"
"Oh, Sir," said Ellen, laughing, "I know better than that; I
know it was only a monkish trick."
"Monkish trick! which do you mean? the giving of the cross, or
the making the king a saint?"
"Both, Sir," said Ellen, still smiling.
"At that rate," said Mr. Lindsay, much amused, "if you are
such a sceptic, you will take no comfort in anything at the
Abbey; you will not believe anything is genuine."
"I will believe what you tell me, Sir."
"Will you? I must be careful what I say to you then, or I may
run the risk of losing my own credit."
Mr. Lindsay spoke this half-jestingly, half in earnest. They
went over to the palace.
"Is this very old, Sir?" asked Ellen.
"Not very; it has been burnt, and demolished, and rebuilt,
till nothing is left of the old Abbey of King David but the
ruins of the chapel, which you shall see presently. The oldest
part of the House is that we are going to see now, built by
James Fifth, Mary's father, where her rooms are."
At these rooms Ellen looked with intense interest. She pored
over the old furniture, the needlework of which she was told
was at least in part the work of the beautiful Queen's own
fingers; gazed at the stains in the floor of the bed-chamber,
said to be those of Rizzio's blood; meditated over the trap-
door in the passage, by which the conspirators had come up;
and finally sat down in the room, and tried to realize the
scene which had once been acted there.
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