chamber again.

Our absence might excite suspicion,

should they serve supper."

They returned to the presence chamber, and the evening concluded as usual.

II

5 The next noon at dinner time, an unusual incident occurred. While Lady Douglas of Lochleven performed her daily duty of assistant and taster at the queen's table, she was told a man at arms had arrived, recommended by her son, but without any letter or other token than what 10 he brought by word of mouth.

"Hath he given you that token?" demanded the lady. "He reserved it, as I think, for your ladyship's ear," replied Randal.

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15 hall.

He doth well," said the lady; "tell him to wait in the But no, with your permission, madam," — to the "let him attend me here.”

queen

Since you are pleased to receive your domestics in my presence," said the queen, "I cannot choose "

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"My infirmities must plead my excuse, madam," replied 20 the lady; "the life I must lead here ill suits with the years which have passed over my head, and compels me to waive ceremonial."

"Oh, my good. lady," replied the queen, "I would there were naught in this your castle more strongly compulsive 25 than the cobweb chain of ceremony; but bolts and bars are harder matters to contend with."

As she spoke, the person announced by Randal entered the room, and Roland Graeme at once recognized in him the Abbot Ambrosius.

"What is your name, good fellow?" said the lady. "Edward Glendinning," answered the abbot, with a suitable reverence.

"Art thou of the blood of the Knight of Avenel?" said the Lady of Lochleven.

"Aye, madam, and that nearly," replied the pretended soldier.

5

"It is likely enough," said the lady, "for the knight has risen from obscure lineage to his present high rank in the Estate. But he is of sure truth and approved worth, 10 and his kinsman is welcome to us. You hold, unquestionably, the true faith?”

"Do not doubt of it, madam," said the disguised church

man.

"Hast thou a token to me from Sir William Douglas? 15 said the lady.

"I have, madam," replied he; "but it must be said in private."

"Thou art right," said the lady, moving toward the recess of a window; "say in what does it consist?"

"In the words of an old bard," replied the abbot. "Repeat them," answered the lady; and he uttered, in a low tone, the lines from an old poem called "The Howlet,"

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"O Douglas! Douglas!

Tender and true.''

20

25

25

"Trusty Sir John Holland," said the Lady Douglas, apostrophizing the poet, "a kinder heart never inspired a rhyme, and the Douglas's honor was ever on thy harpstring! We receive you among our followers, Glendinning. But, Randal, see that he keep the outer yard only, 30

till we shall hear more touching him from our son. Thou fearest not the night air, Glendinning?

"In the cause of the lady before whom I stand, I fear nothing, madam," answered the disguised abbot.

5 "Our garrison, then, is stronger by one trustworthy soldier," said the matron. "Go to the buttery, and let

them make much of thee."

When the Lady Lochleven had retired, the queen said to Roland Graeme, who was now almost constantly in her 10 company, "I spy comfort in that stranger's countenance; I know not why it should be so, but I am well persuaded he is a friend."

"Your grace's penetration does not deceive you," answered the page; and he informed her that the Abbot 15 of St. Mary's himself played the part of the newly arrived soldier.

“And now for the signal from the shore," exclaimed Catherine; "my bosom tells me we shall see this night two lights instead of one gleam from the Garden of Eden. 20 And then, Roland, do you play your part manfully, and we will dance on the greensward like midnight fairies!"

Catherine's conjecture misgave not nor deceived her. In the evening two beams twinkled from the cottage, instead of one; and the page heard, with beating heart, 25 that the new retainer was ordered to stand sentinel on the outside of the castle. When he intimated this news to the queen, she held her hand out to him; he knelt, and when he raised it to his lips in all dutiful homage, he found it was damp and cold as marble. "For God's sake, 30 madam, droop not now! sink not now!"

"Call upon Our Lady, my liege," said the Lady Fleming, "call upon your tutelar saint."

"Call the spirits of the hundred kings you are descended from," exclaimed the page. "In this hour of need, the resolution of a monarch were worth the aid of a hundred saints."

"Oh! Roland Graeme," said Mary in a tone of deep 5 despondency, "be true to me! Many have been false to me. Alas! I have not always been true to myself. My mind misgives me that I shall die in bondage and that this bold attempt will cost us all our lives. It was foretold me by a soothsayer in France that I should die in 10 prison and by a violent death, and here comes the hour. Oh, would to God it found me prepared!"

a queen.

"Madam," said Catherine Seyton, "remember you are Better we all died in bravely attempting to gain our freedom, than remain here to be poisoned, as men rid 15 them of the noxious vermin that haunt old houses."

"You are right, Catherine," said the queen; "and Mary will bear her like herself. But alas! your young aud buoyant spirit can ill spell the causes which have broken mine. Forgive me, my children, and farewell for 20 a while. I will prepare both mind and body for this awful venture."

They separated till again called together by the tolling of the curfew. The queen appeared grave, but firm and resolved; the Lady Fleming, with the art of an experienced 25 courtier, knew perfectly how to disguise her inward tremors; Catherine's eye was fired, as if with the boldness of the project, and the half smile which dwelt upon her beautiful mouth seemed to contemn all the risk and all the consequences of discovery; Roland, who felt how much success 30 depended on his own address and boldness, summoned

together his whole presence of mind. He stood like a greyhound in the slips, with hand, heart, and eye intent upon making and seizing opportunity for the execution of their project.

5 The keys had, with the wonted ceremonial, been presented to the Lady Lochleven. She stood with her back to the casement, which, like that of the queen's apartment, commanded a view of Kinross, with the church, which stands at some distance from the town, and nearer 10 to the lake, then connected with the town by straggling cottages. With her back to this casement, then, and her face to the table, on which the keys lay for an instant while she tasted the various dishes which were placed there, stood the Lady of Lochleven, more provokingly 15 intent than usual-so at least it seemed to her prisoners - upon the huge and heavy bunch of iron, the implements of their restraint.

Just when, having finished her ceremony as taster of the queen's table, she was about to take up the keys, the 20 page, who stood beside her, and had handed her the dishes in succession, looked sideways to the churchyard, and exclaimed he saw corpse candles in the vault. The Lady of Lochleven was not without a touch, though a slight one, of the superstitions of the time; and a corpse light, 25 as it was called, in the family burial place, boded death. She turned her head toward the casement, saw a distant glimmering, forgot her charge for one second, and in that second were lost the whole fruits of her former vigilance. The page held the forged keys under his cloak and with 30 great dexterity exchanged them for the real ones. His utmost address could not prevent a slight clash as he took up the latter bunch.