Yet does every neighbour tree,
     Every rocky wall,
     This my sorrow know and see;
     So, in brief, doth all
     Nature know aright
     This my sorry plight;
     Thou alone
     Takest thy delight
     To hear me cry and moan.

     But if it be thy will,
     To see tormented still
     Wretched me,
     Then let my woful ill
     Immortal be.”

This last verse died away as if the queen were exhausted, and at the same time the mandolin slipped from her hands, and would have fallen to the ground had not Mary Seyton thrown herself on her knees and prevented it.  The young girl remained thus at her mistress’s feet for some time, gazing at her silently, and as she saw that she was losing herself more and more in gloomy reverie—­

“Have those lines brought back to your Majesty some sad remembrance?” she asked hesitatingly.

“Oh, yes,” answered the queen; “they reminded me of the unfortunate being who composed them.”

“And may I, without indiscretion, inquire of your grace who is their author?”

“Alas! he was a noble, brave, and handsome young man, with a faithful heart and a hot head, who would defend me to-day, if I had defended him then; but his boldness seemed to me rashness, and his fault a crime.  What was to be done?  I did not love him.  Poor Chatelard!  I was very cruel to him.”

“But you did not prosecute him, it was your brother; you did not condemn him, the judges did.”

“Yes, yes; I know that he too was Murray’s victim, and that is no doubt the reason that I am calling him to mind just now.  But I was able to pardon him, Mary, and I was inflexible; I let ascend the scaffold a man whose only crime was in loving me too well; and now I am astonished and complain of being abandoned by everyone.  Listen, darling, there is one thing that terrifies me:  it is, that when I search within myself I find that I have not only deserved my fate, but even that God did not punish me severely enough.”

“What strange thoughts for your grace!” cried Mary; “and see where those unlucky lines which returned to your mind have led you, the very day when you were beginning to recover a little of your cheerfulness.”

“Alas!” replied the queen, shaking her head and uttering a deep sigh, “for six years very few days have passed that I have not repeated those lines to myself, although it may be for the first time to-day that I repeat them aloud.  He was a Frenchman too, Mary:  they have exiled from me, taken or killed all who came to me from France.  Do you remember that vessel which was swallowed up before our eyes when we came out of Calais harbour?  I exclaimed then that it was a sad omen:  you all wanted to reassure me.  Well, who was right, now, you or I?”