So Bothwell was committed to ward in Edinburgh Castle, yet was his durance but of a temporary nature, and devoid of the customary rigours that accompany imprisonment. The warden made no effort to escape, although he had a strong party of friends about the Court, and might at any time have created considerable disturbance had he chosen to resist the royal authority; but he bowed his head to the blast with unexpected humility, and a submission, the result of mixed motives. He lived in daily expectation of release by the Queen’s own authority. His appointment on the border had not yet been filled up, and Hermitage was still occupied by a staunch garrison who acknowledged no law but their chief’s behests. Day by day did the warlike earl, pining, as well he might, for the free breeze on his brow and the swinging gallop of his steed, reflect on the effect which such devotion as his could not fail to produce on the Queen. Danger he had always faced readily for her sake; fatigue he had cheerfully endured; and now he submitted patiently to captivity, because it was Mary Stuart’s will. Day by day he expected a pardon, a release, an acknowledgment, a communication, and day by day he was disappointed. ‘Hope deferred maketh the heart sick;’ but this proverb applies rather to weak natures; in strong, it is apt to make the heart savage. Stung by what he conceived to be ingratitude, irritated by neglect, sore from conflicting feelings, such as rend an ill-disciplined character with pangs to which mere physical suffering is comparative relief, those weeks spent in Edinburgh Castle produced an effect on Bothwell’s disposition that after years could never eradicate. Even ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh,’ who remained in attendance on his master, and who was free to come and go at his pleasure, shook his head gravely, and averred that ‘confinement was just destruction baith to man an’ beast! He would like fine to see the warden ridin’ the Marches again wi’ the Liddesdale lads at his back.’ But though Dick thus expressed himself, and doubtless meant what he said, he was conscious in his heart that the banks of the Esk and the braes of Teviotdale would never be the same to him again. The brawny borderer had a new interest in life now, strange to say, unconnected with hawk or hound, with morning chase or midnight foray, with axe or lance, or mighty stoups of ale.