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!"

"Madam," said Catherine Seyton, "remember you are a queen. 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.

"Who touches the keys?" said the lady; and while the page answered that the sleeve of his cloak had stirred them, she looked round, possessed herself of the bunch which now occupied the place of the genuine keys, and 5 again turned to gaze at the supposed corpse candles.

"I hold these gleams," she said, after a moment's consideration, "to come, not from the churchyard, but from the hut of the old gardener, Blinkhoolie. I wonder what thrift that churl drives, that of late he hath ever had light 10 in his house till the night grew deep. I thought him an industrious, peaceful man. If he turns resetter of idle companions and night walkers, the place must be rid of him."

"He may work his baskets, perchance," said the page, 15 desirous to stop the train of her suspicion.

"Or nets, may he not?" answered the lady.

"Aye, madam," said Roland, "for trout and salmon." "Or for fools and knaves," replied the lady; "but this shall be looked after to-morrow. I wish your grace and 20 your company a good evening. Randal, attend us." And

Randal, who waited in the antechamber after having surrendered his bunch of keys, gave his escort to his mistress as usual, while leaving the queen's apartments, she retired to her own.

25

III

"To-morrow," said the page, rubbing his hands with glee as he repeated the lady's last words. "Fools look to to-morrow, and wise folk use to-night. May I pray you, my gracious liege, to retire for one hour, until all the castle is composed to rest? I must go and