She tried to imagine
the poor Queen and her attendant and her favourite Rizzio,
sitting there at supper, and how that door, that very door,
had opened, and Ruthven's ghastly figure, pale, and weak from
illness, presented itself, and then others; the alarm of the
moment; how Rizzio knew they were come for him, and fled to
the Queen for protection; how she was withheld from giving it,
and the unhappy man pulled away from her, and stabbed with a
great many wounds, before her face; and there, there! no
doubt, his blood fell!
"You are tired; this doesn't please you much," said Mr.
Lindsay, noticing her grave look.
"Oh, it pleases me _very_ much?" said Ellen, starting up; "I do
not wonder she swore vengeance."
"Who?" said Mr. Lindsay, laughing.
"Queen Mary, Sir."
"Were you thinking about her all this while? I am glad of it.
I spoke to you once without getting a word. I was afraid this
was not amusing enough to detain your thoughts."
"Oh yes, it is," said Ellen; "I have been trying to think
about all that. I like to look at old things very much."
"Perhaps you would like to see the regalia."
"The what, Sir?"
"The royal things, the old diadem and sceptre, &c. of the
Scottish kings. Well, come," said he, as he read the answer in
Ellen's face, "we will go; but first let us see the old
chapel."
With this Ellen was wonderfully pleased.
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