"He did come in vone leetle barque, my lor' from over de riviere, on de todder side opposite."
"Ah, so!" said the earl. "Well, you may now retire, Choisseul. To-morrow I shall see to your reward."
Choisseul bowed, and withdrew.
When he had retired, the earl sat down to a small writing table, and, late as the hour was, began writing with great assiduity—an employment at which he continued until he had written eight or ten different letters, each of considerable length. These were addressed to various members of the Queen's Privy Council in Edinburgh, and to some of the law officers of the crown. They were all nearly copies of each other, and contained an account of Chatelard's conduct, with a charge to the several parties addressed to repair to St. Andrews on the second day following, for the purpose of holding a court on the offender, and awarding him such punishment as the case might seem to demand.
On the day succeeding that on which the occurrence just related took place, the queen and her retinue proceeded to St. Andrews, whither the prisoner Chatelard was also carried; and, on the next again, the unfortunate gentleman was brought to trial, the scene of which was an apartment in the Castle of St Andrews, which had been hastily prepared for the occasion. In the centre of this apartment was placed a large oblong oaken table, covered with crimson velvet, and surrounded by a circle of high-backed chairs, with cushions covered with the same material. These were subsequently occupied by eight or ten persons of the Privy Council, including Mary's secretary of state, Maitland of Lethington, who sat at one end of the table. At the opposite end sat the Earl of Murray; the prisoner occupying a place in the centre at one of the sides. During the investigation which followed into the offence of Chatelard, the Earl of Murray made repeated indirect attempts to lead him to make statements prejudicial to the queen; urging him, with a show of candour and pretended regard for justice, to inform the court of anything and everything which he thought might be available in his defence, without regard to the rank or condition of those whom such statements might implicate. This language was too plain to be misunderstood. Every one present perceived that it conveyed a pointed allusion to the queen. Chatelard, amongst the rest, felt that it did so, and indignantly repelled the insinuation.
"I have none," he said, "to accuse but myself; nothing to blame but my own folly. Folly, did I say?" went on the fearless enthusiast; "it was no folly—it was love, love, love—all-powerful love—love for her, the noblest, the loveliest of created beings, for whom I could die ten thousand deaths. It was love for her who has been to me the breath of life, the light of mine eyes, the idol of my heart; around which were entwined all the feelings and susceptibilities of my nature, even as the ivy entwines the tree—the constant theme of my dreams by night; the sole subject of my thoughts by day. It has been hinted to me that I may blame freely, where to blame may serve me. But whom shall I blame? Not her, surely, who is the object of my idolatry—my sun, moon, and stars—my heaven, my soul, my existence. Not her, surely; for she is faultless as the unborn babe, pure and spotless as the snow-wreath in the hollow of the mountain. Who shall maintain the contrary fies in his throat, and is a foul-mouthed, villanous slanderer."
Here the enthusiastic and somewhat incoherent speaker was abruptly interrupted by Maitland of Lethington, who, rising to his feet, and resting his hands on the low table around which Chatelard's judges were seated, said, looking at the prisoner—
"Friend, ye must speak to your defence, if ye would speak at all. This that you have said is nothing to the purpose; and you cannot be permitted to take up the time of this court with such rhapsodies as these, that make not for any point of your accusation. Think ye not so, my lords?" he added, glancing around the table.
Several nods of assent spoke acquiescence. When Maitland had concluded—
"I have done, then, my lords," said Chatelard, bowing, and seating himself. "I have no more to say."