ear 1093 that
Margaret's beautiful and touching life came to an end, in great sorrow
yet triumph and pious victory over trouble. Before this time, but at a
date not indicated in the narrative, she had parted with her friend and
biographer Theodoric, probably not very long before her own death, as we
are told that she was oppressed by forebodings, or rather premonitions
of death and sorrow, of which she spoke to him with tears. When the
moment of separation came both penitent and confessor so long united in
the closest bonds of sympathy wept sore. "Farewell," said the Queen; "I
shall not live long, but you will live long after me. Remember my soul
in your prayers, and take care of my children; cease not to teach and
admonish them, especially when they are raised to great estate." He made
the promise with tears, not daring to contradict her by happier
auguries, and in this way took his last farewell of the Queen, and never
saw her more. He continues his story, however, taking it from the lips
of a priest who remained with her during the rest of her life, probably
also a Saxon, since he became a monk of St. Cuthbert's on Margaret's
death.

The narrative goes on with an account of the declining health of the
Queen. For more than six months she had been unable to mount a horse, or
sometimes to rise from her bed, and in the midst of this illness the
King set forth upon one of his raids into England, on what provocation
or with what motive it is difficult to tell, except that the provocation
was perpetual and the motive persistent the leading rule of life. His
two elder sons accompanied him on this expedition, which for some reason
Margaret had opposed, "much dissuading" him from going; but this time,
unfortunately, had not been hearkened to. Probably she set out along
with him, on her way to Edinburgh to pass the time of his absence there,
which was a place where news could be had more readily than beyond the
sea in Fife. The solitary castle, high perched upon its hill, whence
messengers could be seen approaching, or, better still, the King's
banners coming back, was a fitter home for an anxious wife than the
palace over the Firth among its woods. How long she remained there we
are not told, and there are now unhappily no articulate remains at all
of the old stronghold which must have risen upon that height, with its
low massive walls and rude buildings. The oldest relic in Edinburgh is
that little sanctuary, plain and bare a