olefully "_Dieu eit mercie_!" The
news troubled him sore and sure enough. But the Queen's eyes, that a
moment before had been full of terror and untholemodness [impatience],
shot out one flash of triumphant gladness: and the next minute she had
hidden her face in her sudary, and was greeting as though her heart had
broke. I marvelled what tidings they could be, that were tene [grief]
to the King, and blisfulhed [happiness] to the Queen. Sir John de
Gaytenby, the King's confessor, was sat next to me at the table, and to
him I said--

"Father, can you guess what manner of news Donald de Athole shall have
brought?"

"Ay, daughter," he made answer. "Would I were in doubt!"

"You think--?" I asked him, and left him to fill up.

"I think," he saith in a low voice somewhat sorrowful of tone, "that God
hath delivered from all labour and sorrow one of His servants that trust
in Him."

"Why, that were nought to lament o'er!" I was about to say; but I
stayed me when half through. "Father, you mean there is man dead?"

"We call it death," saith Sir John de Gaytenby--"we of this nether
world, that be ever in sickness and weariness, in tene and in
temptation. Know we what they call it which have forded the Rubicon,
and stand safe on the pavement of the Golden City? `_Multo magis
melius_,' saith the Apostle [Philippians One verse 23]: `much more
better' to dissolve and to be with Christ. And the colder be the waters
man hath to ford, the gladder and welcomer shall be the light of the
Golden City. They were chill, I cast no doubt: and all the chiller for
the hand that chilled them. With how sharp thorns and briers God hath
to drive some of His sheep! But once in the Fold, there shall be time
to forget them all. `When thou passest through the waters, I will be
with thee' [Isaiah 43 verse 2]--that is enough now. We can stay us upon
that promise till we come through. And then there shall be no more need
for Him to be with us in tribulation, since we shall reign with Him for
ever and ever."

Old Sir Simon de Driby came up behind us as the Confessor ended.

"Have you guessed, Sir John, our dread news?--and you, Dame Cicely?"

"I have guessed, and I think rightly," answered Sir John. "For Dame
Cicely I cannot say."

I shook mine head, and Sir Simon told me.

"Sir Edward of Caernarvon is dead."

"Dead--the King!"

"`The King' no longer," saith Sir Simon sorrowfully.

"O Sir Simon!" cried I. "How died he?"