the loveliest of created beings, for whom I could die ten
thousand deaths. It was love for her who has been to me the breath of
life, the light of mine eyes, the idol of my heart; around which were
entwined all the feelings and susceptibilities of my nature, even as the
ivy entwines the tree--the constant theme of my dreams by night; the
sole subject of my thoughts by day. It has been hinted to me that I may
blame freely, where to blame may serve me. But whom shall I blame? Not
her, surely, who is the object of my idolatry--my sun, moon, and
stars--my heaven, my soul, my existence. Not her, surely; for she is
faultless as the unborn babe, pure and spotless as the snow-wreath in
the hollow of the mountain. Who shall maintain the contrary fies in his
throat, and is a foul-mouthed, villanous slanderer."

Here the enthusiastic and somewhat incoherent speaker was abruptly
interrupted by Maitland of Lethington, who, rising to his feet, and
resting his hands on the low table around which Chatelard's judges were
seated, said, looking at the prisoner--

"Friend, ye must speak to your defence, if ye would speak at all. This
that you have said is nothing to the purpose; and you cannot be
permitted to take up the time of this court with such rhapsodies as
these, that make not for any point of your accusation. Think ye not so,
my lords?" he added, glancing around the table.

Several nods of assent spoke acquiescence. When Maitland had concluded--

"I have done, then, my lords," said Chatelard, bowing, and seating
himself. "I have no more to say."

A short conversation now took place amongst the prisoner's judges, when
sentence of death was unanimously agreed to, and he was ordered to be
beheaded on the following day, the 22d of February, 1563.

On the rising of the court, the Earl of Murray repaired to the queen,
and informed her of the doom awarded against Chatelard. Mary was greatly
affected by the intelligence. She burst into tears, exclaiming--

"Oh, unhappy, thrice unhappy, countenance! thou hast been given me for a
curse, instead of a blessing--the ruin of these who love me best--that,
by inspiring a silly passion, at once dangerous and worthless, will not
permit one to remain near me in the character of friend! My lord, my
lord," she continued, in great agitation, "can you not, will you not
save the unhappy young man? I beseech thee, I implore thee, by the ties
of consanguinity that connect us, by the duty ye owe to me