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man drew up and said: “I am a priest. Lead me to him.”
    The miller's wife led him back to the mill, shouted for a boy to take his horse and then took him into the mill where the King was lying on the floor.
    “I am a priest,” said the man, kneeling beside the King.
    “Welcome,” murmured the King.
    “Are you mortally wounded?”
    “I think not, but I wish to confess my sins and to ask pardon for the faults of a lifetime.”
    Then, so quickly that none of those about him realized what was happening until it was done, the man drew his sword and, saying, “This will give you pardon,” plunged it into the King's body.
    Withdrawing it, he walked out of the mill, took his horse from the boy who held it, mounted and rode away. And none ever knew his name.
    Young James was in his apartment at Stirling Castle when the nobles came to him. He was astonished by their solemn looks.
    “What news?” he asked.
    Lord Drummond was kneeling before him as he heard the shout which resounded through the room: “Long live the King!”
    James recoiled. “My father…?” he began.
    “Sire, you no longer have a father. Long live James IV of Scotland and the Isles.”
    It was then he heard the story of his father's end; but he could not share their joy. He could only tell himself that never again would he look into the faces of handsome strangers and wonder whether at last he was face-to-face with his father.
    Already he seemed to feel the crown weighing heavily on his head. His father defeated by his enemies and murdered by them! Not until that moment had he understood how they had involved him in their treacherous conflict, and there was deep sorrow in understanding. His father had died and it might seem that he himself bore some responsibility for that death.
    I believe I shall never know complete peace again, he told himself.

    In the weeks that followed his accession, so great had been his remorse that he had even forgotten Margaret. Night and morning he had prayed for the soul of his father in the Chapel-Royal at Stirling Castle.
    “How can I atone for my father's death?” he demanded of his confessor.
    “Pray… pray for forgiveness,” was the answer.
    But he found only brief comfort in prayer, and soon afterward he took to wearing an iron belt about his doublet, which was heavy and caused him great discomfort.
    But he felt happier wearing it. It was a way of doing penance for the murder of his father.
    That had happened long ago and one could not grieve forever. He had quickly discovered that it was pleasant to be a king. His friends, important men such as Argyle, Hailes, Lyle and Hume, were eager for him to enjoy life and to leave tiresome state matters to them.
    “Why,” they said, “you are the King; and living as you did in Stirling Castle, what chance did you have of enjoying your life?”
    He changed; he was no longer retiring, but discovered himself to be a high-spirited boy, and there was hunting and hawking over the glorious countryside; there were balls and banquets to be arranged; dancing to be watched and indulged in. His father was buried in state at Cambuskenneth Abbey and lay there with his wife, so there was nothing more his son could do for him, except to wear the iron belt now and then to remind himself and the world that he still regretted the manner in which his father had died.
    There had been days when pleasure had been constantly with him; he remembered the occasion when Margaret Drummond had joined him at Linlithgow Castle and he had ordered gold, azure and silver cloth to make her a gown which would dazzle all who saw it; and when she sat with him in the place of honor at the table, the masked singers, luters, and harpists performed for them alone.
    Had he followed his own inclination he would have married Margaret then as he had promised to; but there were jealous men about him who were determined that the Drummonds should notbecome too powerful and, although Margaret and he were allowed to