Herries said: “As we cannot persuade the Queen not to go to England, there is only one course open to us. We must go with her.”

The others agreed, and Livingstone added: “There can be no greater peril for us all than to stay in Scotland; and I doubt that the young Douglases will find such a craft as could carry us to France in safety. It may be that this plan to visit England is the best after all.”

The others were silent. The position was full of dangers. They distrusted Elizabeth; in her realm they might lose their liberty; but if the Moray faction captured any of them it would be their heads that would go.

“Then,” said Herries, “I will write to Sir Richard Lowther who is the Deputy-Governor of Carlisle and I will ask him for a safe conduct for the Queen and her party.”

“Do so without delay,” said Livingstone. “I shall feel much happier when we receive it.”

So Herries wrote at once and dispatched a messenger to England.

AWAITING the return of George Douglas, Mary found it difficult to rest. She had in her possession a ring which Elizabeth of England had once sent her. This she had lost for a time but Melville had restored it to her with other possessions, and she took it out now and examined it.

It was delicately made and had two joints which, when put together, formed two right hands supporting a heart made of two diamonds which were held in place by a spring. When this was opened the ring could be divided into two halves.

Mary had been delighted to receive such a ring from her cousin of England. The symbolism implied by the ornament pleased her; believing Elizabeth to be of a nature similar to her own—warm, generous, forgiving, tolerant—she had thought that such a gift must mean the desire for her friendship.

Therefore merely to look at the ring comforted her.

She decided to write to her and send half of the ring, which she was sure would touch a tender chord in Elizabeth’s heart, as it did in hers.

She sat down at a table and wrote:

My dearest sister,

You are not ignorant of my misfortunes but these which induce me to write at present have happened too recently yet to have reached your ear. I must therefore acquaint you as briefly as I can, that some of my subjects whom I most confided in and raised to the highest pitch of honour have taken up arms against me and treated me with the utmost indignity. By unexpected means the Almighty Disposer of all things delivered me from the cruel imprisonment I underwent; but I have since lost a battle in which most of those who preserved their loyal integrity fell before my eyes. I am now forced out of my kingdom, and driven to such straits that, next to God, I have no hope but in your goodness. I beseech you therefore, my dearest sister, that I may be conducted to your presence, that I may acquaint you with all my affairs. In the meantime I beseech God to grant you all heavenly benedictions, and to me patience and consolation, which last I hope and pray to obtain by your means. To remind you of the reasons I have to depend on England, I send back to its Queen this token of her promised friendship and assistance.

Your affectionate sister, Mary R.

From Dundrennan.

She put half the ring with the letter and sealed it; and as she was doing this Lady Livingstone came to tell her that her husband wished to speak to the Queen.

Mary received him immediately, when he told her that in case the rebel army should have received word that she was at Dundrennan Abbey and attack during the night he, with Herries and the rest had thought it best for her to leave the Abbey and spend the night in a mansion close by. This was Hazlefield, the home of a family named Maxwell who were kinsfolk of Herries and eager to help her.

Mary agreed to this. “With good luck, it may be for one night only,” she added, “for if George Douglas succeeds in finding a vessel we shall leave for England tomorrow.”

“We cannot hope yet, Your Majesty, to receive a safe conduct from the Deputy-Governor of Carlisle. Herries’ request can scarcely have reached him.”

Mary laughed. “Rest assured we do not need such a safe conduct. We shall set out as soon as the vessel is found.”

Livingstone was less sure, but Mary added that delay was dangerous. She would not sleep easily until she had left Scottish soil.

Shortly afterward she left Dundrennan in the company of a few of her female attendants and went to Hazlefield, there to await news of what vessel George had been able to find to convey them to England.

THE MAXWELLS greeted her with respectful enthusiasm and had already prepared their best suite of rooms for her use.

Jane Kennedy suggested that she should retire early and sleep while she could, for at any moment she might hear that the journey must continue.

Jane and Lady Livingstone were helping her to retire when the door of the chamber was silently pushed open. All three turned somewhat startled. There was no one at the door; but while they stared at it, it was gently opened further and a child came into the room. He was little more than a baby, and he was chuckling as though he were enjoying himself. He stopped a short distance from the group at the mirror and then, with a gurgle of laughter, darted at the Queen and threw himself against her.

Mary picked him up and sat him on her lap.

“And who are you?” she asked.

He stared at her wonderingly.

“So you have come to see me?” she asked.

He nodded and caught at one of the rings on her fingers which completely absorbed his attention.

He was beautiful and, as she looked at the plump wrists with their creases of soft flesh, Mary was overcome with emotion. This child was about the same age as her little James. In that moment she forgot all ambitions, all desires but one—to have her baby with her again. She caught at the boy and held him against her so tightly that he wriggled in protest while she kissed the soft hair and the rounded cheek. He submitted, not without some displeasure, and when she loosened her embrace he seized her fingers again and returned to his examination of the ring.

There were sounds of consternation outside the apartment, and when Jane Kennedy went to the door she found the child’s nurse there.

“He is safe,” Jane told the woman. “He is now on the Queen’s lap examining her jewels. Come in. The Queen will wish to speak to you.”

So the nurse entered and, at the sight of her, the child turned toward Mary and gripped her hand tightly, and began to chant “No—go away. He wants to stay.”

“You are his nurse and come to look for him?” said the Queen with a smile. “Do you know, I think he would prefer to stay with me.”

The nurse made an embarrassed curtsy and said: “Now that he can toddle about he’s more than one body’s work, Your Majesty.”

“I am glad he toddled into my apartment,” said the Queen. “And you, my little man, are you glad you came to see me?”

The child regarded her solemnly and chuckled. “He stay,” he announced.

“Could you leave him with me for a while?” asked the Queen.

“Why . . . yes, I suppose so, Your Majesty. It was just that . . . it’s his bedtime and . . . ”

“Leave him for a while,” said the Queen. “I will tell his parents that he is with me.”

As the nurse curtsied and went out, Mary said: “My little one must be very like this. While I hold this child in my arms I can almost believe that he is my own son.”

Then she saw that about the child were attached leading-strings, and she thought of those which little James had once worn and how, when she had visited him in Stirling Castle and knew that she had to be parted from him, she had taken his leading-strings with her and kept them as something precious. They had been lost to her after Carberry Hill, but she often thought of them with regret.