"Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent;
As if to give his rapture vent,
The spur he to his charger lent,
And raised his bridle hand,
And making demivolte in air,
Cried, 'Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land!'"

While they gazed the time arrived for King James to take his way to a
solemn mass. The distant bells chimed the hour, the fife, the sackbut,
the psaltery, the cymbal, the war-pipe, in discordant cry took up the
note, and together the sounds rolled up the hillside.

Sir David sighed as he listened.

"I look," he said, "upon this city, Empress of the North, her palaces,
her castles, her stately halls, her holy towers, and think what war's
mischance may bring. These silvery bells may toll the knell of our
gallant King. We must not dream that conquest is sure or easily bought.
God is ruler of the battlefield, but when yon host begins the combat,
wives, mothers, and maids may weep, and priests prepare the death
service, for when such a power is led out by such a King, not all will
return."

[Illustration: THE GRAVE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, DRYBURGH ABBEY.]



CHAPTER V.