"Cardinal," said James, looking up with his hazel eyes full of tears, "I pray for her daily."
"One act of mercy performed in her name and memory, will do more for the soul of Magdalene than a thousand prayers."
The king looked earnestly, perhaps suspiciously, in the dark and majestic face of Beaton, and said,—
"Your eminence actually means this?"
"Most solemnly!"
"Then what is this act of mercy?"
"A pardon for the Lady Jane Seton."
James's bright eyes flashed with fire, and he twisted his brown moustache with anger.
"Now, by the Holy Communion, this is too much; a pardon for the destroyer of Magdalene of France—for this daughter of a Douglas, and sought in this tower of Falkland, the very chamber where her sire the Lord John of Ashkirk, and her grandsire Sir Archibald of Kilspindie, detained me once a prisoner, with a guard of some five hundred Douglases, from whose surveillance I had to fly like a thief in the night! Lord cardinal, it is impossible."
It was seldom that James refused him a favour, and his eminence was piqued.