"There are wild bulls, broken men, sloughs, pitfalls, and swamps in plenty. But will you do a fair lady of the court a favour?"
"That will I blithely," replied Fawside, whose heart beat quicker at the request.
"She is in sore trouble, and lacks a messenger to her kinsman, the laird of Millheugh. As you pass his tower, will you please to deliver this little letter, and tarry a moment to refresh?"
"And the lady?—her name?—who is she?"
"Inquire not, as a gallant man."
"Mystery again!" thought Florence, as he took the note, and his mind immediately reverted to the lady he had just left.
Who was this fair woman, so beautiful, so graceful, so gentle in breeding and manner, that avowed herself his enemy, and yet admitted that she loved him; who gave him an opal ring in token of that love, and yet repelled further advances; and who now, he fondly believed, intrusted him with a letter?
"Champfleurie," said he, "I presume you know all the great people about the queen-mother's court?"
"Ay, from the great Earl of Huntly down to yonder little foot-page, who is clanking his spurs at the Close-head; for your court page is a great man too."
"Then pray tell me who are the queen's ladies?"