"And now, sir, ere you go, I shall have the pleasure of presenting you to the Queen of Scotland. I trust her majesty's noonday nap is over by this time."
The young man felt his eyes and heart fill at these words, for the loyalty of the olden time was a passion, strong and enthusiastic as that of a lover for his love.
Mary of Lorraine, with her white hand, drew back the tapestry, and revealed the inner apartment, the walls of which were hung with yellow Spanish leather stamped with crowns and thistles, and the oak floor of which was covered by what was then a very unusual luxury—a Persian carpet. Passing in, Florence found himself in the royal nursery.
In a cradle of oak, profusely carved, and having a little canopy surmounted by a crown, lay a child—a little white-skinned and golden-haired girl, in her fifth year, asleep, with her dark lashes reposing on a cheek that bore the pink tint we see at times in a white rose-leaf.
This child was Mary Queen of Scots!
The nurse, Janet Sinclair, wife of John Kemp, a burgess of Haddington, arose at their entrance.
The young man knelt down, and, with reverence and affection, pressed his lips to the child's dimpled hands, which were folded together above its little lace coverlet. The emotions of his heart would be difficult alike to analyze or portray.
How little could those four persons who stood by the cradle of that beloved and beautiful little one, foresee the dark shadows which enveloped her future!
"The little bride of the son of France!" said Mary of Lorraine; "she sleeps, alike oblivious of crowns and kingdoms."
At that moment the child opened her dark-grey eyes, and smiled to her mother.