"If you expect to injure me," Mary continued, "you will be disappointed. I am a queen, and my Cousin Elizabeth would not dare to harm me, even though she might wish to do so. We are of the same blood, and she will not wish to do me injury. Your doting lover will probably lose his head for bringing me to England without his queen's consent. He is her subject. I am not. I wish you joy of the trouble you have brought upon him and upon yourself." "Upon him!" cried Dorothy. "Yes, upon him," continued Mary, relishing the torture she was inflicting. "You will enjoy seeing him beheaded, will you not, you fool, you huzzy, you wretch? I hope his death will haunt you till the end of your days." Poor Dorothy, leaning against me, said faintly:-- "It will--it will. You--you devil." The girl was almost dead from exhaustion and anguish, but she would have been dead indeed had she lacked the power to strike back. I believe had it not been for Dorothy's physical weakness she would have silenced Mary with her hands. After a little time Dorothy's heavy breathing indicated that she had fallen asleep. Her head rested upon my shoulder, and the delicious perfume of her hair and the sweet warm breath from her lips were almost intoxicating even to me, though I was not in love with her. How great must their effect have been coming upon John hot from her intense young soul! As the link-boys passed the coach some and some with their flambeaux I could see Dorothy's sweet pale face, almost hidden in the tangled golden red hair which fell in floods about her. The perfect oval of her cheek, the long wet lashes, the arched eyebrows, the low broad forehead, the straight nose, the saucy chin--all presented a picture of beauty and pathos sufficient to soften a heart of stone. Mary had no heart of any sort, therefore she was not moved to pity. That emotion, I am sure, she never felt from the first to the last day of her life. She continued to probe Dorothy's wound until I told her the girl was asleep. I changed Dorothy's position and placed her head against the corner cushion of the coach that she might rest more comfortably. She did not awaken when I moved her. She slept and looked like a child. For a little time after I had changed Dorothy's position Mary and I sat in silence. She was the first to speak. She leaned forward and placing her hands upon mine, whispered my name:-- "Malcolm!" After a brief silence I said:-- "What would you, your Majesty?" "Not 'your Majesty'" said Mary, softly, "but Mary, as of old." She remained for a moment with her hand upon my knee, and then whispered:-- "Will you not sit by me, Malcolm?"