Still the solemn bell continued its monotonous tolling, and it came to his ear by fits upon the hollow wind. Had Florence not been too certain that he was awake, he would have deemed that he was involved in some hideous dream or vision of the night.
"Oh, to shut out that dreadful sound, and to forget it for ever!" thought he. "A thousand times I have heard it ring before, but never with a cadence so dreadful as to-night."
At that moment he heard the galloping of a horse; its steps faltered as it came along, for it seemed worn and faint by the speed to which it was urged by whip and spur, and by the toil of the long journey it had undergone. On arriving near Florence, the rider reined suddenly up, and then, as if the endurance of life could be no longer taxed, the panting and foam-covered horse, sank lifeless, or nearly so, upon the roadway.
"Who are you that sit idly on your horse, in an hour like this, when every beacon in the land is in a flame?" asked the dismounted man breathlessly, as he disengaged himself from his stirrups, and rushed to the side of Florence; "speak, sir—who are you?"
"I am Florence of Fawside," replied the other; "and what then?"
"I am Livingstone of Champfleurie," said the other, stepping back with his hand on his sword.
"Hah!—go, go; in an hour like this, I am at peace even with you," said Florence mournfully.
"This is no time to speak of peace," replied Livingstone, still panting with his recent exertion; "I have ridden from Berwick on the spur—more than fifty miles to-day, after seeing the English vanguard close upon the Tweed, and when I last saw Home Castle, four lights were all ablaze upon its summit, as a token that they were in great strength, and bound this way. Through all the Merse and Lauderdale I have borne this—the cross of fire! Thou seest my horse, man—it can no further go, nor well can I. Take this, and ride to the Lord Regent—rouse the country as you go, and say the foe are bound direct for Lothian—you hear me, direct for Lothian! On, on—I say, and ride with this for Edinburgh. Luckily thou art mounted—ride, ride, for Scotland and the queen!"
With these words, which he poured forth all in a breath, Champfleurie thrust into the hand of Florence the fiery cross—the old Scottish symbol of war, the summons to arms, and then incapable of further action, he sank beside his dying horse, panting and breathless on the heath. Florence, as a loyal subject, knew at once what his duty required him to do; and anxious to find relief from the agony of his soul in any species of excitement, he turned his horse and rode off madly towards the west; but the solemn sound of the passing bell seemed to follow him, even when he drew up within the gates of Edinburgh, amid the wild clamour and hurrahs of the mustering craftsmen, the clanging of the alarm-bells, and the rattle of drums, as, in the glare of torch and cresset, the provost, the deacons, and magistrates, arrayed the bands of burgesses, under their various banners, in that long and magnificent street which still forms the main artery of life in the ancient city of the Stuarts; and there the murmur of the gathering thousands rose into the midnight air like the solemn chafing of a distant sea, or the wind passing through the leaves of a mighty forest.
Ten minutes after his entrance into the city by the Kirk-o'-field Porte, saw him in the presence of Arran, in the old Tower of Holyrood, along the shadowy corridors and past the tall windows of which lights were seen to flicker, and the glitter of armed figures, with helmets and partisans, flitting to and fro, like spectres, half seen and half lost in gloom, as gentlemen and men-at-arms betook them to their harness with soldier-like alacrity. Florence was introduced to the regent in that old tapestried room where, in the nights of after times, poor Mary Stuart wet many a pillow with her bitter tears, and from where Rizzio was dragged forth to die. He found the regent just roused from bed by the clamour in the city. He was clad in a loose robe of scarlet trimmed with miniver; his sheathed sword was in his hand, and around him were his brother, the lord chancellor, and the Abbot of Paisley, with many nobles and officers of state, who, on their first alarm, had hurried to the palace in arms.