Undo the door to the Lady
Lochleven--She shall meet her match in art, though not in perfidy.
Fleming, draw close the curtain, and get thee behind it--thou art a
better tire-woman than an actress; do but breathe heavily, and, if
thou wilt, groan slightly, and it will top thy part. Hark! they come.
Now, Catherine of Medicis, may thy spirit inspire me, for a cold
northern brain is too blunt for this scene!"
Ushered by Catherine Seyton, and stepping as light as she could, the
Lady Lochleven was shown into the twilight apartment, and conducted to
the side of the couch, where Mary, pallid and exhausted from a
sleepless night, and the subsequent agitation of the morning, lay
extended so listlessly as might well confirm the worst fears of her
hostess.
"Now, God forgive us our sins!" said the Lady of Lochleven, forgetting
her pride, and throwing herself on her knees by the side of the bed;
"It is too true--she is murdered!"
"Who is in the chamber?" said Mary, as if awaking from a heavy sleep.
"Seyton, Fleming, where are you? I heard a strange voice. Who waits?
--Call Courcelles."
"Alas! her memory is at Holyrood, though her body is at Lochleven.--
Forgive, madam," continued the Lady, "if I call your attention to
me--I am Margaret Erskine, of the house of Mar, by marriage Lady
Douglas of Lochleven."
"Oh, our gentle hostess," answered the Queen, "who hath such care of
our lodgings and of our diet--We cumber you too much and too long,
good Lady of Lochleven; but we now trust your task of hospitality is
well-nigh ended.
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