He found the room much as he had left it, save that the Queen had
sunk back to her seat on the settle, and Darnley was now standing
over her, whilst her people were still hemmed about by his own men.
Without a "by your leave," he flung himself into a chair and called
hoarsely for a cup of wine.

Mary's white face frowned at him across the room.

"You shall yet drink the wine that I shall pour you for this night's
work, my lord, and for this insolence! Who gave you leave to sit
before me?"

He waved a hand as if to dismiss the matter. It may have seemed to
him frivolous to dwell upon such a trifle amid so much.

"It's no' frae lack o' respect, Your Grace," he growled, "but frae
lack o' strength. I am ill, and I should ha' been abed but for what
was here to do."

"Ah!" She looked at him with cold repugnance. "What have you done
with Davie?"

He shrugged, yet his eyes quailed before her own.

"He'll be out yonder," he answered, grimly evasive; and he took the
wine one of his followers proffered him.

"Go see," she bade the Countess.