She ventured on a gentle cough; a timid whisper, very soft and cautious; there was no result. At last she spoke his name out loud, and then, half-frightened and a good deal disappointed, made her way back into the house, barring the door after her with as little noise as her trembling hands would permit.
Poor Mary Hamilton! In that dark passage she paused to lay her head against the wall and weep. She dared not return at once to the chamber which she shared with her comrades, in case any one of them should be awake. She felt she could not brook observation or remark on her streaming eyes and agitated looks. As the tears flowed silently, they did her so much good! For weeks the girl had been living in a morbid state of overstrung excitement. Continually in the presence of the man she loved, and that man gifted with many brilliant qualities exceedingly attractive to the female heart; never convinced of his preference, yet suspecting it from a thousand trifles that she naturally interpreted in her own favour; living in an atmosphere of alternate hope and fear, exposed to the daily charm of his person, his conversation, his musical talents, and his warm foreign cordiality, it was no wonder that she hailed as a blissful relief the certainty which she was persuaded had burst upon her to-day, even though accompanied by the miserable conviction that she must bid him a long, perhaps a hopeless farewell. The sweet and the bitter were strangely mingled in the cup she had drained so eagerly—the cup that slakes, but never quenches thirst. She was so relieved, and yet so troubled; so proud, and yet so fearful; so happy, yet so sad.
What could a poor woman do but droop her head and weep her heart out, simply because she was a woman?
Suddenly she started as if she had been shot. A loud shriek, followed by a succession of outcries for assistance in the Queen’s voice, rang through the small house, and were quickly followed by the scuffling of feet, the banging of doors, and the tumult of many tongues, in which the shrill tones of the maids-of-honour predominated. Lights were already glancing in the passages; women in white, with pale, scared faces, and half-dressed men but half-awake, snatching at whatever weapons came to hand, rushed to and fro tumultuously; everybody seemed exceedingly alarmed and excited, but none to know the least what was the matter. All this Mary Hamilton observed as we see things in a dream, while she rushed up-stairs, and dashed unhesitatingly into the Queen’s chamber.
The sight that met her there arrested her as if by magic on the threshold. In the twinkling of an eye, the warm impulsive woman seemed frozen into a statue.
Pale as her night gear, breathless and trembling, while she clung to her brother’s shoulder for support, yet with the ‘Stuart frown’ stamped sternly on her brow, the Queen was gazing in fear and anger on the dark figure of a man who stood with his arms folded, in the corner of the apartment. That man, calm, erect, defiant, almost sublime in the intrepidity with which he confronted threatening brows and levelled weapons (for already the royal retainers were filling the place), was Chastelâr. Mary Hamilton turned sick and giddy while she looked. The Queen raved and shook, and seemed half-mad with fear and shame; her ladies crowded about her in helpless astonishment and dismay, while the servants and men-at-arms glanced from one to another, utterly at their wit’s end. Except the fatal cause himself of all this disturbance, Moray alone seemed to retain his presence of mind. Alternately, he soothed his frantic sister, and gave directions to the astonished bystanders.
‘Stab him!’ exclaimed the Queen, pointing with shaking hand at the unfortunate man who stood there, so pale, so calm, offering no attempt at escape or resistance. ‘Brother, for the honour of our house, put your sword through him, an’ ye be half a Stuart. Let him not live an hour to boast of this daring, this atrocious insult. Oh, it is too much—too much!’
The Queen covered her face with both hands, completely overcome; her beautiful hair, escaping from the ribbon which confined it, fell over her shoulders to her waist.
Chastelâr looked proudly and lovingly at her even then. Madman! even then!