"Your Sister and Cousin wrongfully imprisoned,
MARIE, QUEEN."
She wrote again to Elizabeth nearly a month later, but Paulet refused to dispatch her letter.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE END.
What lovely form, in deepest gloom
Of prison cave, awaits her doom?--
* * * * *
'Tis Scotia's basely-injured Queen;
'Tis she who, cherished, would have been
The loveliest, brightest, richest gem
In Caledonia's diadem,--
A gem too polished, pure and bright
For Scotia's sons, in Scotia's night,
When evil man and evil times
Were stained in basest, blackest crimes.--
The Royal Exile.
On Tuesday, the 7th of February (1587), the Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury, who had been appointed to conduct the execution of the Scottish queen, arrived at Fotheringay. Towards evening they sent her word that they wished to see her on urgent business. She had gone to bed, but, on hearing their message, she rose and prepared to receive them. Shrewsbury and Kent entered, accompanied by Beale, clerk of the Council, and the two keepers, Paulet and Drury. Shrewsbury, who in his heart sympathized with the helpless queen, performed the unpleasant duty imposed upon him by announcing to her the purpose of their visit, and requesting her to listen to the sentence which Beale was about to read. When Beale had finished reading, Mary thanked them for the welcome news. "I have long looked for this," she said, "and have expected it day by day for eighteen years. Unworthy though I think myself, I am by the grace of God a Queen born and a Queen anointed, a near relative of the Queen (of England), grand-daughter of King Henry VII., and I have had the honour to be Queen of France, but, in all my life I have had only sorrow." In answer to their urgent requests that she should accept of the religious services of the Dean of Peterborough, and renounce her former "abominations," she assured them that all their efforts to persuade her in that matter were useless. "Having lived till now in the true faith," she said, "this is not the time to change, but on the contrary, it is the very moment when it is most needful that I should remain firm and constant, as I intend to do." Turning from the profitless religious discussion on which Kent seemed disposed to linger, she enquired when she should die. "To-morrow morning at eight o'clock," was Shrewsbury's reply.
Short indeed was the notice, but Mary betrayed no sign of alarm. The lords shortly after retired, and she was left alone to prepare for the closing scene in the painful tragedy of her life. She was denied the assistance of a priest--a last act of cruelty for which no excuse can be offered.
The little family of her faithful servants who had shared with her the weary years of captivity, were disconsolate. She alone was bright and joyful. "Well," she said, "let supper be hastened, so that I may put my affairs in order. My children, it is now no time to weep; that is useless; what do you now fear? You should rather rejoice to see me on such a good road to being delivered from the many evils and afflictions which have so long been my portion." During supper she turned to her physician, Bourgoin, with a bright countenance, and said:--"Did you remark what Lord Kent said in his interview with me? He said that my life would have been the death of their religion, and that my death will be its life. Oh, how happy these words make me............ They told me that I was to die because I had plotted against the Queen, and here is Lord Kent sent to me to convert me, and what does he tell me?--that I am to die on account of my religion."
When the light repast was finished, her attendants gathered around her on their knees, implored her to forgive them whatever offences they had committed against her. "With all my heart, my children," she fervently answered, "even as I pray you to forgive me any injustice or harshness of which I may have been guilty towards you."