Stricken partly by remorse for his unfaithful and ungrateful conduct to his wife, and partly by fear of his threatened ruin, in the gray of the morning succeeding the night of murder, while all was still in Holyrood, the wretched and repentant youth stole quietly up to the Queen’s chamber, and, throwing himself on his knees before her, said: "Ah, my Mary, I am bound to confess at this time, though now it is too late, that I have failed in my duty towards you. The only atonement which I can make for this, is to acknowledge my fault and sue for pardon, by pleading my youth and great indiscretion. I have been most miserably deluded and deceived by the persuasions of these wicked traitors, who have led me to confirm and support all their plots against you, myself, and all our family. I see it all now, and I see clearly that they aim at our ruin. I take God to witness that I never could have thought, nor expected, that they would have gone to such lengths. I confess that ambition has blinded me. But since the grace of God has stopped me from going further, and has led me to repent before it is too late, as I hope, I ask you, my Mary, to have pity on me, have pity on our child, have pity on yourself. Unless you take some means to prevent it, we are all ruined, and that speedily." This report of Darnley’s prayer for pardon is taken from a fragmentary sketch of Mary’s life, written most probably by Claude Nau, her Secretary during the most part of her imprisonment in England, who, during the long hours of conversation with his captive mistress, had special opportunities of hearing her own account of that painful ordeal through which she had passed. It is all the more interesting, therefore, to note the answer that Nau attributes to the Queen. "The Queen," he continues, "still troubled with the agitation and weakness arising from the emotions of the previous night, answered him frankly, for she had never been trained to dissemble, nor was it her custom to do so: ’Sire,’ she said, ’within the last twenty-four hours you have done me such a wrong that neither the recollection of our early friendship, nor all the hopes you can give me of the future, can ever make me forget it. As I do not wish to hide from you the impression which it has made on me, I may tell you that I think you will never be able to undo what you have done. You have committed a very grave error. What did you hope to possess in safety without me? You are aware that, contrary to the advice of those very persons whom you now court, I have made earnest suit to obtain for you of them the very thing which you think you can obtain through their means and wicked devices. I have been more careful about your elevation than you yourself have been. Have I ever refused you anything that was reasonable, and which was for your advantage, by placing you above those persons who to-day are trying to get both you and me into their power, that they may tread us under their feet?