Queen Mary had no sooner arrived at Haddon Hall than she opened an attack upon Leicester, somewhat after the same plan, I suppose, which she had followed with me in the coach. She could no more easily resist inviting homage from men than a swallow can refrain from flying. Thus, from inclination and policy, she sought Leicester and endeavored by the pleasant paths of her blandishments to lead him to her cause. There can be no doubt concerning Leicester's wishes in the premises. Had Mary's cause held elements of success, he would have joined her; but he feared Elizabeth, and he hoped some day to share her throne. He would, however, prefer to share the throne with Mary.
Mary told him of her plans and hopes. She told him that I had ridden with Dorothy for the purpose of rescuing John and herself, and that I had promised to help her to escape to France. She told him she would use me for her tool in making her escape, and would discard me when once she should be safe out of England. Then would come Leicester's turn. Then should my lord have his recompense, and together they would regain the Scottish crown.
How deeply Leicester became engaged in the plot I cannot say, but this I know: through fear of Elizabeth, or for the purpose of winning her favor, he unfolded to our queen all the details of Mary's scheme, together with the full story of my ride with Dorothy to Rutland, and my return with Dorothy and Mary in the coach. Thereupon Mary was placed under strict guard. The story spread quickly through the Hall, and Dawson brought it to me. On hearing it, my first thought was of Madge. I knew it would soon reach her. Therefore I determined to go to her at once and make a clean breast of all my perfidy. Had I done so sooner, I should at least have had the benefit of an honest, voluntary confession; but my conscience had made a coward of me, and the woman who had been my curse for years had so completely disturbed my mind that I should have been quite as well off without any at all. It led me from one mistake into another.
After Dawson told me that my miserable story was known throughout the Hall, I sought Madge, and found her with Aunt Dorothy. She was weeping, and I at once knew that I was too late with my confession. I spoke her name, "Madge," and stood by her side awaiting her reply.
"Is it true, Malcolm?" she asked. "I cannot believe it till I hear it from your lips."
"It was true," I responded. "I promised to help Queen Mary escape, and I promised to go with her; but within one hour of the time when I gave my word I regretted it as I have never regretted anything else in all my life. I resolved that, while I should, according to my promise, help the Scottish queen escape, I would not go with her. I resolved to wait here at Haddon to tell all to you and to our queen, and then I would patiently take my just punishment from each. My doom from the queen, I believed, would probably be death; but I feared more your—God help me! It is useless for me to speak." Here I broke down and fell upon my knees, crying, "Madge, Madge, pity me, pity me! Forgive me if you can, and, if our queen decrees it, I shall die happy."
In my desperation I caught the girl's hand, but she drew it quickly from me, and said:—
"Do not touch me!"
She arose to her feet, and groped her way to her bedroom. We were in Aunt Dorothy's room. I watched Madge as she sought with her outstretched hand the doorway; and when she passed slowly through it, the sun of my life seemed to turn black. Just as Madge passed from the room, Sir William St. Loe, with two yeomen, entered by Sir George's door and placed irons upon my wrist and ankles. I was led by Sir William to the dungeon, and no word was spoken by either of us.
I had never in my life feared death, and now I felt that I would welcome it. When a man is convinced that his life is useless, through the dire disaster that he is a fool, he values it little, and is even more than willing to lose it.