Her feeble light gave her glimpses of the lofty walls panelled in cedar wood, the majestic altar of white marble gilt, and the great painting brought from Italy—all heavenly blue, and deep crimson, and angelic faces breaking from rosy clouds.
Mary went to the altar steps, set the candle on the topmost one, then fell on her knees with her letters pressed to her heart.
As she prayed she bent lower and lower till her beautiful head touched the marble, and there it rested while she sobbed out her humble prayers for her husband, her father, for England, for her own poor tired soul.
She grew cold as she lay across the altar steps, and peaceful in her heart. She thought God was not so displeased with her; a confidence rose in her bosom that he would not let His cause fail though her weakness....
A gentle confusion came over her senses, and she fell into a kind of swoon; when this passed she found that her candle had burnt to the socket and gone out, and that a blue dawn was lighting the glowing arms of England in the painted glass windows.
She got to her feet, shivering but calm, and went back stealthily through the vast silent rooms, filled with the early sun, and so reached her bed; and, for the first time for weeks, fell placidly asleep. Next morning when she woke she was very silent; but, as her ladies thought, more at ease.
She had hidden her letters under her pillow, and when she was dressed slipped them into her gown.
As she left her apartments on the way to the chapel she was met by Lord Nottingham.
The news from Ireland at last!
"The King is safe, Madam," said my lord, in pity of her face.