"No, no, my sweet one," I answered, "perhaps they will not kill him at all. Certainly they will not kill him now. They must try him first."
I tried to dissuade her from going to the gates, but she insisted, and I helped her to walk forward.
When Dorothy and I reached the gates, we found that Cecil and Lord Rutland were holding a consultation through the parley-window. The portcullis was still down, and the gates were closed; but soon the portcullis was raised, a postern was opened from within, and Sir William entered the castle with two score of the yeomen guards.
Sir George approached and again plied Dorothy with questions, but she would not speak. One would have thought from her attitude that she was deaf and dumb. She seemed unconscious of her father's presence.
"She has lost her mind," said Sir George, in tones of deep trouble, "and I know not what to do."
"Leave her with me for a time, cousin. I am sure she will be better if we do not question her now."
Then Dorothy seemed to awaken. "Malcolm is right, father. Leave me for a time, I pray you."
Sir George left us, and waited with a party of yeomen a short distance from the gate for the return of Sir William with his prisoners.
Dorothy and I sat upon a stone bench, near the postern through which Sir William and the guardsmen had entered, but neither of us spoke.
After a long, weary time of waiting Sir William came out of the castle through the postern, and with him came Mary Stuart. My heart jumped when I saw her in the glare of the flambeaux, and the spirit of my dead love for her came begging admission to my heart. I cannot describe my sensations when I beheld her, but this I knew, that my love for her was dead past resurrection.