The Queen's Maries: A Romance of HolyroodWhyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
General
The Queen's Maries: A Romance of Holyrood
Whyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
Mary, Queen of Scots, 1542-1587 -- Fiction
‘Do not speak so loud,’ she said. ‘I am sure you are as incautious as a
boy. Indeed, I wish you _would_ harry the nest, as you say, and carry
me off with you, for I am tired of never seeing you, except by stealth;
and then it makes me so anxious and so fretful not to know where you
are, or when we shall meet, for weeks and months together.’
‘My dear,’ he answered, gravely, ‘it is in the Queen’s service and that
of our religion. It must triumph at last, as sure as those stars are
shining above our heads. You and I have vowed to devote our lives, if
need be, to the good cause. If worst should come to worst, we shall not
be separated for long. There are no partings up there, Mary.’
He pressed her tenderly to his side, and pointed to the sky, in which
star after star were now glimmering forth.
She drew her hand across her eyes, and kissed him fervently once more.
‘I shall be missed,’ she said. ‘I must stay no longer. It is _very_
hard not to see you again for such a time! Well, well, duty before all.
And now, have you the packet from the cardinal? What say the Guises to
the last communication?’
‘They dare not even write,’ he answered. ‘Though I acted my part well,
and looked such a masterful beggar, that even you, Mary, would have
flung me an alms, they searched me when I landed at the port of Leith,
scrip, wallet, and all; nay, they broke my staff across, lest it should
be hollow, and filled with papers--I would I might have done it myself
over the knave’s pate that could be so wary. No; the despatches must
travel by word of mouth; and that is a better trick than even Randolph
has learned yet, with all his cunning. Listen, Mary. They trust you, my
pretty one, because you belong to me--this is for the Queen’s private
ear alone.’
Maxwell was a man of honour. He would stay to hear no more. It was
enough that his dearest hopes had withered in a breath. That the
edifice he had been building insensibly for so long, decking it
with all his fancies, and furnishing it, so to speak, with the most
precious gifts of his affections, and the warmest feelings of the
heart, had crumbled into dust at a moment’s notice. He would not, for
that, intrude upon another’s secrets; and although the delay of a few
moments might have placed him in possession of matters that would have
insured his own aggrandizement, and enabled him to take a fearful
revenge on the two by whom he felt so cruelly injured, yet he stole
noiselessly away, placing his hands upon his ears, that he might not,
inadvertently, hear another word of their communications.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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