In name at least you are king, and your signature is binding upon my subjects. Have you not brought them back from exile by one royal decree, whilst by another you have dispersed the Parliament that was assembled to attaint them of treason?”
She stepped close up to him, and bending over him as he sat there, crushed by realization, she lowered her voice.
“Pray God, my lord, that all their purpose with you is not yet complete, else in their hands I do not think your life is to be valued at an apple-paring. You go the ways poor Davie went.”
He sank his handsome head to his hands, and covered his face. A while he sat huddled there, she watching him with gleaming, crafty eyes. At length he rallied. He looked up, tossing back the auburn hair from his white brow, still fighting, though weakly, against persuasion. “It is not possible,” he, cried. “They could not! They could not!”
She laughed, betwixt bitterness and sadness.
“Trust to that,” she bade him. “Yet look well at matters as they are already. I am a prisoner here in these men’s hands. They will not let me go until their full purpose is accomplished—perhaps,” she added wistfully, “perhaps not even then.”
“Ah, not that!” he cried out.
“Even that,” she answered firmly. “But,” and again she grew vehement, “is it less so with you? Are you less a prisoner than I? D’ye think you will be suffered to come and go at will?” She saw the increase of fear in him, and then she struck boldly, setting all upon the gamble of a guess. “I am kept here until I shall have been brought to such a state that I will add my signature to your own and so pardon one and all for what is done.”
His sudden start, the sudden quickening of his glance told her how shrewdly she had struck home. Fearlessly, then, sure of herself, she continued. “To that end they use you. When you shall have served it you will but cumber them. When they shall have used you to procure their security from me, then they will deal with you as they have ever sought to deal with you—so that you trouble them no more. Ali, at last you understand!”
He came to his feet, his brow gleaming with sweat, his slender hands nervously interlocked.
“Oh, God!” he cried in a stifled voice.
“Aye, you are in a trap, my lord. Yourself you’ve sprung it.”
And now you behold him broken by the terror she had so cunningly evoked. He flung himself upon his knees before her, and with upturned face and hands that caught and clawed at her own, he implored her pardon for the wrong that in his folly he had done her in taking sides with her enemies.
She dissembled under a mask of gentleness the loathing that his cowardice aroused in her.
“My enemies?” she echoed wistfully. “Say rather your own enemies. It was their enmity to you that drove them into exile. In your rashness you have recalled them, whilst at the same time you have so bound my hands that I cannot now help you if I would.”
“You can, Mary,” he cried, “or else no one can. Withhold the pardon they will presently be seeking of you. Refuse to sign any remission of their deed.”
“And leave them to force you to sign it, and so destroy us both,” she answered.
He ranted then, invoking the saints of heaven, and imploring her in their name—she who was so wise and strong—to discover some way out of this tangle in which his madness had enmeshed them.
“What way is there short of flight?” she asked him. “And how are we to fly who are imprisoned here you as well as myself? Alas, Darnley, I fear our lives will end by paying the price of your folly.”
Thus she played upon his terrors, so that he would not be dismissed until she had promised that she would consider and seek some means of saving him, enjoining him meanwhile to keep strict watch upon himself and see that he betrayed nothing of his thoughts.
She left him to the chastening of a sleepless night, then sent for him betimes on Monday morning, and bade him repair to the lords and tell them that realizing herself a prisoner in their hands she was disposed to make terms with them. She would grant them pardon for what was done if on their side they undertook to be loyal henceforth and allowed her to resume her liberty.
The message startled him. But the smile with which she followed it was reassuring.
“There is something else you are to do,” she said, “if we are to turn the tables on these traitorous gentlemen. Listen.” And she added matter that begat fresh hope in Darnley’s despairing soul.
He kissed her hands, lowly now and obedient as a hound that had been whipped to heel, and went below to bear her message to the lords.
Morton and Ruthven heard him out, but betrayed no eagerness to seize the opportunity.
“All this is but words that we hear,” growled Ruthven, who lay stretched upon a couch, grimly suffering from the disease that was, slowly eating up his life.
“She is guileful as the serpent,” Morton added, “being bred up in the Court of France. She will make you follow her will and desire, but she will not so lead us. We hold her fast, and we do not let her go without some good security of what shall follow.”
“What security will satisfy you?” quoth Darnley.
Murray and Lindsay came in as he was speaking, and Morton told them of the message that Darnley had brought. Murray moved heavily across to a window-seat, and sat down. He cleared a windowpane with his hand, and looked out upon the wintry landscape as if the matter had no interest for him. But Lindsay echoed what the other twain had said already.
“We want a deal more than promises that need not be kept,” he said.
Darnley looked from one to the other of them, seeing in their uncompromising attitude a confirmation of what the Queen had told him, and noting, too—as at another time he might not have noted—their utter lack of deference to himself, their King.
“Sirs,” he said, “I vow you wrong Her Majesty. I will stake my life upon her honour.”
“Why, so you may,” sneered Ruthven, “but you’ll not stake ours.”
“Take what security you please, and I will subscribe it.”
“Aye, but will the Queen?” wondered Morton.
“She will. I have her word for it.”
It took them the whole of that day to consider the terms of the articles that would satisfy them. Towards evening the document was ready, and Morton and Ruthven representing all, accompanied by Murray, and introduced by Darnley, came to the chamber to which Her Majesty was confined by the guard they had set upon her.
She sat as if in state awaiting them, very lovely and very tearful, knowing that woman’s greatest strength is in her weakness, that tears would serve her best by presenting her as if broken to their will.
In outward submission they knelt before her to make the pretence of suing for the pardon which they extorted by force of arms and duress. When each in his turn had made the brief pleading oration he had prepared, she dried her eyes and controlled herself by obvious effort.
“My lords,” she said,
