Very nervous, on account of what he had seen, he had no answer ready. Thought, feeling, passion, desire, were all boiling and stirring together in his brain. The blood drummed at his ears, like a call to arms.
Suddenly—it all came with a leap—there was hasty knocking at the hall doors, and at the same instant a bench was overturned out there, and Bothwell went trampling towards the sound. Des-Essars, tensely moved, shut the windows and barred the shutters over them. The Queen watched him—her hands held her bosom. ‘What is it? Oh, what is it?’
‘Hush, for God’s sake! Let me listen.’
Mary Seton opened the parlour door, as calm as she had ever been. They listened all.
They heard a clamour of voices outside. ‘Bothwell! Bothwell! Let us in.’
‘Who are ye?’
‘We are hunted men—friends. We are here for our lives.’
Bothwell put his ear close to the door; his mouth worked fearfully, all his features were distorted. Heavens! how he listened.
‘Who are ye? Tell me that.’
‘Friends—friends—friends!’