‘Dearest madam, do you weep?’
‘I cannot let you go. Do not ask me—I need you here.’
He leaned to her. ‘Alas, what can I do to help your Majesty?’
She took his hand. ‘Stay. You are my only friend. The end is not far. Have a little patience—stay.’
‘But your casket——’
She shook her head. ‘Let all go now. Stay you with me.’
‘Certainly I will stay with you,’ he said. ‘It will be to see you triumph over your enemies.’
And again she shook her head. ‘Not with a broken heart!’ Then in a frightened whisper she began to tell him her fears. ‘Do you know what they make ready for me? The stake, and the faggot, and the fire! Fire for the wife that slew her husband. Baptist, you will never forsake me now! This is my secret knowledge. Never forsake me!’ She hid her face on his shoulder and cried there, as one lost.
Bothwell burst into the room: they sprang apart. He was eager, flush with news. ‘We march to-morrow with the light. My men are coming in—in good order. Be of good cheer, madam, for with God’s help we shall pound these knaves properly.’