Montrose, whose principal scribes were the poor poets who hovered about the court--such as William Dunbar and others--soon had the messages written and given to gentlemen of trust, who concealed them in the scabbards of their swords and poniards; and after being landed on the Carse of Stirling by the boats of the _Yellow Frigate_, they departed on the spur towards the south. While James was taking counsel of the loyalists on what course he should pursue, the venerable Duke of Montrose-Crawford entered again, with an expression of gloom and dejection so strongly marked on his face, that all the nobles turned towards him inquiringly. "What now, my good Montrose," said the agitated king--"you have bad tidings--but what other can come to me? Have blows been struck, or has my poor son been slain? Speak, duke, for this suspense is torture." "I have tidings, indeed, of double evil," said the aged peer, slowly, as if considering in what terms to impart them. "The Earls of Huntly, Errol, and Marischal, and the Lord Glammis, at the head of more than ten thousand men, have crossed the Forth at Stirling--" "To join me--well?" "Nay, to join the Earl of Angus, it is supposed; for they marched right under the cannon of the castle, and took their route through the Torwood." "For where?" asked James, growing pale. "None know. The prince--" "Was with them," said James, bitterly. "Nay, God forbid! He is said to be with Sir James Shaw, in the Castle of Stirling." "'Tis well; we shall join him there, and together march against these rebel peers," said James, with flashing eyes. "Errol shall tyne his constable's staff, and perhaps his head with it. Is it agreed, my lords, that we march for Stirling and leave the ships of Sir Andrew Wood to guard the passage of the Forth?" A murmur of assent replied. "Let us to horse, then," said the king; "I would the queen were here, instead of praying at St. Duthac's shrine, in Ross. But to horse, sirs; and now what ails thee, kind Montrose?" asked James, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder, on perceiving that amid the general bustle which ensued, the donning of helmets and buckling of swords, this most faithful and aged noble stood irresolute, with sorrow impressed in his eyes and upon his face. "Allace, your majesty," said he, "there are tidings of serious evil; the queen----" "Is ill--my dear and loving Margaret; she left me sick and ailing sorely," said James, clasping his hands; "she is ill, while I am loitering here to play for a glittering bauble; she is ill, and where?" "Allace the day! she is dead and in her coffin!" said Montrose, as he covered his kind old face with his hands and burst into tears.....