placed my candle beside me, called loudly for a servant, received no
response, and fell asleep only to be awakened by one of Sir George's
retainers coming downstairs next morning.

After that supper, in rapid succession, followed hunting and drinking,
feasting and dancing in my honor. At the dances the pipers furnished the
music, or, I should rather say, the noise. Their miserable wailings
reminded me of Scotland. After all, thought I, is the insidious, polished
vice of France worse than the hoggish, uncouth practices of Scotland and
of English country life? I could not endure the latter, so I asked Sir
George, on the pretext of ill health, to allow me to refuse invitations to
other houses, and I insisted that he should give no more entertainments at
Haddon Hall on my account. Sir George eagerly acquiesced in all my wishes.
In truth, I was treated like an honored guest and a member of the family,
and I congratulated myself that my life had fallen in such pleasant lines.
Dorothy and Madge became my constant companions, for Sir George's time
was occupied chiefly with his estates and with his duties as magistrate. A
feeling of rest and contentment came over me, and my past life drifted
back of me like an ever receding cloud.

Thus passed the months of October and November.

In the meantime events in Scotland and in England proved my wisdom in
seeking a home at Haddon Hall, and showed me how great was my good fortune
in finding it.

Queen Mary was a prisoner at Lochleven Castle, and her brother Murray had
beheaded many of her friends. Elizabeth, hating Mary as only a plain,
envious woman can hate one who is transcendently beautiful, had, upon
different pretexts, seized many of Mary's friends who had fled to England