It was with no agreeable feelings, that Maxwell received a summons to attend the Council at Holyrood the morning after the fray. Ere he had well slept off the fatigues and dissipation of the previous night, he was disturbed by a pursuivant in the royal livery, with the lion emblazoned on his surcoat, who required his immediate presence at the palace, and from whose rigid sense of duty he found it difficult to extort permission to summon ‘Dick-o’-the Cleugh’ as a witness in his favour.

Maxwell reflected that the borderer’s straightforward testimony would serve to exonerate him from any share in the disturbance, except the measures which put a stop to it; and by dint of argument, remonstrance, and a bonnet-piece or two, he succeeded in sending a message to Bothwell himself, who, for reasons of his own, was only too ready to despatch his henchman in reply.

As they proceeded together towards the palace, attended by the pursuivant and four stout men-at-arms, ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh’ could by no means be brought to consider their past broil in the light of a breach of the peace. On the contrary, he esteemed it from beginning to end as the simple and natural consequence of a jaunt to the capital, and was fully persuaded that their present expedition must result in a vote of praise to all concerned.

Yet the borderer’s iron nerves seemed affected as they entered the precincts of the Abbey. He was unusually restless, and glanced hither and thither, as though in expectation. Certain female tones in the garden by no means restored his composure; and while Maxwell, with a thrill of offended pride, that was yet longing to forgive, recognised Mary Carmichael’s well-known voice, Dick nudged him vigorously with his elbow, and whispered—

‘Ye’ll hae to speak up for the twae o’ us, Mr Maxwell. I was aye dashed wi’ the women-folk; an’ it’s like they’ll no let us away the day without gettin’ a sight o’ the Queen and her leddies. Man, I would like fine to see them in their braws!’

Ere Walter could reply, a gentleman-usher beckoned him silently to advance, while two stout men-at-arms, crossing their axes in front of his follower, gave ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh’ to understand he must wait till he was sent for. Unusual vigilance seemed to pervade the palace. The guard was doubled on the staircase and in the galleries, whilst a strong body of cavalry occupied the court.

As Maxwell’s conductors halted at the door of the council-chamber, the former felt his wonted composure sadly disturbed by the appearance of Mary Carmichael, who was crossing from the garden towards the Queen’s apartments. She started and blushed vividly when she met his eye, and then, observing him to be under escort, turned pale with obvious apprehension. She stopped, too, as if she would fain speak with him; but after an imploring glance that seemed to entreat his forgiveness, and assure him of her sympathy, hurried away.

So strangely constituted is the human mind, even in those who most pride themselves on their philosophy, that Maxwell felt his heart lighter than it had been for a week, and entered the awful presence of the council without the slightest appearance of dismay; and yet he had not exchanged a syllable with her, had only caught her eye for an instant, and heard the rustle of her garments as she passed. Surely there is some strange magic in our nature that works below the surface, and encircles the bravest and the strongest in its spells.

In the centre of the room, which Maxwell now entered, stood a massive oak table, covered with papers and parchments, prepared for the sign-manual of Mary Stuart. Around it were seated those Scottish noblemen whose turn it was to assist the deliberations of their sovereign, thwarting indeed the free-will, and impeding her resolutions, yet constituting and considering themselves the trusty advisers of the crown.

The Duke of ChatelhÉrault, in right of his high rank and royal lineage, acted as president; and on his noble brow might be traced an expression of puzzled vexation as he followed in vain Secretary Maitland’s rapid and masterly explanation of the business in hand. That astute diplomatist, carrying his colleagues triumphantly with him, was furnishing a brilliant display of rhetorical fireworks, to prove that the measure he now advocated (which had indeed for its object the placing of additional power in Lord James Stuart’s hands) was the only possibility of saving the country; and the haughty Hamilton, dazzled rather than enlightened by his eloquence, looked as dissatisfied as a man generally does who is ‘convinced against his will.’

The Queen’s brother had assumed a modest and deprecating air, as who should say, ‘I seek not authority, but only wish rigidly to fulfil the duties that are thrust upon me’—a sentiment he had already expressed to the council when they sat down. The others listened in different attitudes of attention or approval, according as their interests or their convictions led them to agree with the speaker; whilst Mary herself, whose chair was drawn a little apart from the table, looked up from her embroidery ever and anon in the face of her half-brother, with an expression of perfect confidence and affection. Though her noble intellect might detect many a flaw in her secretary’s arguments, she was too thoroughly a woman not to be a dishonest reasoner; and of all the intriguers who backed Lord James in his efforts at supreme power, none supported him so fearlessly and confidingly as the Queen.

David Riccio sat, so to speak, under her Majesty’s wing. His evident favour with his mistress extorted for him a certain outward deference and cold civility from the nobles; but he was already inclined to put himself too forward, without reflecting that the key of a lady’s escritoire is but a frail weapon to meet a two-handed sword, and a velvet doublet a poor defence against the blow of a dudgeon-dagger.

When Maxwell was admitted, the State Secretary had just concluded his peroration, and was shuffling his papers together on the table with an air of business-like satisfaction. He looked up at this new arrival, however, with calm indifference, and spreading a blank sheet of paper before him, appeared ready to enter at once upon a new affair with fresh energy and attention.

Lord Ruthven, whose temper was none of the sweetest, and whose liking for the warden was of that kind which would fain have had a yard and a half of green turf, and the same measure of cold steel, between them, scowled upon Bothwell’s kinsman with all the ferocity of which his stern features were capable—a compliment returned by Maxwell with a stare of undaunted defiance. Morton stole a rapid and sinister glance at the Queen, while his beard curled with his habitual sneering smile. Huntly, Argyle, and the rest, settled themselves into comfortable attitudes, as though the more important business of the morning were now disposed of.

The Duke of ChatelhÉrault, as the aggrieved person, was the first to speak. With a haughty affectation of indifference, he asked—

‘Who is this witness? Is he of gentle birth?’

And being informed by Maitland that he was a kinsman of Earl Bothwell, his Grace replied, indignantly—

‘An impartial witness ye have brought before the council! Why not examine the earl himself? if, indeed, he acknowledges any authority but border-law. It is well that the Hamiltons can right themselves with their own good swords.’

Maitland cut short his further objections by desiring Maxwell to proceed with his account of the fray, while the Queen looked up from her work as if about to expostulate, but checked herself with a half-smothered sigh.

Maxwell told his tale simply and frankly. It was obvious that the fray had originated in a brawl begun by the Hamiltons, who had insisted on forcing their way into Mistress Alison’s house. Seeing that bloodshed was unavoidable, he had hurried off to alarm the civic guard, leaving the earl’s henchman at the door. When he returned, the skirmish, as Lord James could corroborate, was at its height. The henchman could speak to what took place during the narrator’s absence; he had craved permission to bring him to Holyrood for that purpose.

His manly, straightforward evidence seemed to make a favourable impression on the council. Maitland looked up from his notes, and, glancing at the duke for approval, desired the borderer to be summoned.

Honest Dick entered the council-chamber with an undaunted front, till he caught sight of the Queen, when he blushed up to his ears, and made a profound and exceedingly awkward obeisance. Then he looked about as if in search of something, and finally stood bolt upright, like a man prepared to be ‘shot at.’

‘Your name?’ said the duke, haughtily.

Dick reflected a few moments, and then answered, with the air of one who makes an admission under protest—

‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh.’

‘Your calling?’ added the president, severely.

‘Just a rider,’ answered Dick, after another pause.

The nobles glanced significantly at each other, and Huntly observed, with a smile—

‘That is another word for thief in your country, is it not?’

Dick looked extremely demure and unconscious, as he replied—

‘Na, it’s broken men they ca’ thieves on the border—just like Catherans an’ Gordons an’ that in the North.’

The council could not forbear a laugh, and even the Queen bent over her work to conceal her amusement.

‘Faith, Huntly, he shivered his lance fairly against thy breastplate this time,’ said Lord Seton; and Huntly, throwing his portly person back in his chair, vowed good-humouredly that the definition was a sufficiently precise one at either extremity of the kingdom.

The borderer’s examination then proceeded.

‘Was it by your chief’s orders that you defended the door in the High Street last night?’

‘I took nae orders yestre’en frae the warden,’ replied Dick, ‘forbye to see to the naigs about our back-coming.’

‘Would you have ventured to draw upon the Earl of Arran—upon my son,’ asked the duke, ‘without your chief’s express commands to slay him if you came across him?’

‘I ken your Grace fine,’ answered the borderer, not very directly, ‘seein’ you’re the grandest nobleman in Scotland; but if yon was the Earl of Arran, an’ a’ your Grace’s blood fight like yon camsteary chiel, I wad like ill to keep the causeway anither nicht frae the Hamiltons.’

‘What was the origin of the disturbance?’ here interposed Secretary Maitland, seeing that the discussion produced no obvious results. ‘Who began the brawl, man, and first bared steel?’

‘I could not say,’ replied Dick, looking profoundly ignorant. ‘I’m thinkin’ the stramash was a’ in gude fellowship, till his honour here, the Lord James, an’ the city guard struck in an’ spoilt all.’

‘Why, you yourself were at half-sword with a score of them when I came up,’ said Lord James, laughing, in spite of himself, at the borderer’s coolness.

‘Oo! that was just a ploy!’ answered Dick, with a grin of delight at the recollection. ‘I’ve seen waur licks than yon gi’en an’ ta’en in Bewcastle Markit, just for gude-will ye ken, an’ a tass or twa o’ brandy.’

‘Let him go,’ said the duke, ‘till we send for him again. It is not against this faithful knave, your Majesty and my lords, that I appeal for justice, but against the Earl of Bothwell.’

Again Morton shot a lurid glance at the Queen, whose white fingers were travelling fast to and fro through her embroidery.

‘The earl had entered the house peacefully enough when I left,’ began Maxwell, but he was sternly and peremptorily commanded to hold his peace, whilst a whispered consultation was carried on by the chief nobility present, in which Lord James alone took no part.

The Queen, with an angry spot on each cheek, continued to work very fast.

‘It is but a part of the plot against Her Majesty’s person,’ said the duke, after a while, ‘a plot which my son himself has discovered, and which on his recovery he will prove on the Earl of Bothwell’s body with his blade. Meantime, there lies my glove; if the Hepburn has a friend, let him take it up!’

Maxwell interposed, eagerly.

‘To any one of my own degree,’ he began—but an imploring glance from the Queen at her brother had roused that statesman from his apathy, and he interfered.

‘Take back your glove, my Lord Duke!’ said he. ‘This is no affair of private brawl, but a matter in which the safety of the crown is involved. My lords, I move for a committee of inquiry on the spot.’

The duke bit his glove through, ere he replaced it on his hand, and then, with moody brow and angry eye, listened in silence to the conference.

‘I move that James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, be committed to ward till such time as he can purge himself from the charges brought against him by the Earl of Arran,’ said Lord Ruthven, after another brief consultation, with a smile of triumph on his pale, gaunt face.

With the exception of Seton and Argyle, who seemed to think the warden was receiving scant justice, and a weak remonstrance from Lord James, which yielded gracefully to the urgency of the case, the council agreed upon this precautionary measure, and it was carried accordingly.

Secretary Maitland made out the warrant for the earl’s committal; it wanted but the Queen’s signature to become valid.

Mary rose from her chair and drew up her majestic figure.

‘Nay, my lords,’ said she; ‘it is surely unjust to condemn the absent without proof. Let the warden return to his charge on the border. He may render himself at any time, in less than twenty-four hours from Hermitage.’

‘You cannot refuse to ratify the deed of your council!’ urged Ruthven, fiercely. ‘Nay, Madam, you dare not,’ he added, with growing insolence; and would have said more; but Mary shot a glance at him, before which even his rugged nature quailed.

‘Your Majesty’s confidence in the earl is greater than that of your advisers,’ observed Morton, not deigning to conceal a sneer. ‘Already he boasts of his influence over the Queen, and vows that steel gauntlet shall not wrest him from Holyrood, though a white glove can lure him from Hermitage.’

The colour rose on Mary’s brow, and her bosom heaved quickly. It was evident the Queen was wavering.

‘It is but a measure of precaution,’ argued Maitland, in his plausible off-hand tones, spreading at the same time the warrant before his sovereign. ‘After all,’ he added, ‘it may be but a mere brawl about a wench! The Earl of Bothwell has ever been given to such follies overmuch.’

The Queen signed the paper hastily; then threw the pen on the table, and walked in silence from the council-chamber.