Some faithful followers had thrown in their lot
with the royal fugitives, but it was but a small company all told. No wonder that their hearts were
heavy that wintry morning. Obliged to flee from their own country, driven out of their course by the
raging tempest, what welcome awaited them in this bleak land, of which they had heard many a savage
tale? Would they be treated as friends or looked upon as enemies? The royal family had meant to
return to Hungary, where Edgar and his sisters had spent the days of their happy childhood, but the
winds and waves had proved as furious and unkind as those subjects from whom they had fled, and
there seemed nothing to do now but to seek some landing-place along the rocky shore, some shelter
from the pitiless storm.
Among the weary, spent travellers there was one who was calm and untroubled, whose face reflected
none of the gloom of the skies overhead, on whom the dreary foreboding of the future cast no
shadow. Fair and stately as a lily the Princess Margaret stood gazing across the angry waters, marking
the desolate rocky shores, watching the white sea-birds as they swooped and rose again, as confident
and unruffled as one of those white birds herself. For Margaret knew that a greater than an earthly king
was with her, and that He, her Lord and Master, held the grey waters and their uncertain fortunes in
the hollow of His hand, able as ever to calm the winds and waves of this troublesome world with that
comforting command, 'Peace, be still.'
'To the right, to the right,' shouted a sailor on the look-out; 'yonder is a little bay where methinks we
should find shelter and means to land.'
'Ay, if there be no rocks to guard the way,' said the captain cautiously. But nevertheless he turned the
boat landwards, and eager eyes scanned the shore as they approached. It seemed indeed a haven of
refuge, a peaceful little bay, gathered in from the angry waters by a little wooded arm of land that
guarded it so securely that the rough breakers went sweeping past, and the sandy beach sloped gently
down to meet the little dancing waves, while the wet sand reflected the swooping white wings of the
sea-birds that hovered about the shore.
The little company were thankful indeed to land at last, and to feel the firm earth under their feet once
more. The mist too had begun to roll away, and a gleam of sunshine touched into warmer colour the
bare hills around. Surely this was a good omen, and they might hope that the clouds of their evil
fortune were also about to break. It is more than eight hundred years since that little company landed
at the sheltered cove, and it might seem as if their very names were long since forgotten, but a faint
memory of far-off romance is still linked to the place by the name it bears, Saint Margaret's Hope.
With weary steps the travellers began to journey inland, where they hoped to find some town or village
close by. The few country people they met stared at them with round eyes of wonder. Who could
these people be? They were without doubt of high rank. Even the King did not wear such fine
garments. The beautiful ladies did not look fit to walk such rough roads. They must have landed from
yon boat which lay in the cove beneath. The one thing to be done was certainly to hasten to the court
and tell of the arrival of the strangers.
Up hill and down dale the little company journeyed on, until at last even Margaret's brave spirit grew
weary, and she begged them to rest awhile in one of the green fields, where there was a great stone
that would make a comfortable seat for the tired ladies. ' Saint Margaret's Stone' the people call it still,
and many a poor wayfarer, tired out with the tramp along dusty roads, sits and rests there now, as did
the Princess Margaret long ago.
Perhaps in happier days afterwards, Margaret, looking back, may have often thought of that stone
when she read the old story of Jacob and his stony pillow. Had not she, like him a weary fugitive
driven from home, chosen a stone to rest upon? Had not a golden link with heaven been formed there
too, and had not God's kind angels spread around her their tender care, leading her into the peaceful
paths of light and happiness?
It was as they sat resting there that they were startled by the sound of many feet approaching, and a
company of horsemen were seen coming towards them. Did they come as friends or enemies, was the
swift thought that passed through each anxious mind. But fears were soon dispelled by the words of
welcome that greeted them, and the rough men behaved themselves most reverently and courteously.
They were come in the name of their King, Malcolm of Scotland, to bid the travellers welcome, they
said. The royal palace close by at Dunfermline was at their disposal. Their lord himself was far away
in England fighting against the usurper, but he would ere long be back to give them his own royal
welcome.
So with lightened hearts and less weary feet the travellers went on, and soon caught sight of the town,
built like an eagle's nest upon the steep hillside.
Now the King, Malcolm Canmore or Great Head, had made up his mind to befriend the fugitive
Prince, and to uphold his cause against the usurping Norman. He himself knew what it meant to be a
homeless wanderer, for when but a boy, the treacherous Macbeth had seized his kingdom, and it was
by the strength of his own right arm and dauntless courage that he had won back his crown. He had
never forgotten the kindness he had received at the Saxon court at the hands of Edward the
Confessor, and perhaps there too he had seen the boy Edgar and his beautiful sister Margaret.
Margaret's beauty was not a thing to be lightly forgotten, and the Scottish King, with his lionlike head
and lionlike nature, had a large heart which was very easily touched by beauty of any kind.
It was soon seen, after the King's return to his palace at Dunfermline, that he loved the gentle Margaret
with all the devotion of his great heart. She seemed to him something so precious, so delicately fair,
that he hardly dared dream of winning her. It was like roughly plucking a harebell which had bravely
lifted its head among the stones on his mountain path, linked to earth only by that slender stem which
one rough touch might break. But he did most truly love her, and as his Queen he would be able to
shield and guard from any harm the flower of his heart.
Margaret, however, was sorely troubled. This was not the life she had planned. She had thought to
leave behind her the cares and troubles of a court, and to find peace and quietness in a convent home,
where she might serve God. Far away in Hungary, where she had spent her childhood, and in the
peaceful old home in England, she had loved to listen to stories of the lives of the saints, and
especially had she pondered over the life of Saint Margaret, and longed to follow in her namesake's
steps.
But there are more ways than one of serving God, and Margaret dimly saw that perhaps the path beset
with most difficulties might be the one that her Master would have chosen. It would be sweet to serve
Him in the peaceful shelter of a convent cell, but faithful and brave soldiers do not seek the safest
posts, where duties are easy and dangers few. They seek to endure hardness and not ease. To be a
good Queen might be a higher and more difficult task than to be a devout nun.
So Margaret at last consented to be wed, and when the first primroses were beginning to star the
woods, and spring hastened to breathe a softer welcome to the English bride, the royal marriage took
place at Dunfermline in the happy Eastertide.
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