“Yes, yes, treason, treason!” cried George Douglas, leaping down into the room.  “Yes, the infamous Warden has betrayed us!” Then, advancing to Mary, cold and motionless as a statue, “Courage, madam,” said he, “courage!  Whatever happens, a friend yet remains for you in the castle; it is Little Douglas.”

Scarcely had he finished speaking when the door of the queen’s apartment opened, and William Douglas and Lady Lochleven, preceded by servants carrying torches and armed soldiers, appeared on the threshold:  the room was immediately filled with people and light.

“Mother,” said William Douglas, pointing to his brother standing before Mary Stuart and protecting her with his body, “do you believe me now?  Look!”

The old lady was for a moment speechless; then finding a word at last, and taking a step forward—­

“Speak, George Douglas,” cried she, “speak, and clear yourself at once of the charge which weighs on your honour; say but these words, ’A Douglas was never faithless to his trust,’ and I believe you”.

“Yes, mother,” answered William, “a Douglas!... but he—­he is not a Douglas.”

“May God grant my old age the strength needed to bear on the part of one of my sons such a misfortune, and on the part of the other such an injury!” exclaimed Lady Lochleven.  “O woman born under a fatal star,” she went on, addressing the queen, “when will you cease to be, in the Devil’s hands, an instrument of perdition and death to all who approach you?  O ancient house of Lochleven, cursed be the hour when this enchantress crossed thy threshold!”

“Do not say that, mother, do not say that,” cried George; “blessed be, on the contrary, the moment which proves that, if there are Douglases who no longer remember what they owe to their sovereigns, there are others who have never forgotten it.”

“Douglas!  Douglas!” murmured Mary Stuart, “did I not tell you?”

“And I, madam,” said George, “what did I reply then?  That it was an honour and a duty to every faithful subject of your Majesty to die for you.”

“Well, die, then!” cried William Douglas, springing on his brother with raised sword, while he, leaping back, drew his, and with a movement quick as thought and eager as hatred defended himself.  But at the same moment Mary Stuart darted between the two young people.

“Not another step, Lord Douglas,” said she.  “Sheathe your sword, George, or if you use it, let be to go hence, and against everyone but your b other.  I still have need of your life; take care of it.”

“My life, like my arm and my honour, is at your service, madam, and from the moment you command it I shall preserve it for you.”

With these words, rushing to the door with a violence and resolve which prevented anyone’s stopping him—­

“Back!” cried he to the domestics who were barring the passage; “make way for the young master of Douglas, or woe to you!”.