"I hope the danger will be averted from your Majesty," said Dorothy; "but that which I did will cause my death--it will kill me. No human being ever before has lived through the agony I have suffered since that terrible night. I was a traitress. I betrayed the man who is dearer to me than my immortal soul. He says that he forgives me, but your Majesty knows that my fault is beyond forgiveness."

"Sir John is a n.o.ble gentleman, child," said the queen. "I hope that he is loyal to me, but I fear--I fear."

"Do not doubt, do not fear, my queen," returned Dorothy, eagerly; "there is nothing false in him."

"Do you love him deeply, little one?" asked the queen.

"No words can tell you my love for him," answered the girl. "I feel shame to say that he has taken even the holy G.o.d's place in my heart. Perhaps it is for that sin that G.o.d now punishes me."

"Fear not on that score, Dorothy," replied the queen. "G.o.d will not punish you for feeling the love which He Himself has put into your heart. I would willingly give my crown could I feel such love for a worthy man who would in return love me for myself. But I cannot feel, nor can I have faith.

Self-interest, which is so dominant in all men, frightens me, and I doubt their vows."

"Surely, any man would love you for your own sake," said Dorothy, tenderly.

"It may be that you speak truly, child; but I cannot know when men's vows are true nor when they are false. The real trouble is within myself. If I could but feel truly, I could interpret truthfully."

"Ah, your Majesty," interrupted Dorothy, "you do not know the thing for which you are wishing; it is a torture worse than death; it is an ecstasy sweeter than heaven. It is killing me. I pity you, though you are a queen, if you have never felt it."

"Would you do anything I might ask of you, if you could thereby save Sir John's life?" asked the queen.

"Ah, I would gladly give my soul to save him," responded Dorothy, with tears in her eyes and eagerness in her voice. "Oh, my queen, do not lead me to hope, and then plunge me again into despair. Give me no encouragement unless you mean to free him. As for my part, take my life and spare John's. Kill me by torture, burn me at the stake, stretch me upon the rack till my joints are severed and my flesh is torn asunder. Let me die by inches, my queen; but spare him, oh, spare him, and do with me as you will. Ask from me what you wish. Gladly will I do all that you may demand; gladly will I welcome death and call it sweet, if I can thereby save him. The faint hope your Majesty's words hold out makes me strong again. Come, come, take my life; take all that I can give. Give me him."

"Do you believe that I am an ogress thirsting for blood, Dorothy, that you offer me your life for his? You can purchase Sir John's life at a much smaller cost." Dorothy rose to the queen with a cry, and put her arms about her neck. "You may purchase his freedom," continued the queen, "and you may serve your loving queen at one and the same time, if you wish to do so."

Dorothy had sunk back into the bed, and Elizabeth was sitting close by her side; but when the queen spoke she turned her head on the pillow and kissed the royal hand which was resting upon the coverlid.

"Ah, you are so good, so true, and so beautiful," said Dorothy.

Her familiarity toward the queen was sweet to the woman, to whom it was new.

Dorothy did not thank the queen for her graciousness. She did not reply directly to her offer. She simply said:--

"John has told me many times that he was first attracted to me because I resembled you."

The girl had ample faith in her own beauty, and knew full well the subtle flattery which lay in her words. "He said," she continued, "that my hair in some faint degree resembled yours, but he said it was not of so beautiful a hue. I have loved my hair ever since the day he told me that it resembled your Majesty's." The girl leaned forward toward the queen and gently kissed the royal locks. They no more resembled Dorothy's hair than brick dust resembles the sheen of gold.

The queen glanced at the reflection of her hair in the mirror and it flatly contradicted Dorothy. But the girl's words were backed by Elizabeth's vanity, and the adroit flattery went home.

"Ah, my child," exclaimed her Majesty softly, as she leaned forward and kissed Dorothy's fair cheek.

Dorothy wept gently for a moment and familiarly rested her face upon the queen's breast. Then she entwined her white arms about Elizabeth's neck and turned her glorious eyes up to the queen's face that her Majesty might behold their wondrous beauty and feel the flattery of the words she was about to utter.

"He said also," continued Dorothy, "that my eyes in some slight degree resembled your Majesty's, but he qualified his compliment by telling me--he did not exactly tell me that my eyes were not so large and brilliant as your Majesty's, for he was making love to me, and of course he would not have dared to say that my eyes were not the most perfect on earth; but he did say that--at least I know that he meant--that my eyes, while they resembled yours, were hardly so glorious, and--and I am very jealous of your Majesty. John will be leaving me to worship at your feet."

Elizabeth's eyes were good enough. The French called them "marca.s.sin,"

that is, wild boar's eyes. They were little and sparkling; they were not luminous and large like Dorothy's, and the girl's flattery was rank.

Elizabeth, however, saw Dorothy's eyes and believed her words rather than the reply of the lying mirror, and her Majesty's heart was soft from the girl's kneading. Consider, I pray you, the serpent-like wisdom displayed by Dorothy's method of attack upon the queen. She did not ask for John's liberty. She did not seek it. She sought only to place John softly on Elizabeth's heart. Some natures absorb flattery as the desert sands absorb the unfrequent rain, and Elizabeth--but I will speak no ill of her. She is the greatest and the best sovereign England has ever had. May G.o.d send to my beloved country others like her. She had many small shortcomings; but I have noticed that those persons who spend their evil energies in little faults have less force left for greater ones. I will show you a mystery: Little faults are personally more disagreeable and rasping to us than great ones. Like flying grains of sand upon a windy day, they vex us constantly. Great faults come like an avalanche, but they come less frequently, and we often admire their possessor, who sooner or later is apt to become our destroyer.

"I can hardly tell you," said Dorothy in response to a question by Elizabeth, "I can hardly tell you why I informed your Majesty of Queen Mary's presence at Rutland. I did it partly for love of your Majesty and partly because I was jealous of that white, plain woman from Scotland."

"She is not a plain woman, is she?" said Elizabeth, delighted to hear Mary of Scotland so spoken of for once. One way to flatter some women is to berate those whom they despise or fear. Elizabeth loved Dorothy better for the hatred which the girl bore to Mary. Both stood upon a broad plane of mutual sympathy-jealousy of the same woman. It united the queen and the maiden in a common heart-touching cause.

Dorothy's confidence grew apace. "She is plain," replied Dorothy, poutingly. "She appears plain, colorless, and repulsive by the side of your Majesty."

"No, no, Dorothy, that cannot be," returned Queen Elizabeth, gently patting. Dorothy's cheek and glancing stealthily at the reflection of her own face in the mirror. At this point Dorothy considered that the time had come for a direct attack.

"Your Majesty need have no fear of a plot to place Queen Mary upon your throne. The English people would not endure her wicked pale face for a moment."

"But there is such a plot in existence," said Elizabeth.

"What you say may be true," returned Dorothy; "but, your Majesty, John is not in the plot, and he knows nothing of it."

"I hope--I believe--he is not in the plot," said Elizabeth, "but I fear--"

The girl kissed the sleeve of Elizabeth's gown, and then she drew the queen closer to her and kissed her hair and her face.

"Ah, my beauteous queen," said Dorothy, "I thank you for those words. You must know that John loves you, and is your loyal subject. Take pity upon me. Help me. Hold out your gracious hand and lift me from my despair."

Dorothy slipped from the bed and fell on her knees, burying her face in the queen's lap.

Elizabeth was touched by the girl's appeal, and caressingly stroked her hair, as she said: "I believe he is innocent, but I fear he knows or suspects others who harbor treasonable designs. Tell me, Dorothy, do you know of any such persons? If you can tell me their names, you will serve your queen, and will save your lover. No harm shall come to Sir John, and no one save myself shall have knowledge of any word that you may speak. If I do not learn the names of the traitors through you or through Sir John, I may be compelled to hold him a prisoner until I discover them. If through you I learn them, Sir John shall go free at once."

"Gladly, for your Majesty's sake alone would I tell you the names of such traitorous men, did I know them;" replied Dorothy, "and thrice gladly would I do so if I might thereby liberate John. Your Majesty must see that these motives are strong enough to induce me to speak if I knew aught to tell you. I would betray the whole world to save him, of that you may be sure. But alas! I know no man whom I can betray. John told me nothing of his expedition to the Scottish border save what was in two letters which he sent to me. One of these I received before he left Rutland, and the other after his return."

She fetched the letters to the queen, who read them carefully.

"Perhaps if I were to see him, he might, upon my importunity, tell me all he knows concerning the affair and those connected with it if he knows anything more than he has already told," said Dorothy, by a great effort suppressing her eagerness. "I am sure, your Majesty, he would tell me all Should he tell me the names of any persons connected with any treasonable plot, I will certainly tell you. It would be base in me again to betray John's confidence; but your Majesty has promised me his life and liberty, and to obtain those I would do anything, however evil it might be. If I may see John, I promise to learn all that he knows, if he knows anything; and I also promise to tell you word for word all that he says."

The girl felt safe in making these promises, since she was sure that John knew nothing of a treasonable character.

The queen, thinking that she had adroitly led Dorothy up to making the offer, said, "I accept the conditions. Be in readiness to visit Sir John, upon my command."

Thus the compact was sealed, and the queen, who thought herself wise, was used by the girl, who thought herself simple.

For the purpose of hiding her exultation, Dorothy appeared to be ill, but when the queen pa.s.sed out at the door and closed it behind her, the girl sprang from the bed and danced around the room as if she were a bear-baiter. From the depths of despair she flew to the pinnacle of hope.

She knew, however, that she must conceal her happiness; therefore she went back to bed and waited impatiently the summons of Elizabeth requiring her to go to John.

But now I must pause to tell you of my troubles which followed so swiftly upon the heels of my fault that I was fairly stunned by them. My narrative will be brief, and I shall soon bring you back again to Dorothy.

Queen Mary had no sooner arrived at Haddon Hall than she opened an attack upon Leicester, somewhat after the same plan, I suppose, which she had followed with me in the coach. She could no more easily resist inviting homage from men than a swallow can refrain from flying. Thus, from inclination and policy, she sought Leicester and endeavored by the pleasant paths of her blandishments to lead him to her cause. There can be no doubt concerning Leicester's wishes in the premises. Had Mary's cause held elements of success, he would have joined her; but he feared Elizabeth, and he hoped some day to share her throne. He would, however, prefer to share the throne with Mary.

Mary told him of her plans and hopes. She told him that I had ridden with Dorothy for the purpose of rescuing John and herself, and that I had promised to help her to escape to France. She told him she would use me for her tool in making her escape, and would discard me when once she should be safe out of England. Then would come Leicester's turn. Then should my lord have his recompense, and together they would regain the Scottish crown.

How deeply Leicester became engaged in the plot I cannot say, but this I know: through fear of Elizabeth, or for the purpose of winning her favor, he unfolded to our queen all the details of Mary's scheme, together with the full story of my ride with Dorothy to Rutland, and my return with Dorothy and Mary in the coach. Thereupon Mary was placed under strict guard. The story spread quickly through the Hall, and Dawson brought it to me. On hearing it, my first thought was of Madge. I knew it would soon reach her. Therefore I determined to go to her at once and make a clean breast of all my perfidy. Had I done so sooner, I should at least have had the benefit of an honest, voluntary confession; but my conscience had made a coward of me, and the woman who had been my curse for years had so completely disturbed my mind that I should have been quite as well off without any at all. It led me from one mistake into another.

After Dawson told me that my miserable story was known throughout the Hall, I sought Madge, and found her with Aunt Dorothy. She was weeping, and I at once knew that I was too late with my confession. I spoke her name, "Madge," and stood by her side awaiting her reply.

"Is it true, Malcolm?" she asked. "I cannot believe it till I hear it from your lips."