The queen was in one of those fits of sadness for which tears are the sole remedy; so Mary Seyton, perceiving that not only would every consolation be vain, but also unreasonable, far from continuing to react against her mistress’s melancholy, fully agreed with her:  it followed that the queen, who was suffocating, began to weep, and that her tears brought her comfort; then little by little she regained self-control, and this crisis passed as usual, leaving her firmer and more resolute than ever, so that when she went up to her room again it was impossible to read the slightest alteration in her countenance.

The dinner-hour was approaching, and Mary, who in the morning was looking forward impatiently to the enjoyment of her triumph over Lady Lochleven, now saw her advance with uneasiness:  the mere idea of again facing this woman, whose pride one was always obliged to oppose with insolence, was, after the moral fatigues of the day, a fresh weariness.  So she decided not to appear for dinner, as on the day before:  she was all the more glad she had taken this resolution, that this time it was not Lady Lochleven who came to fulfil the duties enjoined on a member of the family to make the queen easy, but George Douglas, whom his mother in her displeasure at the morning scene sent to replace her.  Thus, when Mary Seyton told the queen that she saw the young man with dark hair cross the courtyard on his way to her, Mary still further congratulated herself on her decision; for this young man’s insolence had wounded her more deeply than all his mother’s haughty insults.  The queen was not a little astonished, then, when in a few minutes Mary Seyton returned and informed her that George Douglas, having sent away the servants, desired the honour of speaking to her on a matter of importance.  At first the queen refused; but Mary Seyton told her that the young man’s air and manner this time were so different from what she had seen two days before, that she thought her mistress would be wrong to refuse his request.

The queen rose then, and with the pride and majesty habitual to her, entered the adjoining room, and, having taken three steps, stopped with a disdainful air, waiting for George to address her.

Mary Seyton had spoken truly:  George Douglas was now another man.  To-day he seemed to be as respectful and timid as the preceding day he had seemed haughty and proud.  He, in his turn, made a step towards the queen; but seeing Mary Seyton standing behind her—­

“Madam,” said he, “I wished to speak with your Majesty alone:  shall I not obtain this favour?”

“Mary Seyton is not a stranger to me, Sir:  she is my sister, my friend; she is more than all that, she is my companion in captivity.”

“And by all these claims, madam, I have the utmost veneration for her; but what I have to tell you cannot be heard by other ears than yours.  Thus, madam, as the opportunity furnished now may perhaps never present itself again, in the name of what is dearest to you, grant me what I ask.”