At this moment Catherine Seyton entered alone, contrary to her custom; and not less contrary to her custom, she entered with her kerchief at her eyes. Roland Graeme approached her with beating heart and with down-cast eyes, and asked her, in a low and hesitating voice, whether the Queen were well?
“Can you suppose it?” said Catherine. “Think you her heart and body are framed of steel and iron, to endure the cruel disappointment of yester even, and the infamous taunts of yonder puritanic hag?—Would to God that I were a man, to aid her more effectually!”
“If those who carry pistols, and batons, and poniards,” said the page, “are not men, they are at least Amazons; and that is as formidable.”
“You are welcome to the flash of your wit, sir,” replied the damsel; “I am neither in spirits to enjoy, nor to reply to it.”
“Well, then,” said the page, “list to me in all serious truth. And, first, let me say, that the gear last night had been smoother, had you taken me into your counsels.”
“And so we meant; but who could have guessed that Master Page should choose to pass all night in the garden, like some moon-stricken knight in a Spanish romance—instead of being in his bed-room, when Douglas came to hold communication with him on our project.”
“And why,” said the page, “defer to so late a moment so important a confidence?”
“Because your communications with Henderson, and—with pardon—the natural impetuosity and fickleness of your disposition, made us dread to entrust you with a secret of such consequence, till the last moment.”
“And why at the last moment?” said the page, offended at this frank avowal; “why at that, or any other moment, since I had the misfortune to incur so much suspicion?”
“Nay—now you are angry again,” said Catherine; “and to serve you aright I should break off this talk; but I will be magnanimous, and answer your question. Know, then, our reason for trusting you was twofold. In the first place, we could scarce avoid it, since you slept in the room through which we had to pass. In the second place——”