Had the thunder of heaven darted its sulphurous and scathing bolt into the midst of that assembly, a greater change its terrors could not have effected than did that thrilling cry. A hundred rapiers flashed in the bright torchlight, as with bent brows and angry voices the barons of the realm rushed to the aid of their liege-lady. An air of cool defiance sat on the massive forehead of the culprit; his eye was fixed upon the queen in sorrow, as it would seem, rather than in anger; his sword lay quietly in his scabbard, although there were a hundred there with weapons thirsting for his blood, and hearts burning with the insatiable hate of ancient feuds. Murray and Morton, speaking eagerly and even sternly to the queen, urged his immediate seizure; and the gray-haired duke of Lennox, clutching his poniard’s hilt with the palsied gripe of eighty years, awaited but a sign to slay, he knew not and he recked not why, the ancient foeman of his race. But so it was not fated! Before a word was spoken, the deep and sullen roar as of an earthquake burst upon their ears, and stunned their very hearts; a second din, as of some mighty tower rushing from its base, succeeded, ere the casements had ceased to rattle with the shock of the first. “God of my fathers!” shouted Murray, “what means that din? Treason, my lords, treason! Look to the queen--secure the traitor! Thou, duke of Lennox, with thy followers, haste straight to the kirk of Field! Without, there--let my trumpets sound to horse! By Him that made me,” he continued, “the populace are rising!”--for the deep swell of voices, that rose without, announced the presence of a mighty multitude. In an instant the vaulted arches of the palace echoed with the flourished cadences of the royal trumpets, the ringing steps of steel-clad men, the tramp of hoofs in the courtyard, the gathering cries of the followers of each fierce baron, succeeding wildly to the soft breathings of minstrelsey and song. At this instant Murray had resolved himself to act, and, with his hand upon the pommel of his sword, slowly but resolutely stepped forward. “Yield thee!” he said, in stern, low tones; “yield thee, my lord of Bothwell! Hence from this presence thou canst not pass until all this night’s strange occurrences be fully manifested; ay, and if there be guilt--as I misdoubt me much there is--till it be fearfully avenged!”