"
"Look on these features," said Mary, pointing to the dying knight, who
had been unhelmed by some compassionate hand; "look there, and tell me
if she who ruins all who love her, ought to fly a foot farther to save
her wretched life!"
The reader must have long anticipated the discovery which the Queen's
feelings had made before her eyes confirmed it. It was the features of
the unhappy George Douglas, on which death was stamping his mark.
"Look--look at him well," said the Queen, "thus has it been with all
who loved Mary Stewart!--The royalty of Francis, the wit of Chastelar,
the power and gallantry of the gay Gordon, the melody of Rizzio, the
portly form and youthful grace of Darnley, the bold address and
courtly manners of Bothwell--and now the deep-devoted passion of the
noble Douglas--nought could save them!--they looked on the wretched
Mary, and to have loved her was crime enough to deserve early death!
No sooner had the victim formed a kind thought of me, than the
poisoned cup, the axe and block, the dagger, the mine, were ready to
punish them for casting away affection on such a wretch as I
am!--Importune me not--I will fly no farther--I can die but once, and
I will die here."
While she spoke, her tears fell fast on the face of the dying man, who
continued to fix his eyes on her with an eagerness of passion, which
death itself could hardly subdue.--"Mourn not for me," he said
faintly, "but care for your own safety--I die in mine armour as a
Douglas should, and I die pitied by Mary Stewart!"
He expired with these words, and without withdrawing his eyes from her
face; and the Queen, whose heart was of that soft and gentle mould,
which in domestic life, and with a more suitable partner than Darnley,
might have made her happy, remained weeping by the dead man, until
recalled to herself by the Abbot, who found it necessary to use a
style of unusual remonstrance.
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