If there were any hesitation in Macbeth’s mind, there was none at all in Lady Macbeth’s. Her husband was already Thane of Glamis and Thane of Cawdor; well, he should reach the highest honour prophesied. So resolved was she on this point, and so swift was her mind to plot evil, that when a messenger arrived to say that King Duncan was then on his way to the castle, and would be there that night, she almost betrayed the treason in her heart by the startled exclamation, “Thou art mad to say it!” It seemed as though fate itself were delivering the unsuspecting victim straight into her hands. “The raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements,” she muttered to herself; and with terrible decision she began to stifle all thoughts of womanly weakness or pity, and to nerve herself with unflinching cruelty for the deed that lay before her. A few minutes in advance of the King came Macbeth, and was received with the warmest greeting from his wife. “My dearest love,” he said, “Duncan comes here to-night.” “And when goes hence?” asked Lady Macbeth, in a voice of dreadful import. “To-morrow--as he purposes,” faltered Macbeth, avoiding his wife’s direct gaze. “Oh, never shall sun that morrow see!” cried Lady Macbeth. “Your face, my Thane, is as a book, where men may read strange matters. To beguile the time, look like the time; bear welcome in your hand, your eye, your tongue; look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it. He who is coming must be provided for, and you shall put this night’s great business into my despatch.” “We will speak further,” said Macbeth, still irresolute. “Only look up clear,” said Lady Macbeth; “to alter favour ever is to fear. Leave all the rest to me.” The counsel Lady Macbeth gave her husband she was quite ready to carry out herself. King Duncan was welcomed with smiling courtesy, and the gentle old King was charmed by the grace and kind attention of his hostess. The castle itself was pleasantly situated; the air was fresh and sweet, and so mild that the guests of summer, the temple-haunting martins, built in every nook and coign of vantage. In truth, everything around seemed to breathe peace and innocent security.