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imagined the boy who had thought himself the King of Scotland, running for his life across the wintry grass in the darkness, gasping for breath, his teeth chattering from a mixture of weakness, cold, and terror.
    Running straight into the arms of the assassins who were waiting to make sure that he should not escape.
    â€œThere were some women living in a house close to the garden,” Cecil said. “They heard Darnley scream out to someone to pity him, for the sake of Jesus Christ who pitied all the world. The scream ended in a choking noise and what sounded like a struggle. The men who caught him strangled both him and his servant, and while they were doing it, the house blew up. The fuse was probably lit while Darnley was getting out of the window. The explosion killed some other servants who were sleeping in the house. The roar of it, and the flames going up, fetched a crowd to the scene and the bodies of Darnley and his man were found.”
    There was a silence. Then Cecil said: “When you were in Scotland, Ursula, did you encounter the Earl of Bothwell, by any chance?”
    â€œJames Hepburn. Yes,” I said.
    â€œHe’s the nobleman most strongly suspected of having arranged the murder,” said Cecil. He was once more the dignified statesman. “Possibly with, possibly without, Mary Stuart’s knowledge. Either way, it was hardly wise of her to marry him shortly afterwards. She claims that he abducted and ravished her and more or less compelled her to marry him, but there are strong rumors that she consented to the abduction and all thatfollowed. The Scots people rose up against both of them.” The statesman allowed himself a little dry wit. “Bothwell has fled overseas and we’ve got Mary and, as I said, it’s a nightmare!”
    Hugh inquired: “Is she a prisoner or a guest?”
    â€œHalf and half,” said Cecil. “But I can tell you this—the nightmare isn’t going to go away. Whatever the outcome of this wretched inquiry, or trial, or whatever it’s called, we have no jurisdiction over her. She is, as Elizabeth says, an anointed queen. When it’s finished, we shall be left with exactly the same set of alternatives as we have now and I don’t like any of them! For one thing, if her name is cleared, she will ask us to raise an army to put her back on the throne of Scotland. That’s out of the question, to begin with.”
    â€œWhy?” asked Hugh..
    â€œWe don’t want her back on the Scottish throne!” said Cecil irritably. “Innocent or guilty—and think what she’s guilty of, if that’s the case!—she’s still Catholic! We’re surrounded by Catholic nations as it is. There’s Spain—and they rule the Netherlands as well—and there’s France. We need a Protestant Scotland. We lost it the moment Mary landed there and now we’ve got it back and we’re not going to let it go. Just now, her half brother James Stewart, who is Protestant, is ruling Scotland in the name of Mary’s infant son, and rearing the child to be a Protestant, too. Elizabeth cannot back a Catholic ruler against a Protestant one. She might as well cut her own throat and be done with it!”
    Hugh said soberly: “Today we saw Lord Herries, who is apparently Mary Stuart’s representative, deep in talk with the Spanish ambassador—almost holding on to his sleeve to make him listen.”
    â€œDid you now? I’m not surprised. He no doubt wants Spain to make representations on her behalf if not to send an army to rescue her! I trust De Silva has more sense than to listen. In one way,” said Cecil thoughtfully, “the suspicion of murder is a useful smear on the lady’s reputation.”
    â€œWhat are the other alternatives?” I asked.
    â€œHah! One is to pass Mary on to her relatives and in-laws inFrance. It was unlucky that her first husband died. She would have