‘Then you esteem a simple, innocent measure to be an unpardonable sin?’ retorted the Queen, in high scorn. ‘Master Knox, Master Knox! is there not a certain virtue called Charity, without which all the others are of no avail?’ ‘The guilt of the action, madam,’ answered he, argumentatively, ‘depends on the motive of the dancer. David, indeed, leaped and danced before the ark; but it was in pious zeal and singleness of heart. Not so, that child of sin, the daughter of Herodias, graceful and fierce-hearted as the panther, when she danced off the head of John the Baptist. Think ye, madam, that the walls of Holyrood will shelter the guilty more securely than the roof of Antipas? Think ye that can be but a harmless folly in the Queen of Scotland, which entailed the curse of blood on that flaunting minion who so charmed and cozened the Tetrarch of Galilee?’ ‘And you dare compare me to her!’ exclaimed Mary, rising from her chair with flashing eyes. ‘This is too much! Moray! Brother! I appeal to you! This is too much!’ And turning away she covered her face with both hands and burst into tears. Even Knox could not see her thus, unmoved. He hastened to explain away all that was most offensive in his allusions. As far as lay in his uncompromising nature, he strove to modify the virulence of his declamation. ‘Nay, madam,’ said he, ‘to be effectual the remedies of the physician must be unpalatable; but I mean not to offend your Majesty, not to be guilty of any disrespect towards your person. I would that you could see many matters in another and a clearer light, for your own welfare and that of your people. It is my zeal for your Majesty’s happiness here and hereafter that makes me so stern and so unpleasant a counsellor. I will fulfil my duty even at the risk of your Majesty’s displeasure, and yet it grieves me in my human weakness to see your fair face sad. It is my daily prayer that Mary Stuart should be brought into the right path. I am an old man, madam, if not in years, in labour and bodily infirmities. I am no courtier, ye know right well. Believe me, I cherish no disloyalty towards your person. I would fain see you a happy triumphant monarch, the joy of your people, the hope and stay of the godly, a fruitful branch in the vineyard, and a second Deborah in Israel!’ The Queen was easily mollified. A bright smile dried the tears on her face, and she stretched her hand graciously to the zealous Reformer. ‘Ye shall advise with me from time to time, Master Knox,’ said she. ‘If I cannot compete with you in argument, I can at least equal you in truth and sincerity, and a good-will to that which is right.’ The churchman’s stern nature was moved. He bent over the hand she gave him, and made as though he would have touched it with his lips; then dropped it somewhat awkwardly, and resumed with a little embarrassment.