, and awaited in silence for his servant’s arrival; but the hours passed away, and the servant did not come.  At one o’clock in the morning, Bothwell, after having talked some while with the queen, in the presence of the captain of the guard, returned home to change his dress; after some minutes, he came out wrapped up in the large cloak of a German hussar, went through the guard-house, and had the castle gate opened.  Once outside, he took his way with all speed to Kirk of Field, which he entered by the opening in the wall:  scarcely had he made a step in the garden than he met James Balfour, governor of the castle.

“Well,” he said to him, “how far have we got?

“Everything is ready,” replied Balfour, “and we were waiting for you to set fire to the fuse”.  “That is well,” Bothwell answered—­“but first I want to make sure that he is in his room.”