“Madame will pardon me,” he said; “I have not been of her secret councils, but can she not, if rightly dealt with, prove those two letters that were read to have been forged by her enemies?”

“What I could do is this, my good Bourgoin,” said Mary; “were I only confronted with Nau and Curll, I could prove that the letter I received from Babington bore nothing about the destroying the usurping competitor.  The poor faithful lad was a fool, but not so great a fool as to tell me such things.  And, on the other hand, hath either of you, my friends, ever seen in me such symptoms of midsummer madness as that I should be asking the names of the six who were to do the deed?  What cared I for their names?  I—­who only wished to know as little of the matter as possible!”

“Can your Majesty prove that you knew nothing?” asked Melville.

Mary paused.  “They cannot prove by fair means that I knew anything,” said she, “for I did not.  Of course I was aware that Elizabeth must be taken out of the way, or the heretics would be rallying round her; but there is no lack of folk who delight in work of that sort, and why should I meddle with the knowledge?  With the Prince of Parma in London, she, if she hath the high courage she boasteth of, would soon cause the Spanish pikes to use small ceremony with her!  Why should I concern myself about poor Antony and his five gentlemen?  But it is the same as it was twenty years ago.  What I know will have to be, and yet choose not to hear of, is made the head and front of mine offending, that the real actors may go free!  And because I have writ naught that they can bring against me, they take my letters and add to and garble them, till none knows where to have them.  Would that we were in France!  There it was a good sword-cut or pistol-shot at once, and one took one’s chance of a return, without all this hypocrisy of law and justice to weary one out and make men double traitors.”

“Methought Walsingham winced when your Majesty went to the point with him,” said Bourgoin.

“And you put up with his explanation?” said Melville.

“Truly I longed to demand of what practices Mr. Secretary in his office,—­not as a private person—­would be ashamed; but it seemed to me that they might call it womanish spite, and to that the Queen of Scots will never descend!”

“Pity but that we had Babington’s letter!  Then might we put him to confusion by proving the additions,” said Melville.

“It is not possible, my good friend.  The letter is at the bottom of the Castle well; is it not, mignonne?  Mourn for it not, Andrew.  It would have been of little avail, and it carried with it stuff that Mr. Secretary would give almost his precious place to possess, and that might be fatal to more of us.  I hoped that there might have been safety for poor Babington in the destruction of that packet, never guessing at the villainy of yon Burton brewer, nor of those who set him on.  Come, it serves not to fret ourselves any more.  I must answer as occasion serves me; speaking not so much to Elizabeth’s Commission, who have foredoomed me, as to all Christendom, and to the Scots and English of all ages, who will be my judges.”