s hands, an instrument of perdition and death to all who approach
you? O ancient house of Lochleven, cursed be the hour when this
enchantress crossed thy threshold!"

"Do not say that, mother, do not say that," cried George; "blessed be,
on the contrary, the moment which proves that, if there are Douglases
who no longer remember what they owe to their sovereigns, there are
others who have never forgotten it."

"Douglas! Douglas!" murmured Mary Stuart, "did I not tell you?"

"And I, madam," said George, "what did I reply then? That it was an
honour and a duty to every faithful subject of your Majesty to die for
you."

"Well, die, then!" cried William Douglas, springing on his brother with
raised sword, while he, leaping back, drew his, and with a movement
quick as thought and eager as hatred defended himself. But at the same
moment Mary Stuart darted between the two young people.

"Not another step, Lord Douglas," said she. "Sheathe your sword, George,
or if you use it, let be to go hence, and against everyone but your b
other. I still have need of your life; take care of it."

"My life, like my arm and my honour, is at your service, madam, and from
the moment you command it I shall preserve it for you."

With these words, rushing to the door with a violence and resolve which
prevented anyone's stopping him--

"Back!" cried he to the domestics who were barring the passage; "make
way for the young master of Douglas, or woe to you!".

"Stop him!" cried William. "Seize him, dead or alive! Fire upon him!
Kill him like a dog!"

Two or three soldiers, not daring to disobey William, pretended to
pursue his brother. Then some gunshots were heard, and a voice crying
that George Douglas had just thrown himself into the lake.

"And has he then escaped?" cried William.

Mary Stuart breathed again; the old lady raised her hands to Heaven.

"Yes, yes," murmured William,--"yes, thank Heaven for your son's flight;
for his flight covers our entire house with shame; counting from this
hour, we shall be looked upon as the accomplices of his treason."

"Have pity on me, William!" cried Lady Lochleven, wringing her hands.
"Have compassion o your old mother! See you not that I am dying?"

With these words, she fell backwards, pale and tottering; the steward
and a servant supported er in their arms.

"I believe, my lord," said Mary Seyton, coming forward, "that your
mother has as much need of attention just now as the queen h