He moved slowly and cautiously onwards, his horse starting and prancing every now and then as the burning ruins fell, or as fresh bursts of flame took place; and, steering a difficult course among the smoking fragments that strewed the street, or the heaped-up goods and moveables, which their owners had not had time to convey farther to some place of greater security, he peered eagerly into every door, window, and crevice, and listened with all his attention for the sound of a human voice. More than once his eyes and his ears were deceived, and he frequently stopped, in doubt whether he should not rush boldly through fire and smoke to rescue some one whom his fancy had caused him, for an instant, to imagine perishing within. His mind being so intensely occupied, it is no wonder that he could pay but little attention to his own preservation; and accordingly he received several rude shocks, and was at last fairly knocked down from his saddle by the end of a great blazing log, which grazed his shoulder as it descended from a house he was standing under. Mortimer Sang caught the reins of his master’s horse, and Sir Patrick was speedily raised from the ground by the people who were near him; and he regained his seat, having fortunately escaped with some slight bruises received from the fall, and a contusion on his shoulder, arising from the blow given him by the beam. CHAPTER XXXIX. Sir Patrick and the Earl at Forres. Sir Patrick Hepborne had hardly recovered himself when, as he was passing a house to which the fire had but just communicated, he encountered a crowd of people rushing out, hastily attired in all manner of strange coverings. It was the inn of the burgh. Among those who came forth there was one gigantic figure, who ran against his horse like a battering-ram, and almost threw the animal on his haunches by the concussion. Ere Hepborne could recover himself the monster was gone; but his attention was quickly diverted from this incident by the sound of a voice chanting irregularly in broken song, mingled with the notes of a harp. It came from the upper part of the building. The house, though extending a good way backwards from the street, was of two storeys only; but as the flames were briskly attacking the lower part, no time was to be lost in making the musician leave it. Hepborne sprang from his horse, and, hastening down a lane to the doorway, rushed up the narrow stair, and being led by ear towards the music, ran along a passage and entered an apartment over the gable next the street, where, to his utter astonishment, he beheld the minstrel, Adam of Gordon, seated on a stool, in his nightcap and under-garments, accompanying his voice by striking wild chords upon the harp, and looking upwards at intervals, as if seeking inspiration. “Adam of Gordon!” cried Hepborne, in absolute amazement, “what dost thou here? Quick, quick, old man; thy life is in peril; throw on thy cloak and fly with me; the flames gain upon us!”