“Ay,” replied Catharine, “but you should tell her Grace that your workmanship was so indifferent that it broke to pieces next day, and I flung it away.”
“Believe her not, Roland,” said the Queen; “she wept when it was broken, and put the fragments into her bosom. But for your scheme—could your skill avail to forge a second set of keys?”
“No, madam, because I know not the wards. But I am convinced I could make a set so like that hateful bunch which the Lady bore off even now, that could they be exchanged against them by any means, she would never dream she was possessed of the wrong.”
“And the good dame, thank Heaven, is somewhat blind,” said the Queen; “but then for a forge, my boy, and the means of labouring unobserved?”
“The armourer's forge, at which I used sometimes to work with him, is the round vault at the bottom of the turret—he was dismissed with the warder for being supposed too much attached to George Douglas. The people are accustomed to see me work there, and I warrant I shall find some excuse that will pass current with them for putting bellows and anvil to work.”
“The scheme has a promising face,” said the Queen; “about it, my lad, with all speed, and beware the nature of your work is not discovered.”
“Nay, I will take the liberty to draw the bolt against chance visitors, so that I will have time to put away what I am working upon, before I undo the door.”
“Will not that of itself attract suspicion, in a place where it is so current already?” said Catherine.
“Not a whit,” replied Roland; “Gregory the armourer, and every good hammerman, locks himself in when he is about some master piece of craft. Besides, something must be risked.”
“Part we then to-night,” said the Queen, “and God bless you my children!—If Mary's head ever rises above water, you shall all rise along with her.”