inexpressible sweetness of tone and manner

We grant, madam, said Lindesay, that the affrays occasioned by your misgovernment, may sometimes have startled you in the midst of a masque or galliard; or it may be that such may have interrupted the idolatry of the mass, or the jesuitical counsels of some French ambassador. But the longest and severest journey which your Grace has taken in my memory, was from Hawick to Hermitage Castle; and whether it was for the weal of the state, or for your own honour, rests with your Grace’s conscience.
The Queen turned to him with inexpressible sweetness of tone and manner, and that engaging look which Heaven had assigned her, as if to show that the choicest arts to win men’s affections may be given in vain. Lindesay, she said, you spoke not to me in this stern tone, and with such scurril taunt, yon fair summer evening, when you and I shot at the butts against the Earl of Mar and Mary Livingstone, and won of them the evening’s collation, in the privy garden of Saint Andrews. The Master of Lindesay was then my friend, and vowed to be my soldier. How I have offended the Lord of Lindesay I know not, unless honours have changed manners.
Hardhearted as he was, Lindesay seemed struck with this unexpected appeal, but almost instantly replied, Madam, it is well known that your Grace could in those days make fools of whomever approached you. I pretend not to have been wiser than others. But gayer men and better courtiers soon jostled aside my rude homage, and I think your Grace cannot but remember times, when my awkward attempts to take the manners that pleased you, were the sport of the court-popinjays, the Marys and the Frenchwomen.
My lord, I grieve if I have offended you through idle gaiety, said the Queen; and can but say it was most unwittingly done. You are fully revenged; for through gaiety, she said with a sigh, will I never offend any one more.
Our time is wasting, madam, said Lord Ruthven; I must pray your decision on this weighty matter which I have submitted to you.
What, my lord! said the Queen, upon the instant, and without a moment’s time to deliberate?— Can the Council, as they term themselves, expect this of me?
Madam, replied Ruthven, the Council hold the opinion, that since the fatal term which passed betwixt the night of King Henry’s murder and the day of Carberry-hill, your Grace should have held you prepared for the measure now proposed, as the easiest escape from your numerous dangers and difficulties.
Great God! exclaimed the Queen; and is it as a boon that you propose to me, what every Christian king ought to regard as a loss of honour equal to the loss of life!— You take from me my crown, my power, my subjects, my wealth, my state. What, in the name of every saint, can you offer, or do you offer, in requital of my compliance?
We give you pardon, answered Ruthven, sternly —we give you space and means to spend your remaining life in penitence and seclusion — we give you time to make your peace with Heaven, and to receive the pure Gospel, which you have ever rejected and persecuted.