Perceiving that their design of having the English marriage accomplished was on the eve of being hopelessly frustrated,—that the proposals of the Valois were all but formally accepted by the regent and Mary of Lorraine, those who were in secret league with England became desperate, and Kilmaurs at last conceived the artful idea of embroiling Arran with the Queen-mother on a point concerning which he knew them to be remarkably sensitive. The smile of this crafty young lord was a mere twitch of the mouth, an unpleasant grimace at best; yet such a smile his visage wore when, during a pause in this strangely-conducted controversy, he said to Arran, in a low and stern voice,—
"Beware, my lord regent, lest this French marriage be not a plot of the Guises merely to involve us in a war with England."
"For that I care little. But to what end would it be?"
"An alteration in the regency."
Arran changed colour, and eyeing the young lord askance, asked, through his clenched teeth,
"That I may be succeeded by whom?"
"The Queen-mother, very probably."
"'Tis false, my Lord Kilmaurs!" exclaimed Mary of Lorraine, haughtily, "I say so—I, Mary, Queen of Scotland!"
"Under favour, madam," said Arran, reddening with annoyance, "you are neither Queen of Scotland nor the Scots, but simply queen-mother of the sovereign. There is a difference, you will pardon me. Henry of Valois is king of France; Edward VI. is king of England; but our monarchs have ever been kings of the Scots; for the SOIL belongs to the people."
"That whilk they soak so readily wi their gude red bluid, may weel be theirs," said the aged Earl of Mar.