Then one of them seized the Queen, and cried, "Now tells us, where is thy lord?" And he held the sharp point over her heart: She drooped not her eyes nor did she start, But she answered never a word. Then the sword half pierced the true true breast: But it was the Græme's own son Cried, "This is a woman--we seek a man!" And away from her girdle-zone He struck the point of the murderous steel; And that foul deed was not done. And forth flowed all the throng like a sea, And 't was empty space once more; And my eyes sought out the wounded Queen As I lay behind the door. And I said: "Dear Lady, leave me here, For I cannot help you now; But fly while you may, and none shall reck Of my place here lying low." And she said, "My Catherine, God help thee!" Then she looked to the distant floor, And clapsing her hands, "O God help _him_," She sobbed, "for we can no more!" But God He knows what help may mean, If it mean to live or to die; And what sore sorrow and mighty moan On earth it may cost ere yet a throne Be filled in His house on high. And now the ladies fled with the Queen; And through the open door The night-wind wailed round the empty room And the rushes shook on the floor. And the bed drooped low in the dark recess Whence the arras was rent away; And the firelight still shone over the space Where our hidden secret lay. And the rain had ceased, and the moonbeams lit The window high in the wall-- Bright beams that on the plank that I knew Through the painted pane did fall And gleamed with the splendour of Scotland's crown And shield armorial. But then a great wind swept up the skies, And the climbing moon fell back; And the royal blazon fled from the floor, And naught remained on its track; And high in the darkened window-pane The shield and the crown were black. And what I say next I partly saw And partly I heard in sooth, And partly since from the murderers' lips The torture wrung the truth. For now again came the armèd tread, And fast through the hall it fell; But the throng was less: and ere I saw, By the voice without I could tell That Robert Stuart had come with them Who knew that chamber well. And over the space the Græme strode dark With his mantle round him flung; And in his eye was a flaming light But not a word on his tongue. And Stuart held a torch to the floor, And he found the thing he sought; And they slashed the plank away with their swords And O God! I fainted not!