Without even noticing her request, Bothwell lifted the boy from the hassock, and seating himself, addressed her in a low and gentle tone, which he knew well how to assume. The erring woman listened to the witchery of his voice, till the unnatural glow again died from her cheek, and she sat with her eyes fixed on his, as a beautiful bird yielding to the fascination of a serpent.
"But thy wife," she said in a low irresolute tone, when Bothwell pressed for a reply to what he had been urging, "much as Mary may love—much as she may sacrifice, she cannot thrust a young and loving woman from a heart she loves and puts her faith in."
"Young and loving!" repeated Bothwell, with a sneer curling his haughty lip, "young and loving!—truly your grace must have been strangely misinformed;—she who styles herself Countess of Bothwell nearly doubles the age of her unfortunate husband; and as for love, if she knows any, it is for the broad acres which own him as their master."
A scarcely perceptible smile dimpled the queen's mouth, as she heard this account of her rival, but she made no reply, and Bothwell resumed his tone of earnest entreaty. As he proceeded, his voice and manner became more energetic.
"Say that you consent," he said, "say but a word, and the breath of evil shall never reach you;—say but your hand is mine as a token of assent, and Bothwell will worship you like a very slave."
The queen raised her hand, and though it trembled like an aspen, she placed it in his.
"It is thy queen who is the slave," she murmured in a broken voice, as Bothwell raised the beautiful hand to his lips, and covered it with rapturous kisses.
As he relinquished her hand, it came in contact with that of the child. As if an adder had stung her, she drew it back, and then with a sudden gush of feeling snatched the boy to her bosom and covered it with tears and kisses. Bothwell dreaded the influence of the pure maternal feeling thus expressed. Gently forcing the young prince from her embrace, he whispered—
"Trust him to me, dearest—trust him to one who would spill his heart's blood, rather than give pain to mother or child," and pressing her hand again to his lips, the arch-hypocrite left the room with the same cautious tread he had entered it with.
In a few moments after, he placed the young prince in charge with a creature in his confidence, saying—