The small enclosures and cottage gardens in the village

Be a Queen, madam, said the Abbot, and forget that you are a woman. Oh, I must forget much, much more, answered the unfortunate Mary, in an under tone, ere I can look with steady eyes on these well-known scenes!— I must forget the days which I spent here as the bride of the lost — the murdered ——
This is the Castle of Crookstone, said the Lady Fleming, in which the Queen held her first court after she was married to Darnley.
Heaven, said the Abbot, thy hand is upon us!— Bear yet up, madam — your foes are the foes of Holy Church, and God will this day decide whether Scotland shall be Catholic or heretic.
A heavy and continued fire of cannon and musketry, bore a tremendous burden to his words, and seemed far more than they to recall the spirits of the Queen.
To yonder tree, she said, pointing to a yew-tree which grew on a small mount close to the castle; I know it well — from thence you may see a prospect wide as from the peaks of Schehallion.
And freeing herself from her assistants, she walked with a determined, yet somewhat wild step, up to the stem of the noble yew. The Abbot, Catherine, and Roland Avenel followed her, while Lady Fleming kept back the inferior persons of her train. The black horseman also followed the Queen, waiting on her as closely as the shadow upon the light, but ever remaining at the distance of two or three yards —— he folded his arms on his bosom, turned his back to the battle, and seemed solely occupied by gazing on Mary, through the bars of his closed visor. The Queen regarded him not, but fixed her eyes upon the spreading yew.
Ay, fair and stately tree, she said, as if at the sight of it she had been rapt away from the present scene, and had overcome the horror which had oppressed her at the first approach to Crookstone, there thou standest, gay and goodly as ever, though thou hearest the sounds of war, instead of the vows of love. All is gone since I last greeted thee — love and lover — vows and vower — king and kingdom.— How goes the field, my Lord Abbot?— with us, I trust — yet what but evil can Mary’s eyes witness from this spot?
Her attendants eagerly bent their eyes on the field of battle, but could discover nothing more than that it was obstinately contested. The small enclosures and cottage gardens in the village, of which they had a full and commanding view, and which shortly before lay, with their lines of sycamore and ash-trees, so still and quiet in the mild light of a May sun, were now each converted into a line of fire, canopied by smoke; and the sustained and constant report of the musketry and cannon, mingled with the shouts of meeting combatants, showed that as yet neither party had given ground.
Many a soul finds its final departure to heaven or hell, in these awful thunders, said the Abbot; let those that believe in the Holy Church, join me in orisons for victory in this dreadful combat.