Maxwell interposed, eagerly.
‘To any one of my own degree,’ he began—but an imploring glance from the Queen at her brother had roused that statesman from his apathy, and he interfered.
‘Take back your glove, my Lord Duke!’ said he. ‘This is no affair of private brawl, but a matter in which the safety of the crown is involved. My lords, I move for a committee of inquiry on the spot.’
The duke bit his glove through, ere he replaced it on his hand, and then, with moody brow and angry eye, listened in silence to the conference.
‘I move that James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, be committed to ward till such time as he can purge himself from the charges brought against him by the Earl of Arran,’ said Lord Ruthven, after another brief consultation, with a smile of triumph on his pale, gaunt face.
With the exception of Seton and Argyle, who seemed to think the warden was receiving scant justice, and a weak remonstrance from Lord James, which yielded gracefully to the urgency of the case, the council agreed upon this precautionary measure, and it was carried accordingly.
Secretary Maitland made out the warrant for the earl’s committal; it wanted but the Queen’s signature to become valid.
Mary rose from her chair and drew up her majestic figure.
‘Nay, my lords,’ said she; ‘it is surely unjust to condemn the absent without proof. Let the warden return to his charge on the border. He may render himself at any time, in less than twenty-four hours from Hermitage.’
‘You cannot refuse to ratify the deed of your council!’ urged Ruthven, fiercely. ‘Nay, Madam, you dare not,’ he added, with growing insolence; and would have said more; but Mary shot a glance at him, before which even his rugged nature quailed.