‘I had reason to fear what he might contrive against my peace—against my crown, and my son. Many things I feared. He came here because I sent for him. And I saw him.’
No help came from the watcher. Still he could not see her face, hard as he might look for it. She drove herself to her work.
‘He required of me certain assurances, otherwise, he said, he would leave the kingdom. I dared not allow him to depart, for I knew that he would work against me in England or oversea. Moreover, leaving me, his life would be in instant danger. He did not know that; therefore what he proposed was dangerous to himself and to me. Do you understand? I feared that he would steal my son and take him to England.’
Bothwell said, ‘I understand your fears.’
‘Therefore,’ said she, ‘I urged him to remain. This he promised to do’—it was fine to see how her voice grew clear to the attack—‘if I would yield him that which I had purposed never to give him again. Do you understand me now?’ She almost wailed the question.
He hastened to help her. ‘Yes, yes, madam. I beg you to say no more.’
But she threw back her hood, and showed him her tense white face. ‘I shall say all. No man shall hinder me. He had once betrayed me and held me up to the scorn of all women, and I promised you it should never be again. Yet it was—the realm, my son, were in danger—and—oh, sir, he has betrayed me now beyond repair! He has had all of me, and now is gone I know not where—proud of his lies, laughing at my folly.’ A terrible shuddering beset her—terrible to hear.
‘Oh, madam,’ said Lord Bothwell, ‘let him laugh while he can. What else hath a fool but his laughter?’
She stretched out her hands wide, and he drew nearer.
‘And for me, Bothwell? What is left for me?’