The King waited upon news at Lochmaben, and when the certain knowledge of the discomfiture came to his ears he was stricken with a sudden fear and astonishment, so that scarcely could he speak, or hold purposed converse with any man. The night constrained him to remain where he was, and so he went to bed; but he rose without rest or quiet sleep. His continual complaint was, "Oh, fled Oliver! Is Oliver ta'en? Oh, fled Oliver!" These words in his melancholy, and as if he were carried away in a trance, he repeated from time to time, to the very hour of his death. Upon the morn, which was St. Katherine's Day, he returned to Edinburgh, as did the Cardinal from Haddington. But the one being ashamed of the other, the bruit of their communication came not to the ears of the public. The King made inventory of his poise,[47] and of all his jewels and other substance; and departed to Fife. Coming to Hallyards, he was humanely received by the Lady Grange, an ancient and godly matron: the Laird was absent. There were in his company only William Kirkaldy, now Laird of Grange, and some others that waited upon his chamber. At supper, the lady, perceiving him pensive, began to comfort him, and urged him to take the work of God in good part. "My portion of this world is short," he replied, "for I will not be with you fifteen days." His servants, repairing unto him, asked where he would have provision made for Yuletide, which then approached. He answered with a disdainful smirk, "I cannot tell: choose ye the place. But this I can tell you, ye will be masterless before Yule day, and the realm without a King." Because of his displeasure, no man durst make contradiction unto him. After he had visited the Castle of Carny, pertaining to the Earl of Crawford, where was the said Earl's daughter, one of his paramours, he returned to Falkland and took to bed. No sign of death appeared about him, but he constantly affirmed that, before such a day, he would be dead. [47] Secret hoard of money. [Sidenote: The Birth of Mary Stuart.] In the meantime the Queen was upon the point of her delivery in Linlithgow, and on the eighth day of December, in the year of God 1542, was delivered of Mary, that then was born, and now does reign for a plague to this realm, as the progress of her whole life to this day hath declared. The certainty that a daughter was born unto him coming to his ears, the King turned from such as spake with him, and said, "The devil go with it! It will end as it began: it came from a woman; and it will end in a woman." After that, he spake not many words that were sensible. But ever he harped upon his old song, "Fie, fled Oliver! Is Oliver ta'en? All is lost." [Sidenote: The Death of James V.]