heir companions. But Anna had recognised him.
When Morton had made advances towards her, she had repulsed him
scornfully, telling him she was the Countess of Bothwell. Morton had
seized on this opportunity of injuring a man he hated, and resolved to
bring Anna before the queen. Bothwell now knew the danger before him,
and prepared for it.

Next day, as the queen sat with her grim lords in council, Morton led in
Anna.

"I have the pleasure," said he, "to present a lady who accuseth the Earl
of Bothwell of wedding and ignobly deserting her."

"'Tis false, Lord Earl!" cried Bothwell.

"Oh, madam, hear my story, and condemn me not unheard," pleaded Anna.

"Let her speak for herself," said Mary.

Thus encouraged, Anna, in moving accents, told her story.

"A meloncholy tale, in sooth," said Mary; "but what proof is there?"

"Your majesty," said Bothwell, "this is the invention of some unknown
enemy"--he glanced at Morton--"to deprive me of your royal favour. Let
this frantic damsel be removed to a Danish vessel now at Leith, and
conveyed to her home."

"Well, so be it!" replied the facile queen.

Anna drew herself up to her full height.

"Farewell, Bothwell," she cried. "In that dark time of ruin and regret
that is coming upon thee, remember Anna!"

And as she spoke they hurried her away.

Bothwell henceforth was more than ever in the queen's favour. Only the
life of Darnley intervened between him and the goal of his love and
ambition; and the sinister promptings of Ormiston suggested that even
that obstacle was not irremovable.

_IV.--The Kirk of Field_

On a dark winter night a conference of nobles was held at Whittinghame.
Mary had been asked to divorce her husband, and had proudly and
indignantly refused. Only one way remained. A solemn bond was drawn up
among the assembled nobles, and the bond sealed the fate of Darnley. It
was not without doubt and shrinking that Bothwell saw whither his
schemes were leading him, but he would not, he could not, turn back.

It was at Ormiston's suggestion that Konrad was employed as an
unconscious tool in the affair. Ormiston hinted that with a little
adroitness the whole blame might be laid on the unhappy prisoner. Konrad
accordingly, on the night when the deed was to be done, was awakened
from a reverie in his cell at Holyrood by the entry of a tall, masked
figure.

"If thou wouldst attain liberty, follow me!" said Ormiston, for it was
he.

He put a sword in