The queen and Mary Seyton were so little expecting this issue, that, contrary to their custom, they had not put on their men’s clothes that evening.  They immediately flew to the queen’s bed-chamber, bolted the door behind them, and began to dress.

They had hardly finished their hurried toilette when they heard a key turn in the lock:  they immediately blew out the lamp.  Light steps approached the door.  The two women leaned one against the other; for they both were near falling.  Someone tapped gently.  The queen asked who was there, and Little Douglas’s voice answered in the two first lines of an old ballad—­

“Douglas, Douglas, Tender and true.”

Mary opened, directly:  it was the watchword agreed upon with George Douglas.

The child was without a light.  He stretched out his hand and encountered the queen’s:  in the starlight, Mary Stuart saw him kneel down; then she felt the imprint of his lips on her fingers.

“Is your Majesty ready to follow me?” he asked in a low tone, rising.

“Yes, my child,” the queen answered:  “it is for this evening, then?”

“With your Majesty’s permission, yes, it is for this evening.”

“Is everything ready?”

“Everything.”

“What are we to do?”

“Follow me everywhere.”

“My God! my God!” cried Mary Stuart, “have pity on us!” Then, having breathed a short prayer in a low voice, while Mary Seyton was taking the casket in which were the queen’s jewels, “I am ready,” said she:  “and you, darling?”

“I also,” replied Mary Seyton.

“Come, then,” said Little Douglas.

The two prisoners followed the child; the queen going first, and Mary Seyton after.  Their youthful guide carefully shut again the door behind him, so that if a warder happened to pass he would see nothing; then he began to descend the winding stair.  Half-way down, the noise of the feast reached them, a mingling of shouts of laughter, the confusion of voices, and the clinking of glasses.  The queen placed her hand on her young guide’s shoulder.

“Where are you leading us?” she asked him with terror.

“Out of the castle,” replied the child.

“But we shall have to pass through the great hall?”

“Without a doubt; and that is exactly what George foresaw.  Among the footmen, whose livery your Majesty is wearing, no one will recognise you.”

“My God! my God!” the queen murmured, leaning against the wall.

“Courage, madam,” said Mary Seyton in a low voice, “or we are lost.”

“You are right,” returned the queen; “let us go”.  And they started again still led by their guide.

At the foot of the stair he stopped, and giving the queen a stone pitcher full of wine—­

“Set this jug on your right shoulder, madam,” said he; “it will hide your face from the guests, and your Majesty will give rise to less suspicion if carrying something.  You, Miss Mary, give me that casket, and put on your head this basket of bread.  Now, that’s right:  do you feel you have strength?”