Walter Maxwell was ere this domiciled at Holyrood. Attached to the Queen’s household, and devoted to her person, Mary esteemed him not the least trustworthy of those servants in whom she placed implicit confidence. He had accompanied his sovereign on those roving expeditions in which she took so much pleasure, when the beautiful Stuart, worthy to reign over a nation of warriors, would pass entire days in the saddle, traversing her dominions, and making acquaintance with her subjects; or flying her hawk and following her deer-hounds over the wild moorlands, and amongst the romantic passes of her new kingdom. He had attended her in her progress to Aberdeen, that ill-advised journey which, commencing with merriment and festivity, the huntsman’s holloa and the cheering notes of the horn, ended in strife and bloodshed and the wild wailing of the coronach, cried by the widows of the Gordon over the flower of their clan. Maxwell had done good service on that sad day when the waters of Corrichie ran crimson with the Highlandman’s blood, and had turned with a brave man’s pity from the sickening sight of Sir John Gordon’s execution at Aberdeen, performed before the very eyes of the weeping Queen. Gallant, handsome John Gordon! the victim of a political intrigue, who walked to the block with the jaunty step of a bridegroom in holiday attire, and waved his dying homage to his sovereign, a brave soldier and a loyal gentleman to the last. It is said that Mary fainted at the sight; and, indeed, she never attained the necessary hardness of heart to rule such a turbulent and distracted country as that in which it was her lot to reign. On more than one occasion Maxwell had proved himself the possessor of a shrewd brain, a silent tongue, and a ready hand. His was that least courtier-like of characters, which yet perhaps thrives best at a court. When all around are selfish and intriguing, each feels well-disposed towards the frank, single-hearted comrade who wishes but to serve his sovereign loyally, and entertains cordial good-will towards his fellows. Monarchs, too, even the haughtiest and most exacting, are disposed to appreciate a blunt honesty that does not shrink from encountering the royal displeasure for the royal advantage, and doubtless find it refreshing from its contrast with the servility to which they are accustomed. It must be like the change from the sickly air of a hothouse to the fresh mountain breeze. Besides, it is so easy to forgive even insolence in those who are wholly in their power; and there is a delicate flattery after all to the lion’s forbearance, in the man’s temerity, who puts his head in the lion’s mouth. The Queen of Scotland, however, was one of those who, while they attach to themselves irresistibly all who come within their sphere, are, from their own feelings, disposed to think kindly of their immediate retainers, and to reward fidelity and affection as they deserve.