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to dismiss your followers and lay your commands upon Constable Stuart of Doune.”

      “But my followers are all of them old enough to look after themselves,” objected the king, “and the constable is not likely to leave Stirling where he has remained these many months.”

      “The Lady Margaret thought,” persisted the girl, “that if your retinue returned to Stirling and learned of your continued absence, anxiety would ensue, and a search might be undertaken that would extend to Doune.”

      “How did my lady mother know I was hunting when you could not have learned of my excursion until you reached Stirling?” asked the king, with a glimmer of that caution which appeared to have deserted him.

      The girl seemed somewhat nonplussed by the question, but she answered presently with quiet deliberation, —

      “Her ladyship was much perturbed and feared I should not find you at the castle. She gave me various instructions, which she trusted I could accommodate to varying contingencies.”

      “My girl,” said the king leaning towards her, “you do not speak like a serving-maid. What is your name?”

      “I have been a gentlewoman, sire,” she answered simply, “but women, alas, cannot control their fortunes. My name is Catherine. I will now forward to Doune, and wait for you at the further side of the new bridge the tailor has built over the Teith. If you will secure your horse somewhere before coming to the river, and meet me there on foot, I will conduct you to the castle. Will you come?”

      “Of a surety,” cried the king, in a tone that left no doubt of his intentions. “I shall overtake you long before you are at the bridge!” As he said this the girl fled away in the darkness, and then he raised his bugle to his lips and blew a blast that speedily brought answering calls.

      James’s unexplained absences were so frequent that his announcement of an intention not to return home that night caused no surprise among his company; so, bidding him good-night, they cantered off towards Stirling, while he, unaccompanied, set his face to the north-west, and his spurs to the horse’s flanks, but his steed was already tired out and could not now keep pace with his impatience. To his disappointment, he did not overtake the girl, but found her waiting for him at the new bridge, and together they walked the short half mile to the castle. The young man was inclined to be conversational, but the girl made brief replies and finally besought his silence.

      The night had proved exceedingly dark, and they were almost at the castle before its huge bulk loomed blackly before them. There was something so sinister in its dim, grim contour that for the first time since he set out on this night adventure, a suspicion that he was acting unwisely crossed the king’s mind.

      Still, he meditated, it was his mother’s own castle, the constable of which was a warm friend of his – almost, as one might say, a relative, for Stuart was the younger brother of his mother’s husband, so what could be amiss with this visit?

      “You are not taking me to the main entrance,” he whispered.

      “No, to the postern door.”

      “But the postern door is situated in the wall high above my reach; it is intended for the exit of a possible messenger during a siege and not for the entrance of a guest.”

      “I am acting in accordance with my instructions,” replied the girl. “A rope ladder descends from the postern door.”

      “A rope ladder! that sounds promising; will you ascend it?”

      “Yes, sire, but meanwhile, I implore your majesty to be silent.”

      The king said no more until the rope ladder was in his hand.

      “I hope it is strong,” he murmured.

      Then he mounted lightly up in the darkness, until he stood on the sill of the narrow doorway, when he reached forward his hand to assist his slower comrade in mounting, but she sprang past him without availing herself of his aid. In a low voice she begged pardon for preceding him. Then walked up and up a winding stone staircase, on whose steps there was barely room for two to pass each other. She pushed open a door and allowed some light to stream through on the turret stair, which disappeared in the darkness still further aloft.

      The king found himself in a large square apartment either on the first or second story. It appeared in some sort to be a lady’s boudoir, for the benches were cushioned and comfortable, and there were evidences, about on small tables, of tapestry work and other needle employment recently abandoned.

      “Will your majesty kindly be seated,” said the girl. “I must draw up the ladder, close the postern door, and then inform my lady that you are here.”

      She went out by the way they had entered and shut the door with a force that seemed to the king unnecessary, but he caught his breath an instant later as his quick ear seemed to tell him that a bolt had fallen. He rose at once, tried to open the door, and discovered it was indeed barred on the outside. One other exit remained to be tested; a larger door evidently communicating with another room or passage; that also he found locked. He returned to the middle of the room and stood there for a few moments with knitted brow.

      “Trapped, Jamie, my lad! Trapped!” he muttered to himself. “Now what object can my mother have in this? Does she expect by such childish means to resume her authority over me? Does she hope that her third husband shall rule Scotland in my name as did her second, with me a prisoner? By Saint Andrew, no!”

      The king seized a bench, raised it over his head and crashed it in bits against the larger door with a noise that reverberated through the castle.

      “Open!” he cried; “open instantly!”

      Then he paused, awaiting the result of his fury. Presently he thought he heard light footsteps coming along the passage and an instant later the huge key turned slowly in the lock. The door opened, and to his amazement he saw standing before him with wide frightened eyes, his guide, but dressed now as a lady.

      “Madam,” said the king sternly, “I ask you the meaning of this pleasantry?”

      “Pleasantry,” echoed the girl, staring at him with her hand upon a huge iron key, alert to run if this handsome maniac, strewn round by the wreckage of the bench he had broken, attempted to lay hands on her.

      “Pleasantry?” she repeated; “that is a question I may well ask you. Who are you, sir, and what are you doing here?”

      “Who I am, and what I am doing here, you know very well, because you brought me here. A change of garb does not change a well-remembered face,” and the king bowed to his visitor with a return of his customary courtliness, now that his suspicions were allayed, for he knew how to deal with pretty women. “Madam, there is no queen in Scotland, but you are queen by right of nature, and though you doff your gown, you cannot change your golden crown.”

      The girl’s hand unconsciously went up to her ruddy hair, while she murmured more to herself than to him, —

      “This is some of Catherine’s work.”

      “Catherine was your name in the forest, my lady, what is your name in the castle?”

      “Isabel is my name in castle and forest alike. You have met my twin sister, Catherine. Why has she brought you here?”

      “Like an obedient son, I am here at the command of my honourable mother; and your sister – if indeed goddesses so strangely fair, and so strangely similar can be two persons – has gone to acquaint my mother of my arrival.”

      The girl’s alarm seemed to increase as the king’s diminished. Trouble, dismay, and fear marred her perfect face, and as the king scrutinised her more minutely, he saw that the firm mouth and the resolute chin of her sister had no place in the more softened and womanly features of the lady before him.

      “Your mother? Who is she?”

      “First, Margaret Tudor, daughter of the King of England, second, Margaret Stuart, wife of the King of Scotland, third, Margaret Douglas, ill mate of the Earl of Angus; fourth, and let us hope finally, Margaret Stuart again, spouse of Lord Methven, and owner of this castle.”

      The

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