But the seeds of dissension were still alive. A new Cabinet had been formed in which hitherto discordant elements were mechanically united. Atholl, Huntly and Bothwell held prominent places; and Moray, who, by a plausible story, had exonerated himself from responsibility in the Rizzio murder, was taken into confidence. Maitland was afterwards admitted to his former post of Secretary. Darnley was furious against Moray and Maitland; against Bothwell he had no complaint, a circumstance worth noting. He was displeased with Mary because she allowed herself to be influenced by Moray and Maitland, whom he believed to be traitors. There may, perhaps, be some justification for the unfortunate Darnley’s conduct at this juncture. It is possible that his brief complicity with the late conspirators had taught him a lesson which Mary, who was clement and forgiving almost to a fault, had yet to learn, namely, the deep treachery of some in whom she was putting her trust. Be this as it may, Darnley soon began to reap the bitter fruits of his mad crime. The nobles that he had left in the lurch cordially hated him; the Queen, whom he had so grievously betrayed, while she did what she could to please and pacify him, could not entrust him with the power he desired. He became the source of keen and uninterrupted grief to Mary, which added to her partial loss of health since the birth of her son, and the political dangers that threatened her independence, made her wish for death. She was brought to the point of death by an illness with which she was stricken during a visit to the remote border hamlet of Jedburgh, in October, 1566, but recovered to drag on her weary life. Her health and spirits, however, seem to have been considerably broken. "The Queen breaketh much," wrote Drury, "and is subject to frequent fainting fits." Melville, her close acquaintance, says, "she was somewhat sad when solitary." The French Ambassador gives his opinion as to the cause of her troubles: "I do believe the principal part of her disease to consist of a deep grief and sorrow, nor does it seem possible to make her forget the same. Still she repeats these words: ’I could wish to be dead.’" The touch of care had blanched her cheek, her smile was sadder now; The weight of royalty had pressed too heavy on her brow. CHAPTER VI. THE TRAGEDY OF KIRK O’FIELD AND ITS SEQUEL.