er son had been saved from a rebel's fate by
a wife's stratagem.

THE KING'S TRAGEDY.

_AN HISTORICAL TALE._

BY ALFRED H. MILES.

In the year 1436, a party of horsemen, weary and belated, were seen
hurrying amid the deepening darkness of a December day towards the ferry
of the Firth of Forth. Their high carriage, no less than the quality of
their accoutrements, albeit dimmed and travel-stained by the splash of
flood and field, showed them to be more than a mere party of traders
seeking safety in numbers, and travelling in pursuit of gain. In the
centre of the group rode a horseman, whose aspect and demeanour marked
him as the chief, if not the leader, of the band; and by his side a
lady, whose grace and beauty could not be altogether concealed by the
closeness of her attire or the darkness of the night. These were the
King and Queen of Scotland, James the First and his fair wife Joan,
surrounded by a small band of faithful followers, bound for the
monastery of the Black Friars of Perth to hold Christmas Carnival.

The weather and the day were wild enough, and these but only too truly
reflected the surging passions of human hearts. The brave young king's
desire to put down the marauding practices of his Highland subjects, and
bring about a condition of things under which a "key" should be
sufficient keep for a "castle," and a "bracken bush" enough protection
for a "cow," together with, perhaps, a not always wise way of working so
good a cause, had provoked the hostility of some of the Highland chiefs
who lived by stealing their neighbours' property. This disaffection
became formidable under the leadership of Sir Richard Graeme, brother
of the Earl of Stratherne, whose earldom had been confiscated by the
king, who feared its power with perhaps less justice than became his
high purpose, and James and his retainers had need to watch and ward
against open enemies and secret foes.

Silently, if not mournfully, the little band moved on, picking its way
along the uneven shore, and peering anxiously through the deepening
shadows for signs of the distant ferry. Like a cavalcade of ghosts, but
dimly seen as dimly seeing, they pressed on, all eyes for what light
might give them guidance, all ears for what sound might give them
warning.

As they were descending to the beach, at the point where the ferry
crossed the water, sight and sound combined to startle if not to terrify
them; for out from behind a pile of rock