He had, therefore, sprung to the acceptance, and sent his humble duty to the Queen by her winsome messenger, who, with conspicuous dramatic skill, had arranged secretly, with the help of a Gentleman Pensioner and the Master of the Horse, his appearance and his exit.
That all succeeded as she had planned quickened her pulses, and made her heart still warmer to Angele, who, now that all was over, and her Huguenot lover had gone his mysterious ways, seemed lost in a troubled reverie.
It was a troubled reverie indeed, for Angele's eyes were on the stranger who was present with Sir Andrew Melvill the night before.

Her gaze upon him now became fixed and insistent, for the sense of foreboding so heavy on her deepened to a torturing suspense.

Where had she seen this man before?
To what day or hour in her past did he belong?
What was there in his smooth, smiling, malicious face that made her blood run cold?
As she watched him, he turned his head.

She followed his eyes.

The horse which Mary Queen of Scots had sent with the message of the birth of her son was being led to the Queen by the dark browed, pale-faced churl who had brought it from Scotland.