Mary Hamilton neither screamed, nor fainted, nor wept. She knew that all was over now, and accepted the inevitable catastrophe with that resignation which Providence seems to bestow in mercy on those who are destined to endure great suffering. She bent over Chastelâr’s hand as she bade him a silent farewell, and though her lips moved as if in prayer, not a sound escaped them. Then she raised her head proudly, and walked rigidly and slowly out of the cell, less like a living being than a figure set in motion by mechanical means. The boisterous men-at-arms, in the guard-room, stood aside, respectfully, to let her pass; and James Geddes, as he followed her, cowered and shook with a mysterious fear. But Chastelâr, in the selfishness of his great love, so strong even at the threshold of the grave, scarcely noticed her; nay, he even called out to her as she departed with a message for the Queen. The ruling passion was, indeed, strong in death. As his short and brilliant life had been valued only for her sake, so she was his last thought now that he stood on the brink of eternity. ‘Tell her,’ he said, ‘that I commend me to her with my last breath. Thank her for all her kindness and the mercy she would have shown me even to-night, but say that I choose to die rather than be banished from her presence, and so Chastelâr bids her farewell,--the fairest, the proudest, and the best beloved princess under heaven!’ He seemed composed, even cheerful. To all appearance, the man was in possession of his faculties and in his right mind, yet these were the last words Chastelâr ever spoke on earth. CHAPTER XXIV. ‘They led him forth to the silent square, In the gray of the morning sky, And they brought him a cup of red wine there, To drink, and then to die. ‘Without the gate, Lady Margaret stood, And she watch’d for the rising sun, Till it blush’d on the stone-work, and gleam’d on the wood, And the headsman’s work was done. ‘Not a limb she stirr’d; but when noon-day’s glow Smote fierce on her temples bare, A brighter sun had not melted the snow That streak’d Lady Margaret’s hair.’