“Really, Seyton,” cried Mary, seeming to recollect herself, “we had not dreamed that Lady Lochleven, having won her right to a stool at the court of the king my father, would have need to preserve it in the prison of the queen his daughter.  Bring forward a seat, Seyton, that we be not deprived so soon, and by a failure of memory on our part, of our gracious hostess’s company; or even,” went on Mary, rising and pointing out her own seat to Lady Lochleven, who was making a motion to withdraw, “if a stool does not suit you, my lady, take this easy-chair:  you will not be the first member of your family to sit in my place.”

At this last allusion, which recalled to her Murray’s usurpation, Lady Lochleven was no doubt about to make some exceedingly bitter reply, when the young man with the dark hair appeared on the threshold, without being announced, and, advancing towards Lady Lochleven, without saluting Mary—­

“Madam,” said he, bowing to the former, “the boat which took my brother has just returned, and one of the men in it is charged with a pressing charge that Lord William forgot to make to you himself.”

Then, saluting the old lady with the same respect, he immediately went out of the room, without even glancing at the queen, who, hurt by this impertinence, turned round to Mary Seyton, and, with her usual calm—­

“What have they told us, Seyton, of injurious rumours which were spread about our worthy hostess apropos of a child with a pale face and dark hair?  If this child, as I have every reason to believe, has become the young man who just went out of the room, I am ready to affirm to all the incredulous that he is a true Douglas, if not for courage, of which we cannot judge, then for insolence, of which he has just given us proofs.  Let us return, darling,” continued the queen, leaning on Mary Seyton’s arm; “for our good hostess, out of courtesy, might think herself obliged to keep us company longer, while we know that she is impatiently awaited elsewhere.”

With these words, Mary went into her bedroom; while the old lady, still quite stunned with the shower of sarcasms that the queen had rained on her, withdrew, murmuring, “Yes, yes, he is a Douglas, and with God’s help he will prove it, I hope.”

The queen had had strength as long as she was sustained by her enemy’s presence, but scarcely was she alone than she sank into a chair, and no longer having any witness of her weakness than Mary Seyton, burst into tears.  Indeed, she had just been cruelly wounded:  till then no man had come near her who had not paid homage either to the majesty of her rank or to the beauty of her countenance.  But precisely he, on whom she had reckoned, without knowing why, with instinctive hopes, insulted her at one and the same time in her double pride of queen and woman:  thus she remained shut up till evening.