Some days after, the king returned from the north of Scotland, whither the priests had sent him to worship some relics. Hamilton was no more. What were the feelings of James V. when he learnt the death of this noble scion of the royal house? We have no means of ascertaining them. The young prince seemed to be more alive to the humiliation to which the nobles subjected him than to the cruelty of the priests. Fretted by the state of dependence in which Angus kept him, he made complaint of it to Henry VIII.[135] Hunting was his only amusement, and for the sake of enjoying it he had taken up his abode at Falkland Castle. On a sudden, caring no more for hounds, foxes, or deer, he conceived the project of regaining his freedom and his authority. This might be fraught with grave consequences for the Reformation. If at a time when the nobles kept a tight hand over the priestly party Hamilton had been put to death, what might happen in Scotland when the priests, on whom James leaned for support, should have once more seized the chief power? The deliverance of the young king, however, was no easy matter. A hundred men, selected by Angus, were about him night and day; and the captain of his guards, the minister of the royal house and the lord treasurer of the kingdom, had orders to keep their eyes constantly upon him. He determined to resort to stratagem. He said one evening to his courtiers, ‘We will rise very early to-morrow to go stag-hunting; be ready.’ Everyone retired early to rest; but no sooner had the prince entered his chamber than he called one of his pages in whom he had full confidence. ‘Jockie,’ said he to him; ‘dost thou love me?’ ‘Better than myself, Sire.’--‘Wilt thou run some risk for my sake?’ ‘Risk my life, Sire.’ James explained to him his design; and then, disguising himself as a groom, he went into his stables with the page and a valet. ‘We are come to get the horses ready for the hunt to-morrow,’ said the three grooms. Some moments elapsed; they went noiselessly out of the castle, and set off at a gallop for Stirling Castle, where the queen-mother was residing. The king arrived there in the early morning. ‘Draw up the bridges,’ said he, so fearful was he of his pursuers. ‘Let down the portcullises, set sentinels at all points.’ He was worn out with fatigue, having been on horseback all night; but he refused to lie down until the keys of all the gates had been placed under his pillow; then he laid down his head upon them and went to sleep. On the morning after this flight, Sir George Douglas, the king’s guardian, rose without suspicion, thinking only of the hunt which James had appointed. While he was taking certain precautions against the escape of the prince, a stranger arrived and asked to speak to Sir George. It was the bailiff of Abernethy. He entered the apartment of the royal gaoler, and announced to him that in the course of the night the king had crossed the bridge at Stirling.