"'Fix the iron bar across!' cried the Lady Margaret. 'Ere they can force its massive strength, assistance may arrive!'"
"'The bar!' exclaimed the ladies. 'The bar!'"
"'It is gone! We are lost!' cried Catherine. The tread of the murderers was at the door, a hand rudely grasped the lock without—stay, traitors, stay! There is yet a bar—a weak woman's arm is thrust across—Catherine Douglas has sacrificed herself for her king!
"O ruthless men! Can ye force a bloody entry. Should not devotion like hers form a firmer defence than bar of iron or brass! Who shall tell the terrors of that moment—that brief awful moment of unutterable agony? It yields—it breaks—the weak barrier of love—and the murderers force their way to their victim, over the senseless form of Catherine Douglas!"
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"Did they kill the king?" inquired Willy.
"He died by the daggers of the traitors!" replied Bella. "You may read the whole account in the History of Scotland."
"And did the brave lady live with her poor broken arm?" inquired Julia, with tears in her eyes.
"I do not know—the history did not tell. If she lived, it must always have been a comfort to her to think that she had done all that she could!"
"This reminds me," said Mr. Presgrave, "of an incident in English history, perhaps equally touching, and not so well known. The life of Edwin, one of the most illustrious of our Saxon kings, was endangered by an assassin, who, armed with a poisoned dagger, gained admittance to his presence. This man began to deliver a fictitious message; in the midst of it, he clenched his dagger, and rushed upon the king. Lilla, the favourite minister of Edwin, perceived the danger, but had no shield to ward off the blow. The king was off his guard—the dagger was raised; with self-devoted loyalty, Lilla threw himself between his sovereign and the assassin, received the descending blow, and expired!"