“A moment—a word!” he begged, and to Bothwell: “Give us leave apart, sir!”
Yet, King though he might be, there was no ready obedience from the arrogant Border lord, her lover. It was to Mary that Bothwell looked for commands, nor stirred until she signed to him to go. And even then he went no farther than the other side of the door, so that he might be close at hand to fortify her should any weakness assail her now in this supreme hour.
Darnley struggled up in bed, caught her hand, and pulled her to him.
“Do not leave me, Mary. Do not leave me!” he implored her.
“Why, what is this?” she cried, but her voice lacked steadiness. “Would you have me disappoint poor Sebastien, who loves me?”
“I see. Sebastien is more to you than I?”
“Now this is folly. Sebastien is my faithful servant.”
“And am I less? Do you not believe that my one aim henceforth will be to serve you and faithfully? Oh, forgive this weakness. I am full of evil foreboding to-night. Go, then, if go you must, but give me at least some assurance of your love, some pledge of it in earnest that you will come again to-morrow nor part from me again.”
She looked into the white, piteous young face that had once been so lovely, and her soul faltered. It needed the knowledge that Bothwell waited just beyond the door, that he could overhear what was being said, to strengthen her fearfully in her tragic purpose.
She has been censured most for what next she did. Murray himself spoke of it afterwards as the worst part of the business. But it is possible that she was concerned only at the moment to put an end to a scene that was unnerving her, and that she took the readiest means to it.