h!" said she, with a sigh more of joy than of sadness, "now I see that
God, in spite of my faults, has not yet abandoned me. But how is it, in
this castle, that you, a Douglas.... oh! it is incredible!"

"Madam," replied George, "seven years have passed since I saw you in
France for the first time, and for seven years I have loved you". Mary
moved; but Douglas put forth his hand and shook his head with an air of
such profound sadness, that she understood that she might hear what the
young man had to say. He continued: "Reassure yourself, madam; I should
never have made this confession if, while explaining my conduct to you,
this confession would not have given you greater confidence in me. Yes,
for seven years I have loved you, but as one loves a star that one can
never reach, a madonna to whom one can only pray; for seven years I have
followed you everywhere without you ever having paid attention to me,
without my saying a word or making a gesture to attract your notice. I
was on the knight of Mevillon's galley when you crossed to Scotland;
I was among the regent's soldiers when you beat Huntly; I was in the
escort which accompanied you when you went to see the sick king
at Glasgow; I reached Edinburgh an hour after you had left it for
Lochleven; and then it seemed to me that my mission was revealed to
me for the first time, and that this love for which till then, I had
reproached myself as a crime, was on the contrary a favour from God. I
learned that the lords were assembled at Dumbarton: I flew thither. I
pledged my name, I pledged my honour, I pledged my life; and I obtained
from them, thanks to the facility I had for coming into this fortress,
the happiness of bringing you the paper they have just signed. Now,
madam, forget all I have told you, except the assurance of my devotion
and respect: forget that I am near you; I am used to not being seen:
only, if you have need of my life, make a sign; for seven years my life
has been yours."

"Alas!" replied Mary, "I was complaining this morning of no longer being
loved, and I ought to complain, on the contrary, that I am still loved;
for the love that I inspire is fatal and mortal. Look back, Douglas,
and count the tombs that, young as I am, I have already left on my
path--Francis II, Chatelard, Rizzio, Darnley.... Oh to attach one's self
to my fortunes more than love is needed now heroism and devotion are
requisite so much the more that, as you have said, Douglas, it i