r
it alarmed them, made as light as they could of this prophetic
foreboding, which might be but a deepened impression of the prevailing
despondency in her heart. No doubt it was a melancholy night in the
fortress, where the women who had husbands or sons or brothers in the
distant army would cluster together in the antechamber and watch for the
attendants who came and went behind the curtain into the sick chamber
where the Queen, visibly sinking day by day, lay sleepless and sad,
listening for every sound. Terrors surrounded the castle for the
personal safety of its occupants as well as for their brethren in the
wars; and no doubt there would be whispers of the King's brother, Donald
Bane, and of the watchful jealous Celtic chiefs all ready to rise with
him, should an opportunity occur, and dash the stranger brood from the
throne. All these sad prognostications were quickly realised. Next
morning brought messengers in fear and distress from the army to say
that the King had fallen at Alnwick in Northumberland, and to prove that
Margaret's prophecy had been fulfilled at the very time it was spoken.
It was November, dark and cheerless both within and without, and the
Queen would seem to have been prostrated for a day or two by the sad
news: but on the fourth day she rose from her bed and tottered to the
little chapel on the rock to hear mass for the last time, and receive
the Holy Sacrament in preparation for death. She then returned to her
rooms with the pallor of death already on her face, and bidding all
around--"me," says the priest, "and the others who stood by"--to
recommend her to Christ, asked that the black rood should be brought to
her. This was the most holy of all the relics which she had brought with
her to Scotland. It was a case of pure gold in the form of a cross,
ornamented with marvellous work, bearing the image of the Saviour
curiously carved in ivory, and enclosing a portion of the true cross
(proved to be so by many miracles). The Queen took it in her hands,
pressed it to her dying breast, and touched with it her eyes and face.
While thus devoutly employed, with her thoughts diverted from all
earthly things, Margaret was brought back to her sorrow by the sudden
entrance of her son Ethelred, who had returned from the defeated army to
carry to his mother the dreadful news of the death not only of his
father but of his elder brother. The sight of his mother in extremity,
almost gone, no doubt confused the