Chapter 35 - Page 2

fancy for pikes and partisans, which might
rise at the cry of _Help! a Douglas, a Douglas!_"

"They that do not fear fair ladies' tongues," continued the page,
"need dread nothing else.--But, gracious Liege, I am well-nigh
satisfied that I could pass the exchange of these keys on the Lady
Lochleven; but I dread the sentinel who is now planted nightly in the
garden, which, by necessity, we must traverse."

"Our last advices from our friends on the shore have promised us
assistance in that matter," replied the Queen.

"And is your Grace well assured of the fidelity and watchfulness of
those without?"

"For their fidelity, I will answer with my life, and for their
vigilance, I will answer with my life--I will give thee instant proof,
my faithful Roland, that they are ingenuous and trusty as thyself.
Come hither--Nay, Catherine, attend us; we carry not so deft a page
into our private chamber alone. Make fast the door of the parlour,
Fleming, and warn us if you hear the least step--or stay, go thou to
the door, Catherine," (in a whisper, "thy ears and thy wits are both
sharper.)--Good Fleming, attend us thyself"--(and again she
whispered, "her reverend presence will be as safe a watch on Roland as
thine can--so be not jealous, _mignone_.")

Thus speaking, they were lighted by the Lady Fleming into the Queen's
bedroom, a small apartment enlightened by a projecting window.

"Look from that window, Roland," she said; "see you amongst the
several lights which begin to kindle, and to glimmer palely through
the gray of the evening from the village of Kinross-seest thou, I say,
one solitary spark apart from the others, and nearer it seems to the
verge of the water?--It is no brighter at this distance than the torch
of the poor glowworm, and yet, my good youth, that light is more dear
to Mary Stuart, than every star that twinkles in the blue vault of
heaven. By that signal, I know that more than one true heart is
plotting my deliverance; and without that consciousness, and the hope
of freedom it gives me, I had long since stooped to my fate, and died
of a broken heart. Plan after plan has been formed and abandoned, but
still the light glimmers; and while it glimmers, my hope lives.--Oh!
how many evenings have I sat musing in despair over our ruined
schemes, and scarce hoping that I should again see that blessed
signal; when it has suddenly kindled, and, like the lights of Saint
Elmo in a tempest, brought hope and consolation, where there, was only
dejection and despair!"

"If I mistake not," answered Roland, "the candle shines from the house
of Blinkhoolie, the mail-gardener."