This leniency was thrown away upon the infatuated Chatelard. Only two nights afterwards, the Queen having, in the interval, left Edinburgh for St Andrews, he again committed the same offence. As she went to St Andrews by the circuitous route of the Queensferry, she slept the first night at Dumfermline, and the second at Burntisland. Here Chatelard insolently followed the Queen into her bedroom, without attempting any concealment, and assigned, as the motive for his conduct, his desire to clear himself from the blame she had formerly imputed to him. Mary commanded him to leave her immediately, but he refused; upon which she saw the necessity of calling for assistance. The Earl of Murray was at hand, and came instantly. The daring boldness of Chatelard's conduct could no longer be concealed; the proper legal authorities were sent for from Edinburgh; the poet was tried at St Andrews, and was condemned to death. He was executed on the 22d of February, and conducted himself bravely, but as a confirmed enthusiast, even on the scaffold. He would not avail himself of the spiritual advice of any minister or confessor; but having read Ronsard's Hymn on Death, he turned towards the place where he supposed the Queen was, and exclaimed in an unfaltering voice, "Farewell, loveliest and most cruel Princess whom the world contains!" He then, with the utmost composure, laid his head upon the block, and submitted, with all resignation, to his fate.[73] Mary remained at St Andrews till the middle of April, when she removed to Loch Leven, where she had better opportunities of enjoying her favourite amusements of hunting and hawking. She went thither in considerable grief, occasioned by the news she had lately received from France, of the death of two of her uncles, the Duke of Guise, and the Grand Prior. The former had been barbarously assassinated at the siege of Orleans, by a Protestant bigot of the name of Poltrot; and the latter had been fatally wounded at the battle of Dreux. Alluding triumphantly to the murder of the Duke of Guise, Knox expressed himself in these words, "_God_ has stricken that bloody tyrant." This enmity to the House of Guise, which Knox carried even beyond the grave, was now no novelty. Some months before, he had taken occasion to preach a severe sermon against Mary and her friends, in consequence of an entertainment she gave at Holyrood, upon receiving news of her uncles' successes in the French civil wars. Mary had, in consequence, sent for Knox a second time, when he repeated to her the principal part of his sermon, in a manner which made it appear not quite so obnoxious as she had been induced to believe. She had then the magnanimity to tell him, that though his words were sharp, she would not blame him for having no good opinion of her uncles, as they and he were of a different religion. She only wished that he would not publicly misrepresent them, without sufficient evidence upon which to ground his charges.