“That may not be, my child,” said the physician gently noting the wild light of her eyes. “That may not be. The queen——” 270
“The queen?” cried the girl shrilly. “Yes; the queen! England’s great queen! Oh, she is truly great! ’Tis a crime to be fairer than the queen! Ha, ha! a great queen! Truly a great queen!”
“Girl or boy, whiche’er you be, cease such words,” commanded the lieutenant sternly. “Thou utterest treason.”
“Treason? Ay, sir, treason! Treason for thee, but not for me. I claim no queen but Mary of Scotland. I——”
“Mary of Scotland hath been condemned to death. She will be executed as soon as Elizabeth signs the death warrant.”
“To die?” shrieked the girl. “Mary to die! If Mary must die, then shall Elizabeth also. Nay; stay me not! I go to kill the queen!”
She drew her poniard and made a dash for the door; but the lieutenant caught her ere she reached it.
“Unhand me, varlet,” she panted. “Ye shall not stay me from my purpose.”
“Girl, do you utter such words in the presence of the dead? Look on thy mother and say if still thou dost hold to thy design?” 271
He turned her forcibly toward her mother’s form on the couch. Francis pressed a hand to her brow as though bewildered, and then as if drawn by that still calm face drew closer, and gazed steadfastly upon it. The sweet sereneness of the dead calmed her. Presently a sob convulsed her frame, and flinging herself upon the body she burst into a passion of weeping.