naked and frowning cliffs of Arthur's Seat, and the rocks of the Salisbury Craigs.

Among her train was Adelaide, the adopted daughter of the Count Dufroy who had incurred the animosity of Knockwhinnie, and Chatelard, one of her secretaries, a young gentleman of the French court, distinguished by his personal accomplishments, and particularly for his taste and skill in music.

The beautiful Adelaide had not become acquainted with the accomplishments of Chatelard with impunity; but, with maidenly propriety, she endeavoured to repress every outward indication of her affection, while she fondly cherished it in her heart; still she was not always so guarded as not occasionally to evince the interest which Chatelard had excited, and her royal mistress more than once playfully expressed her suspicion of the secret attachment.

But on Chatelard her charms and her gentleness were inef fectual: he, in common with the other gallants of the court, admired her beauty and acknowledged the grace and sweetness of her manners, but when she was not present he had no recollection that so lovely and soft a being was in existence, for his bosom was filled with the image of another--a passion more hopeless than her's.

Like all who approached his royal mistress, he had felt the influence of that beauty which had no parallel, and the enchantment of that gracefulness which was, according to historians, never beheld without admiration or love. Mary was then in the bloom of youth and in the pride of her surprising charms. The blight had not then tainted the blossom; the early dew-drop still sparkled on its leaf as it glowed in the sunshine, caressed by the gales of prosperity.

The devotion of Chatelard to the Queen was not unknown among her Majesty's immediate attendants. The fond eyes of the mild and retiring Adelaide-

"Who never told her love,

But let Concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Prey on the damask roses of her cheek,"

were, perhaps, the first that detected his ambitious passion ; but the Queen herself never appeared to perceive the flame which her own radiance had kindled; on the contrary, she regarded the unfortunate Chatelard with a degree of intellectual compassion, more withering than scorn to the hopes of love, and Chatelard felt it as such. Even before the depart

ure from Paris he was sensible, by the behaviour of Mary, that she had discovered his secret, and had chosen a demeanour of mingled dignity and pity to apprize him of the vain folly which had taken possession of his heart; nor could he equivocate to himself by any fallacy of self-flattery, that the condescension with which she advised him not to think of coming to the rude climate of Scotland had any other object than to intimate, with the delicacy peculiar to her own exquisite discernment, that he was incurring the hazard of presumption by yielding to his infatuation.

But on that night-the night of her arrival in the habitation of her royal ancestors, she bestowed upon him a mark of attention which his vanity, not discerning the causes from which it flowed, interpreted to signify some yielding regard awakening in the bosom of the Queen. When the nobles and gentry of the realm who were then in Edinburgh had offered their congratulations, Mary withdrew to her private apartment with Adelaide and certain other of her ladies, and, being affected with irrepressible presentiments of sorrow, she ordered her musicians to play during their joyless supper, and in compliment to her Scottish subjects, directed that only the minstrels belonging to the palace should attend.

Whatever power they might have possessed over the pathetic melodies of their native land, they, unfortunately, did not perceive the pensive mood of the Queen, and in consequence, yielding to the suggestions of their own loyalty, they jarred her dejected feelings with brisk and enlivening airs, in unison with the pleasure which they felt themselves. Mary saw the spring which prompted these expressions of joy, and endured, for a considerable time, the music that was so discordant to the mood of her spirit. Had she then dismissed the minstrels, they would have exulted in the honour of having been heard so long by their royal mistress; but their envy was awakened, when it was understood that the musicians who had come with her from France were summoned, after they quitted the presence, to supply that solace which they had failed to produce. But the foreign musicians also failed: the shadow of coming Fate was on the spirit of the Queen, and something more than the spell of sounds was required to change her ruminations.

She sat amid her ladies, with her cheek leaning on her hand, and her eyes moistened with the tears of remembrance. Nor were the ladies more cheerful, for they already felt the mournful difference between the chill climate and rude aspect of

Scotland, and the luxuriant hills and sparkling valleys they

had left.

"I wish," after a long pause, said the Queen, “that some one would sing to me the woes of a dismayed heart, or any ditty that deplores past joys and breathes of hopelessness :"_ and she added, in the thought of the moment, "Send for Chatelard, and let him bring his lute with him."

Adelaide started at this request; her love was alarmed; but apprehensive lest her emotion should be discovered, she rose, and delivered the message to the page in the antechamber, and it was soon obeyed. Chatelard, on entering the room, at orce perceived, by the pale and dejected countenance of the Queen, that she was not tuned to the joyous harmony that rung in other parts of the palace, and he composed his voice and lute to strains of a melancholy cast: he chose for his theme a song of the Troubadours, a true-bred knight, in Palestine, lamenting his rejected love. This tale of fictitious passion reflected the truth of his own feelings, but not more of his than of those of the fair and disconsolate Adelaide, whose emotion became, as he proceeded with the romantic ballad, so strong, that she could no longer suppress her tears, and to conceal them was obliged to leave the room.

CHAPTER XI.

"In short, my lord,

He saw her-loved her."

LOVE'S SACRIFICE.

It was on the evening of the Queen's arrival that Southennan reached Edinburgh with Knock whinnie. Their adventures, after escaping the beagles of the Sheriff of Renfrewshire, as already described, possessed no particular interest; but on reaching the city, which it was so contrived should take place in the evening, just before the shutting of the gates, Knockwhinnie deemed it expedient to separate himself, from the young Laird. Perhaps his own safety was not his sole motive; he might have some purpose connected with his vowed vengeance against the Count Dufroy, for by this time he had acknowledged that he did not intend to present any petition to the

Queen, but was actuated, in coming to the metropolis, by his revenge.

In the course of the journey, Southennan had several times attempted to draw the Outlaw into some relation of the particular circumstances regarding the alleged seduction of his lady by Dufroy; but his thoughts were wild on the subject, and he was ever rendered incapable by the vehemence of his feelings to proceed with the narrative.

Southennan gathered from the several abortive attempts, that there was something equivocal in the imputed guilt, and he intimated his doubt to Knock whinnie. It was only once, however, that he did so, for the surmise, instead of suggesting pleasure or hope, only excited violent bursts and vows of passion. It was therefore not unpleasant to Southennan that Knockwhinnie, on entering the town, had so separated himself.

But to do the young Laird justice, it must not be supposed, when the Outlaw quitted him, that he was resolved to take no farther interest in his fate. On the contrary, the satisfaction he derived from the incident was in consequence of the opportunity it afforded him to inquire more exactly into the real circumstances of the story, than he could possibly do if they remained associated. The unhappy Outlaw had in the course of the journey inspired him with sentiments of much regard, and awakened a sympathy for his distress of mind, that would in any case have moved the generous nature of Southennan to mitigate his suffering by all the means in his power.

Accordingly, having given directions to Baldy, his confidential servant, to provide lodgings, he proceeded from the hostel where he intended to stop for that night, to Holyrood House, in quest of some of his friends whom he expected to meet there, or to gather news concerning them. Thus it happened, that when Adelaide came from the Queen's chamber, he was standing in the gallery through which she passed to her own apartment, waiting for the return of one of the domestics of the palace, that he had sent in quest of Chatelard, whom he had previously known at Paris, but of whose engagement at that time with her Majesty the servant had not known.

The beautiful and buoyant figure of Adelaide, as she came towards the spot where Southennan was standing in the obscurely lighted gallery, seemed to possess something more airy and graceful that he had ever beheld in woman; and when, as she passed, he saw that she was in tears, his admiration of her elegance was immediately blended with sentiments of pity and tenderness. But he was alone-no one was in the gallery VOL. I.-4

to inform him who she was, or to what cause her distress at such a time could be owing, especially as she had come out of the royal apartments.

The servant whom he had sent in quest of Chatelard was long in returning, which gave Southennan time to ruminate concerning what he had seen, and of the elegant creature who so awakened his sympathy, until her image took possession of his thoughts, and he could not conceal from himself that he had never beheld so delightful a vision.

At last the domestic came back, with the intelligence that Chatelard was with her Majesty. He was followed by a gentleman, whom Southennan at once recognized as the Count Dufroy, who on hearing his name mentioned in the room where it was expected that Chatelard was at play with others of the French gentlemen, had recollected his gallant appearance as the page of the Lord Fleming, and came to renew his acquaintance.

Southennan, on seeing the Count, and reflecting on the peril in which he stood with respect to Knockwhinnie, was for a moment disturbed; but after their respective felicitations were exchanged, he could not but deem the meeting, so early, fortunate, and resolved at once to come to some explanation on the subject with the Count. He accordingly proposed that they should adjourn from the gallery to the gardens, the night being sultry, and the moon high and bright.

66

Nothing can be more fortunate than this meeting," said Southennan ; "and I trust, when I explain what it is that makes me say so, you will not regard me as intrusive, in asking a question or two concerning a subject in which you may think I can have no possible reason to be interested. When you were last in Scotland, it is said that an attempt was made on your life, in the midst of many gentlemen then assembled at the cross of Edinburgh.'

"It is true," replied the Count, thoughtfully; "and my enemy was Knockwhinnie, son-in-law of my friend, the Lord Kilburnie."

"By what motive was he actuated ?" inquired Southennan; "for I have heard that he had but just returned from France, and was personally unknown to you.

Dufroy made no immediate answer, but looked steadily, almost sternly, for a short time at Southennan: he then said, with an impressive emphasis,

"There must be some special cause which moves you,