There were gathered the innocent, the aged, the young, the beautiful, and the Lady Margaret experienced some relief in administering to their wants and calming their anxiety.

She did not rely much upon the few faithful soldiers who were left to guard the castle; but though womanly apprehension would often blanch her cheek, and her frame quiver as some recent deed of shame was unfolded, her confidence in God continued unabated.
One afternoon, as the Lady Margaret, surrounded by the inmates of the castle, was seated in the hall, Bertha, clad in a black mantle, stole silently into the room, and glancing wildly around, began to traverse the apartment with rapid strides.

Her excited manner attracted much attention, and many anxious conjectures were made as to the cause of her meaning gestures.

At length, stopping before the Lady Margaret, who watched her movements with a troubled eye, she sang, almost in a whisper: The sunbeam was bright on their shields as they came, But dim on their blood-rusted spears; They gave up the hamlet to pillage and flame, And scoffed at the kneeling one's tears! "Perhaps the enemy are upon us," said a graycoated palmer, who for some days had shared the bounty of the Lady Margaret.
At these words, a general murmur ran round the group, and then all was still as death.
Bertha resumed, in a louder tone: They come--they come--the groan, the shout Of death and life ring wildly out! The sky is clouding at their cry, As they toss their reeking blades on high; Arm, gallants all! and watch ye well, Or to-morrow's chime will be your knell.
As she concluded the rough fragment, she extended her arm to the south, and shaking her finger menacingly, muttered, "They come!" This thrilling announcement called forth more than one cry from the lips of the trembling listeners.

To increase the panic, a groom burst into the room, and whispered something into the Lady Margaret's ear that made her start and turn pale as marble.