“My dear sister,—­I have often enough begged you to receive my tempest-tossed vessel into your haven during the storm.  If at this pass she finds a safe harbour there, I shall cast anchor there for ever:  otherwise the bark is in God’s keeping, for she is ready and caulked for defence on her voyage against all storms.  I have dealt openly with you, and still do so:  do not take it in bad part if I write thus; it is not in defiance of you, as it appears, for in everything I rely on your friendship.”

“This sonnet accompanied the letter:—­

“One thought alone brings danger and delight; Bitter and sweet change places in my heart, With doubt, and then with hope, it takes its part, Till peace and rest alike are put to flight.

Therefore, dear sister, if this card pursue That keen desire by which I am oppressed, To see you, ’tis because I live distressed, Unless some swift and sweet result ensue.

Beheld I have my ship compelled by fate To seek the open sea, when close to port, And calmest days break into storm and gale; Wherefore full grieved and fearful is my state, Not for your sake, but since, in evil sort, Fortune so oft snaps strongest rope and sail.”

Elizabeth trembled with joy at receiving this double letter; for the eight years that her enmity had been daily increasing to Mary Stuart, she had followed her with her eyes continually, as a wolf might a gazelle; at last the gazelle sought refuge in the wolf’s den.  Elizabeth had never hoped as much:  she immediately despatched an order to the Sheriff of Cumberland to make known to Mary that she was ready to receive her.  One morning a bugle was heard blowing on the sea-shore:  it was Queen Elizabeth’s envoy come to fetch Queen Mary Stuart.

Then arose great entreaties to the fugitive not to trust herself thus to a rival in power, glory, and beauty; but the poor dispossessed queen was full of confidence in her she called her good sister, and believed herself going, free and rid of care, to take at Elizabeth’s court the place due to her rank and her misfortunes:  thus she persisted, in spite of all that could be said.  In our time, we have seen the same infatuation seize another royal fugitive, who like Mary Stuart confided himself to the generosity of his enemy England:  like Mary Stuart, he was cruelly punished for his confidence, and found in the deadly climate of St. Helena the scaffold of Fotheringay.

Mary Stuart set out on her journey, then, with her little following.  Arrived at the shore of Solway Firth, she found there the Warden of the English Marches:  he was a gentleman named Lowther, who received the queen with the greatest respect, but who gave her to understand that he could not permit more than three of her women to accompany her.  Mary Seyton immediately claimed her privilege:  the queen held out to her her hand.

“Alas! mignonne,” said she, “but it might well be another’s turn:  you have already suffered enough for me and with me.”