Perhaps the Queen loved him none the worse for his petulance at first; perhaps it was not till long afterwards, when unlimited indulgence and increasing depravity had fostered the spoiled and wayward youth into a reckless and unfeeling profligate, that she may have contrasted Darnley’s open insults and avowed indifference with the devotion of other worshippers, who, however faulty in many respects, had never failed in faith and loyalty towards _her_. Darnley’s exterior was indeed beautiful exceedingly, but it covered a disposition in which there were no brilliant qualities of the head to counterbalance the evil of the heart. The Earl of Ross was unfortunate in the possession of dishonesty without craft, indecision without foresight, and obstinacy without energy. Like a woman, he could not restrain his tongue; unlike a woman, he never knew the exact range and precision with which that organ is able to direct its shafts. Even on his sick-bed at Stirling, when it was first obvious to him that he had won his way into his Sovereign’s good graces, and that a little time and care could not but make the game his own,--even then, when it was essentially important to cement friendships and conciliate differences in every direction, he contrived to affront the two most formidable men in Scotland and purchase their enmity for life. To the Duke of Chatelhêrault, simply because he heard that nobleman was opposed to Her Majesty’s immediate marriage, he sent his defiance from his sick-bed, not couched in the language of knightly courtesy, which shows a gracious respect even for a mortal foe, but threatening to ‘knock his old pate as soon as he should be well enough.’ We may imagine how such a message would be received by one who boasted he was the proudest peer in Europe. But an observation he made concerning the Earl Moray, and which did not fail to reach the latter’s ears, was even more ill-advised in its tendency and unfortunate in its results. Scanning a map of Scotland, some one pointed out to him the vast estates of the Queen’s half-brother, and the inconsiderate youth exclaimed hastily-- ‘This is too much by half!’ So untoward a remark was of course repeated to Moray, who received the information with his usual grave smile, and never made further allusion to it. So much the worse. He had forgotten it none the less for that, and it may be those half-dozen words one day cost Mary Stuart a husband and Scotland a king.