Throgmorton sat little apart. He had been speaking in a strain of calm expostulation; but marking the interchange of glances between the queen and her haughty favorite, he became indignant, and addressed Bothwell with a degree of cutting contempt, which turned the lurking smile on the nobleman's lip to a curl of bitter defiance. Heedless of the royal presence, he stood up, and rudely pushing the council-table from before him, half drew his sword, as if to punish the offender upon the spot. Throgmorton endured the blaze of his large fierce eyes with calm composure, and deliberately measuring his person from head to foot with a contemptuous glance, was about to resume his discourse; but the queen rose from her seat, and placing her white and jewelled hand persuasively on Bothwell's arm, she fixed her beautiful eyes full on his, and uttered a few low words of entreaty; then turning to the envoy, her exquisite face flushed with anger and her eyes flashing like diamonds, she exclaimed,
"Leave our presence, sir ambassador, and thank our moderation that thou art permitted to depart in safety, after this insult to our most trusty and faithful follower! Nay, my lord of Bothwell, put thy hand from that sword-hilt—this matter rests with us—doubt not, thy honor as well as that of thy mistress shall be duly righted."
The frowning nobleman pushed back his blade with a clang, and turned moodily away.
The queen looked on him gravely for a moment, and then turning to the Englishman proceeded with less of vehemence than had accompanied her last command.
"The message of our loving cousin has given us a surfeit of advice. To-morrow we will resume the subject," she said, forcing one of the resistless smiles, which she could call up at will, to brighten her lips; and with a graceful wave of the hand, she motioned him to withdraw.
The envoy bowed low and left the room without further speech. But the door was scarcely closed, when, with sudden self-abandonment, the queen threw herself into her chair, and burst into a passion of tears. Bothwell, who was angrily pacing the room, approached, and sinking to one knee took her hand tenderly in his. She looked at him a moment through her tears, murmured a few broken words, and dropping her face to his shoulder, wept bitterly.
Poor Ellen Craigh witnessed the whole scene. She heard Bothwell's expressions of soothing endearment, and saw the beautiful head, with its garniture of brown tresses, fall with such helpless dependence on his shoulder. A moment, and the queen drew the snowy hand, sparkling with tears and jewels, from her eyes, and sat upright. With a choking sensation the poor girl gazed on that face, in its transcendent loveliness, till a mist gathered before her eyes, and the words of Bothwell came broken and confusedly to her ear. When they left the oratory a few moments after, her hand fell nerveless to her side, the tapestry swept over the door with a rustling sound, and staggering a few paces into the chamber, she fell her whole length upon the carpet, her golden hair sweeping back from her bloodless forehead, her pale lips trembling and her slight limbs as strengthless as an infant's. Thus she lay for a time, and then tears gushed profusely from her shut eyes. After which she arose to a sitting posture, with her feeble hands twisted the scattered ringlets round her head, and arose; but so pale, so wo-begone, her very heart seemed crushed forever. Dragging herself to her favorite seat in the embrasure of a window, she leaned her temple against the stained glass, and murmured—
"Enough!—oh, enough!—I must go home now." But while the words of misery trembled on her lips, the door was flung open, and Mary Stewart entered the apartment. The room was misty with the purple glow of sunset, and the queen passed her shrinking attendant without observing her. Hastily advancing to a table, she took up a golden bird-call, and blew a peremptory summons; then throwing herself into a chair which stood opposite a small table, on which glittered the splendid paraphernalia of a French toilette, she waited the appearance of her attendants. Ellen Craigh made a strong effort and arose.
"Ha, art thou there, my mountain-daisy?" said the queen, looking kindly upon her,—"order lights, and send back the flock of tire-women my silly whistle has brought trooping hitherward—no hands but thine shall robe me to night."
Ellen obeyed, and after a few moments the light from two large candles of perfumed wax broke over the little mirror, with its framework of filigree silver, and flashed upon the golden essence-bottles and scattered jewels which covered the dressing-table. The poor waiting-maid drew back from the brilliant glare with the shudder of a sick heart. The queen looked on her earnestly for a moment, and then putting the golden locks back from her temple, as she would have caressed a child, she said—