"Never--_never_!" exclaimed the poor wife, struggling in his grasp--"Oh, Bothwell, you cannot wish it--you that so loved me--you that promised to love me forever and ever--no, no! you do not mean it--you cannot put your poor wife away thus!--I know that the little beauty you once prized is gone, but tears and sorrow have dimmed it;--bear with me but a little longer--say that you love me yet, and my bloom will come again;--look at me, Bothwell, husband, _dear_ husband! and say that you did not mean it--that you gave me that horrid paper to frighten me--say but that, and your poor Ellen will worship you forever!"
This energetic appeal had its effect, even in the hard hearted Earl. He endured, and even partially returned the passionate caress with which she had accompanied her words; and when she fell back exhausted in his arms, he bore her to a seat and placed himself beside her.
"Ellen," he said, "I will deal candidly with you--I _do_ love you, and have, even while in pursuit of another; but you have yet to learn that there is a stronger passion than love--_ambition_!"
"You do love me--bless you, bless you! Bothwell, for saying so much," she eagerly exclaimed, the affectionate young creature snatching his hand between both hers, and covering it with joyful kisses.
But her joy was of short duration. As the serpent uncoils its glittering folds, so did Bothwell lay bare the depravity and ambition of his heart. Artifice, persuasion and threats were used, and at length he prevailed. The petition for a divorce was signed; but the heart of the poor countess was broken by the effort.
It is almost useless to tell the reader, that the queen of Scots had consented to accompany Bothwell to his castle, but with the appearance of compulsion, on the night of his intrusion into her chamber. It was to prepare for the disgraceful visit, that he had sent orders for the expulsion of his unfortunate wife--orders which old Mabel had never delivered; and now that he had gained his object, in obtaining her signature to the petition, he proceeded to give directions for the castle to be put in order, for the reception of the royal guest. These arrangements occupied him during most of the night. At length, weary with exertion, he fell asleep in his chair. It was morning when he awoke. The light came softly through a neighboring window, and there, at his feet, with her head resting on his knees, and her thin, pale face turned toward him, lay his wife, asleep. Rest had quieted his ambitious thoughts. He was alone, in the stillness of a new day, with the gentle victim of his aspiring passions lying at his feet, grieved and heart-broken, her eyelids heavy with weeping, and every limb betraying the sorrow which preyed upon her. For a moment his heart relented, and a hot tear fell among her golden curls. Gently, as a mother would remove a sleeping infant, he raised her head, laid it on the cushion of his chair, and left her to her loneliness.