was now proscribed and fleeing; while she, as she believed, was about to
reassume her title and station of queen. With that eternal confidence of
the woman in her own love, by which she invariably measures the love of
another, she thought that Bothwell's greatest distress was to have lost,
not wealth and power, but to have lost herself. So she wrote him a long
letter, in which, forgetful of herself, she promised him with the most
tender expressions of love never to desert him, and to recall him to her
directly the breaking up of the Confederate lords should give her power
to do so; then, this letter written, she called a soldier, gave him a
purse of gold, and charged him to take this letter to Dunbar, where
Bothwell ought to be, and if he were already gone, to follow him until he
came up with him.

Then she went to bed and slept more calmly; for, unhappy as she was, she
believed she had just sweetened misfortunes still greater than hers.

Next day the queen was awakened by the step of an armed man who entered
her room. Both astonished and frightened at this neglect of propriety,
which could augur nothing good, Mary sat up in bed, and parting the
curtains, saw standing before her Lord Lindsay of Byres: she knew he was
one of her oldest friends, so she asked him in a voice which she vainly
tried to make confident, what he wanted of her at such a time.

"Do you know this writing, madam?" Lord Lindsay asked in a rough voice,
presenting to the queen the letter she had written to Bothwell at night,
which the soldier had carried to the Confederate lords, instead of taking
to its address.

"Yes, doubtless, my lord," the queen answered; "but am I already a
prisoner, then, that my correspondence is intercepted? or is it no longer