“’Tis false!” shrieked the wretched Mary, starting to her feet, with the wild glare of actual insanity in her eye; “who saith I slew him? Henry Darnley! ’Sdeath, lords!--the king, I say--the king! Now, by my halydom, he shall be king of Scotland! Dead--dead! who said the earl of Orkney was no more? Faugh! how the sulphur steams around us! It chokes--it smothers! Traitor, false traitor! know, earl, I will arraign thee. What! kill a king? whisper soft, low words to a queen? Hoa! this is practice, my lord duke, foul practice; and deeply shall you rue it if you but hurt a hair of Darnley!--Nay, Henry, sweet Henry, frown not on me! Oh! never woman loved as I love thee, my Darnley! Rizzio--ha! what traitor spoke of Rizzio? But think not of it, Henry: the faithful servant is lost, but ’twas not thou that did it. Lo! how dark Morton glares on me! Back, Ruthven, fiend! wouldst slay me? But I forgive thee all--all--Henry Darnley, all! Live--only live to bless my longing sight! No! no!” she shrieked more wildly, “he is not dead! to arms! what, ho!--to arms! a king, and none to rescue him! To arms, I say! I will myself to arms! Fetch forth my Milan harness; saddle me Rosabelle! French--Paris, aho! my petronels! And ye, why do ye linger, wenches--Seyton, Carmichael, Fleming?--my head-gear and my robes! The queen goes forth to-day! To horse, and to the rescue!” She made a violent effort to rush forward, but staggered, and if her brother had not received her in his arms, she would have fallen again to the earth. “Bear her hence, ladies; bear her to her chamber!--thou hast a heavy weird--poor sister!--What ponder you so, Morton? you would not mark her words: ’tis sheer distraction--the distraction of most utter sorrow!” “Distraction! I say ay! but sorrow, no! Sorrow takes it not on thus wildly. It savors more of guilt, Lord Murray--dark, damning, bloody guilt! Heard ye not what she said of Orkney? Distraction, but no sorrow: guilt, believe me, guilt!” “Not for my life would I believe it, nor must thou: if Morton and Murray hunt henceforth in couples--hark in thine ear!”--and he whispered, glancing his eyes uneasily around, as though the very stones might bear his words to other listeners. A grim smile passed athwart Morton’s visage; he bowed his head in token of assent. They passed forth from the banquet-hall together, and Mary was left to her misery. BOTHWELL. “Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name, and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause.”--KING RICHARD II.