ested there for
many a long day.

For a few weeks there was peace both within and without the castle of
Kildrummie. The relief, the shelter which its walls afforded to the
wearied and exhausted wanderers was at first felt and enjoyed alone.
Many of the frailer sex were far too exhausted and disabled by a variety
of sufferings, to be sensible of any thing but that greater comforts
than had been theirs for many painful months were now possessed; but
when their strength became partially restored, when these comforts
became sufficiently familiar to admit of other thoughts, the queen's
fortitude began to waver. It was not the mere impulse of the moment
which caused her to urge her accompanying her husband, on the plea of
becoming more and more unworthy of his love if separated from him.
Margaret of Mar was not born for a heroine; more especially to act on
such a stormy stage as Scotland. Full of kindly feeling, of affection,
confidence, gentleness, one that would have drooped and died had her
doom been to pass through life unloved, her yielding mind took its tone
and coloring from those with whom she most intimately associated; not
indeed from the rude and evil, for from those she intuitively shrunk.
Beneath her husband's influence, cradled in his love, her spirit
received and cherished the _reflection_ of his strength; of itself, she
too truly felt it had none; and consequently when that beloved one was
far away, the reflection passed from her mind even as the gleam of his
armor from the mirror on which it glanced, and Margaret was weak and
timorous again. She had thought, and hoped, and prayed, her unfeigned
admiration of Isabella of Buchan, her meek and beautiful appreciation of
those qualities and candid acknowledgment that such was the character
most adapted to her warrior husband, would bring more steadiness and
courage to her own woman breast. Alas! the fearful fate which had
overtaken the heroic countess came with such a shock to the weaker soul
of Margaret, that if she had obtained any increase of courage, it was at
once annihilated, and the desponding fancy entered her mind that if evil
reached one so noble, so steadfast in thought and in action, how might
she hope to escape; and now, when weakened and depressed alike by bodily
and mental suffering, such fancies obtained so much possession of her
that she became more and more restless. The exertions of Sir Nigel and
his companions, even of her own friends, failed i