"Remorse? mon Dieu!" said Mary, laughing.
"Ah, madam! why didst thou encourage me to love thee?"
"I encourage you!" reiterated the Queen with astonishment. "Mother Mary! thou ravest. Never! never! I needed not to encourage men to love me."
"Thou didst so to me, madam. By God's death! thou didst; and it was cruel to inspire me with a passion which thou couldst not return."
"Thou hast mistaken my too affable manner," replied the Queen; "but I will not stoop to defend myself before thee, presumptuous vassal!"
Bothwell's spirit now fell as the queen's rose; for he felt certain that, should she continue in this mood, he was lost.
Ambition and policy supplied him with that eloquence, of which, perhaps, the excess of his romantic passion might have deprived him; and his voice, ever persuasive and seductive, poured all his practised blandishments like a flood upon her ear. Borne away by the tide of feeling, he painted his torments, his ardour, his long-treasured love, his stifled despair; and Mary listened with pity and interest, for her heart was the gentlest of the gentle; and she saw in him a handsome and gallant noble, who had drawn his sword in her service when a whole peerage held aloof—who had shed his blood to uphold her authority—and who had lately suffered deeply (so she thought) by the mere malevolence of his enemies; but not one glance even of kindness would she bestow upon him.
Even the bond signed by those reverend prelates, whom she almost worshipped—those powerful peers, whom she sometimes respected, but more often feared—and that politic brother, whom she had ever loved better than herself—even that document was urged upon her in vain. It served but to increase her anger, and she told Bothwell she "could never, never, love him!"
"Madam, madam, repulse me not! Oh, thou knowest not how long, how deeply, I have loved thee!"
"Summon my attendants! This night I will rest me here; but," she added threateningly, "to-morrow is a new day; and thou, Lord Earl, mayest tremble when I leave Dunbar!"