She wanted to laugh loudly and bitterly. But James was saying: “The air grows chill. Let me conduct you to your chamber. Then I must say farewell.”

“Ah yes, James, there is no longer need for you to stay, is there?”

He appeared not to have heard as silently he conducted her into the castle which struck her as chill and forbidding; it seemed to her now as much a prison as it had in those first days.

He is no friend to me, she thought. Once I am free the Regency would pass from his hands.

How alone she felt! How deserted!

As she went toward her apartments escorted by James she saw George Douglas. His eyes went to her at once and became alight with the longing to serve her.

Not entirely alone! she thought as she went into her apartment. Not entirely deserted.

SIR WILLIAM VISITED Mary the next day and said: “My lord Moray is disturbed on your behalf, for he is eager that you should have as much freedom as is possible in the circumstances. He says your apartments are dark and possibly damp. He thinks that you should be given the apartment you occupied on previous visits to Lochleven.”

Mary was delighted for since she had furnished those apartments herself they were the most elegant in the castle.

“I shall be delighted to move into them immediately,” she told Sir William; and smiling he conducted her to them.

They were in a more modern part of the castle which was known as the New House, and situated in the southeastern tower. Mary gave a cry of pleasure as she saw the presence chamber which was a circular room with a low ceiling; and from the windows she had a magnificent view of the surrounding country. First she went to a window and looked out across the loch to the mountains.

From the presence room she went into the bedroom and it was comforting to notice that the beautiful pieces of tapestry with their hawking and hunting scenes were still hanging there. There was the bed which she had had brought here; it was shaped like a chapel and made of green velvet; the counterpane was of green taffety. There was the regal canopy and her sofa and chairs of crimson satin fringed with gold.

As she looked from her bedroom window, she could see the other three islets of the loch; and she could almost imagine that she was staying here after a hawking expedition, as she gazed at the ruins of the priory on that islet known as St. Serf’s Inch.

Then she saw the town of Kinross on the mainland and immediately began to wonder how many of her friends were nearby, in the hope that they might come to her aid.

Lady Douglas came into the apartments and Mary expressed to her the pleasure she felt.

“And,” went on Lady Douglas, “my lord Moray fancies you did not look as healthy as he would have wished you to look.”

“Was he surprised?” Mary asked with faint sarcasm.

“He was indeed,” replied Lady Douglas, “and he has said that you should take more exercise. He does not see why you should not ride about the island if you wish.”

“He is most thoughtful,” murmured Mary.

Lady Douglas bore the look of a proud mother; she knew that very shortly she would be hearing that her son was the ruler of Scotland. It was something to make a mother proud. Ruler he would remain for as long as this woman was in captivity. She would see that there were no means of escape.

Sir William was thinking of his half-brother’s words: “Give her more freedom within the limits of the island, but double the guard, particularly at night, and make sure that the boats are securely moored when not in use.”

So under the semblance of greater freedom Mary’s imprisonment was in fact to become more rigorous.

Moray had added: “Watch Ruthven. I fancied I saw a certain fondness in his eyes when they rested on my sister.”

Sir William was therefore far from easy in his mind.

IN HER NEW APARTMENTS, Mary set to work on her tapestry, using the canvases, wools and silks which Melville had provided. It was a great pleasure and relaxation to be doing such delicate work again, and both Jane and Marie Courcelles shared her enthusiasm. Mary could forget her irritation with her imprisonment as she planned the design, which was a series of pictures of ladies and gentlemen richly dressed in brightly colored costumes and jewels. With the glazed flax thread which Melville had had the foresight to send she worked the jewels in satin stitch using white dots for the pearls. So as she worked out her schemes with these elaborately dressed men and women in their backgrounds of castles, bowers, terraces and country scenes, she was able to imagine herself free of her prison.

Melville could not realize how he had served her; he had in fact, on receiving her thanks, sent her another box containing more of her clothes and her working materials.

There was yet another joy. Now that he had achieved his end Moray, anxious to appear her friend and to make her believe he had no wish that her term of confinement should be one of rigorous imprisonment, ordered that she should have more servants. She should have her own cook in her suite of rooms and two domestic servants whose duties should be to wait on her alone.

The greatest delight of all was when Jane arrived in Mary’s apartments, to tell her that a visitor had called at the castle to see her and was asking permission to present herself.

“Herself!” cried Mary. “Then it is a woman!”

“See for yourself, Your Majesty!” said Jane; and the newcomer was ushered into the apartment.

Mary gave a cry of great joy when she recognized her dearest friend, Mary Seton, the only unmarried one of the four Marys who had shared their childhood with her, and the one who had been most dear to her.

For some moments they could do nothing but cling to each other. Mary was laughing and crying at the same time and Mary Seton, who had always been the most restrained of the four Marys, was near to tears.

“Oh how happy I am to see you, dear Seton!” cried Mary, using the name by which she had called this friend of her childhood, for as there had been four Marys as well as herself it had been impracticable to call them all by their common Christian name. “I can bear my trials so much more easily with you as my companion.”

“I have been imploring the Confederate Lords to let me come, ever since they brought you here.”

“My dear, dear Seton!”

“They were very suspicious of my intentions. I had to assure them that I was quite incapable of arranging your escape. They would not believe that I only wished to share your imprisonment.”

“They would never understand friendship such as ours,” murmured Mary.

So there was the joy of showing Seton the castle, of hearing news of the other Marys, of Seton’s family’s devotion to their Queen, of recalling other days when they had been together.

The happiest thing which had happened to the Queen since she had come to Lochleven was reunion with Mary Seton.

THERE WERE TIMES when Mary longed to escape from watching eyes; she knew she never did. Although she was allowed to wander at her will about the island, she was aware that, from the windows and turrets of the castle, vigilant eyes were fixed upon her. There was no escape.

One day as she sat alone by the lake she saw a boat being rowed across from the mainland, and as it came nearer she realized that its occupant was George Douglas.

He saw her and to her astonishment gave no sign of recognition and as he brought the boat near to that spot where she was he shipped his oars and said in a voice which was scarcely audible: “Your Majesty, please forgive my remaining seated. It is the best way. If I come ashore it will be seen that we are speaking together. I shall pretend to be occupied with the boat while I talk to you.”

“Yes, George,” she answered.

“I have sought an opportunity to speak to Your Majesty for some days. It has not been possible. I have met Lord Seton who is not far away from Lochleven. He is trying to find a means of releasing you. He is enlisting the help of the Hamiltons. John Beaton is with him. They hope to bring in Huntley and Argyle.”

“Your words fill me with hope.”

“Your Majesty, you may entrust me with any message you wish to be sent to them. It will give me the utmost pleasure if you will look upon me as your messenger to take your orders to your subjects and to bring their plans to your notice.”

“This is the best news I have heard for a long time,” she told him.

“I must pass on now. It must not be noticed that we converse together.”

“Thank you. Thank you, George.”

She sat watching the boat skim lightly over the water. She felt elated by the adoration of this earnest young man. Ruthven’s burning gaze met hers from time to time. He was contrite, and was trying to convey that he was deeply ashamed of his outburst and was now ready to serve her . . . and hope.

She began to feel that her situation was not without advantages.

THE SUMMER was passing and the damp of autumn was in the air. Each day the memories of that terrible June seemed a little fainter. Mary was glad of the passing time but she was saddened by the arrival of autumn; summer was the time for escape. Mist rose from the lake and penetrated the castle; the cry of wild fowl sounded melancholy during the dull days, which all seemed so much alike. The Queen walked a little, dined, supped, prayed for her deliverance, sat at her tapestry, gazed longingly across to the mainland and wondered when her friends would come to deliver her.

She invited members of the Douglas family to her apartment, sometimes to supper, sometimes after the meal. Lindsay was not staying on the island although he paid periodical visits to the castle; Ruthven was often present at the gatherings, when his smoldering gaze would fix itself upon her and he would seek to converse with her. She avoided him; he might appear more docile but she was aware of the burning passion behind his eyes. He would be ready to help her but he would expect to be paid for his services. He might be curbing his tongue, but his motives were the same as they had been on that night when he had come unbidden to her apartment.