friends were looking out for miles along the rocks from Hartlepool. The Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland were supposed to be marching thither with their forces, in order to proclaim Mary at York, where the Duke of Norfolk had prepared a rising for the moment when the French should have landed. As the Earl paid his respects to his guest, she smiled to think what his obeisance would have been if he had suspected that he was addressing the real Queen of England and Scotland, as well as the titular Queen of France. She reined in her emotions; but her manner was still gayer than for many a day past. The Earl was sensible of it, and involved a compliment in his dutiful inquiry for her health.
She condescended to enlarge the boundary of her walk, as she had liberty to do when the Earl or the Countess was present. The further terrace to which the party now proceeded commanded the three roads which converged towards Tutbury. For some time nothing was visible on them but slow pack horses, and single wayfarers, and a country cart or two: but at length, far away, a cloud of dust arose; and there was a momentary sparkle of a weapon in the sun. Mary stopped for an instant, but only for an instant. The Earl saw her colour rise, and noticed the throb of her ruff, as from a wildly beating heart. He glanced from one to another of the group; but the ladies maintained their composure. He had seen the Queen’s secretary busy at his desk as usual; the needleman, whom he had distrusted more and more, was stitching at his board, and had been humming a country song a minute or two ago. It was natural that a party of armed horsemen should rouse many emotions in the poor lady’s breast. It must be this, and nothing more. Yet he leaned on the terrace wall, and watched the approaching horsemen so earnestly that he did not hear the ladies withdraw. Mary was anxious now for the privacy of her own apartments.
“That was not the road. You must have made a mistake,” said Father Berthon to Polly, when she carried him the news, and asked whether Sampson must not be one of the party. “That road is the London road. The easternmost is the Yorkshire road. I will show you, if the coast is clear. Go and see.”
Polly was long gone. The suspense was too much for the practised patience of the disguised priest. He took some silk patterns in his hand, and went forth as if to ask at the porter’s room whether certain goods had arrived; but, as soon as he entered the court-yard, now full of reeking horses and their grooms, he was ordered “Back!”—“Back!” and fairly driven away. He saw the Countess; but she was not gracious. He caught a glimpse of the Earl, reading a letter which bore an enormous seal. Among the gabble of the attendants he caught a few words which sent him at once to the Queen.
By a sign from him, the door was closed and fastened: and he prostrated himself before Mary, claiming to be the first to salute her as the reigning Queen of England. The secretary and the ladies proffered their congratulations, and were affectionately desired to reckon always on the friendship of the sovereign to whom they had been friends in her adversity. Then followed the news.
Who the party were, Father Berthon had not learned, and could not as yet ascertain. No—he had not seen Sampson; he had not seen any face he knew. It would soon be evident who they were: meantime the great event was that the bull of excommunication which dethroned Elizabeth was actually posted on the Castle gate; and not only there, but on the church door; and some of the people had said that it had been found two mornings since posted on the Exchange in London, and on the door of St. Paul’s. Mary was Queen indeed; and her ladies might prepare for the progress to London, where her Majesty would no doubt repair without delay. Mary replied that all things should be considered; but she must first retire to her oratory, to gain strength for the part she was now to play.
While she was in that retirement, a busy whispered consultation went on among her attendants. Had the French landed? How far had they yet penetrated? Were the Scots marching down? Had they joined the Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland? Was it certain that the country would rise for Mary? or ought she to wait for an escort of troops? Nobody could tell: and they had abundant time for their conjectures, for nobody came near them.
At the end of an hour, they began to suspect that the horsemen were not of Queen Mary’s party, but messengers of evil tidings to the Earl. This was in every way true; but not in the precise sense supposed.
By the Earl’s gait, as he turned from the terrace and entered his private apartments, it might have been supposed that he had not regained his strength after his illness of the summer. He had been a strong man for weeks, however; but he had received a shock such as might stagger the strongest men.
The Countess scarcely dared to speak to him; but she followed him in, and waited till his conference with the leader of the party just arrived was over.
“Bess!” said he to her when they were alone, “what do you suppose is in this red box?” laying his hand on what stood before him.
She answered by a look which had something like fear in it.
“It is the Great Seal,” he said in a whisper.
“What for? Who sent it here?”
“Her Majesty caused it to be sent, by desire of the Council of England,—the urgent desire of the whole Council. Ay! you will not again ask why.”
“Yes,” said the Countess, though her voice failed her; “I do again ask why.”
“For the execution of the Queen of Scots.”
“Her execution! you mean her trial!”
“Alas! no. If it were her trial that was decreed, I could prepare for it willingly; for where she breathes, there is treason: and her complicity with these events of to-day is not to be doubted. But to execute her in this, my Castle, without impeachment and defence, is a command which I never thought to receive,—a command such as no