Chapter VIII: Part 8

"One day my poor father, who is a staunch old Covenanter, and cares not to avow the fact, was taken up on suspicion of having secreted some rebels who had rendered themselves particularly obnoxious to Government, and nothing would satisfy his accusers but his going before Sir Robert Grierson to answer the charge preferred against him. My father said, the very idea of facing that fearful man, as he styled the Laird, made him feel ready to faint; but he was determined to show no signs of fear, lest it might be construed against him; so putting a bold face on the matter, he not only expressed his willingness, but his anxiety, to meet Sir Robert; and, in accordance with his desire, he was instantly conveyed to Lag Tower. It happened, very unfortunately for my father, that very day on which he went to abide his trial, Sir Robert was confined to bed from a dreadful attack of his old enemy, the gout, which had rendered him so savage that his domestics were afraid to venture near him; but no sooner was he made aware of the fact of there being a prisoner awaiting his pleasure, than he left his couch; and dressing himself as speedily as repeated twinges of the gout would permit, he hobbled down stairs, blaspheming the while in a manner horrible to listen to. On entering the room where stood my father, with his accusers beside him, Sir Robert darted a keen glance at him from beneath his shaggy eyebrows, and then proceeded to question those present regarding the offence alleged to have been committed by my father. A grim smile played at the corners of his mouth, and a fiery gleam shot from his eyes as he listened to the rather complicated statement regarding my father's conduct in the affair of the late concealment. He then thanked them for the ready zeal they had displayed in the king's service, and desired that they should retire to another apartment, 'For,' said he, with a hoarse laugh, 'I should like to have a little private conversation with the old Whig, and I dare say I shall manage to make him sensible of the heinous crime he has committed, thereby rendering himself amenable to the laws of his country.' The room being cleared of all save my father, who stood boldly confronting the Laird, his head erect and his hands folded across his breast, in the attitude of one who fears no evil and is conscious of having performed none, Sir Robert seated himself at the head of the table, and motioning to my father to approach nearer to the judgment-seat, as he styled his huge arm-chair, he addressed him in the following language:--'Is it not a downright disgrace for an old man like you, whose grey hairs ought to have covered a head of wisdom, to be arraigned before us, charged with having aided in the secreting of a parcel of knaves, rebels in fact, against their king and country; thereby frustrating the ends of justice, which required the lives of these men, and not these only, but of all who similarly transgress the righteous laws established by our most gracious sovereign King Charles the Second, whom may Heaven long preserve to the utter confusion of all who wish him harm? What have you to say for yourself, that we may be satisfied of your innocence in this matter, and permit you to depart in peace?' My father, to tell you the honest truth, was in no small degree puzzled how to reply to this strange mode of address adopted by Sir Robert; but reflecting for a moment on the character of the man he had to deal with, he arrived at the conclusion that the best way to avoid giving a direct answer to so startling a question would be to propound another, so he said, 'Well, Sir Robert, since you have desired me to reply to the question you were pleased to put as regarded my complicity in this aflair of the secreting of these poor unfortunate men, whom I cannot look upon in the light of malefactors, I shall do so firmly, and without reserve, feeling assured that no real blame can be attached to the part I have acted throughout; but, before proceeding to enter into details, I would simply ask in return, if any of those belonging to the side you espouse so warmly were in grievous distress, and in imminent danger of being deprived of their lives, should they fall into the hands of their enemies, who were eagerly following on their track, would you not esteem it a positive duty to harbour these unhappy fugitives? Would you not, I say, rejoice in the good deed you had accomplished, on beholding their foes depart cheated of their expected prey, and seek no other reward than the happiness arising from a self-approving conscience?' 'Then you acknowledge having aided these men to escape from the just doom awaiting them,' roared Sir Robert, his brow black with ungovernable wrath. 'You cannot prove that I did,' coolly replied my father, nowise daunted by the terrible looks of the fiery Laird; for his blood was up, and when once he had got over his natural timidity of character, he could have faced the old gentleman himself. 'I will make you prove it, however,' was the fierce rejoinder; 'reach me hither that Bible.' My father did so. Now, you old solemn-faced hypocrite,' said Sir Robert, accompanying these words with a hideous grimace, occasioned by a sudden and severe twinge of the gout, 'as you value your life, you must swear by this blessed book that you are entirely innocent of the offence alleged against you, and that you know nothing of the whereabouts of these men.' 'But what if I do know something of the whereabouts of these men?' demanded my father, who was fully determined to display no coward spirit, or evade the truth, even though death should pay the penalty. 'Then your last hour has come,' replied the Laird, in a somewhat milder tone, for he was not a little astonished at my father's boldness of speech; 'so you may at once say your prayers.' 'That is rather an unusual favour for you to bestow,' said my father, with a smile; 'for if all is true that's said of you, praying does not come within your province; and instead of your victim's soul being borne aloft on the incense of prayer, it is generally dismissed with something the very reverse of a blessing.' 'No insolence, you ungrateful varlet,' thundered forth Sir Robert, while his brow contracted into the most fearful frown, my father said, he had ever witnessed; 'and since you sneer at the boon I was pleased to offer you, your prayer shall be of my framing; so down on your knees this instant, and mark you, every word you utter must be in an audible tone of voice that I may be able to hear and judge of the same. You must pray as if your soul was in every word you give forth, for the welfare of Church and State, dwelling at considerable length on the goodness of his most gracious Majesty in adopting such lenient measures towards those who have so justly offended him, likewise on the wisdom he has displayed in his choice of leaders to execute his commands.' 'Not at your desire will I kneel, you bloody man!' stoutly replied my father, his eyes flashing and his colour rising as he spoke; 'nor shall my lips be polluted with such words as you may devise. If death be the decree sent forth against me, I will meet it as becometh one who hath endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his Maker,--therefore, do your worst; and learn from me, that not to win an empire, should I say aught of the king than that he is a perjured----' 'Hold!' screamed Sir Robert in a transport of fury, 'how dare you venture to attack his most blessed Majesty in my presence? This moment is your last!' So saying, and forgetful of the malady under which he laboured, he darted from his chair and seizing hold of a loaded pistol, which lay on an adjoining table, levelled it at my father. But, fortunately for him, just as Sir Robert was on the point of firing, he was suddenly seized with a most dreadful attack of his irresistible enemy. His agony was so great that the pistol dropped from his hand; and after vainly endeavouring to preserve his footing, he gave utterance to a wild scream of mingled rage and pain, and fell prostrate on the floor. Taking advantage of the opportunity afforded him for escape, my father rushed to the door, opened it, and fled along the passage, shouting at the top of his voice, 'Help, help! Sir Robert is dead, or dying!' Overcome with terror and dismay, the domestics at once rushed to the assistance of their master, thereby permitting my father to leave the castle unquestioned--a feat he took not long to accomplish--and considering this part of the country no longer safe for him, he speedily removed to a retired spot in Annandale, where he now resides."

"Do you think there is any truth in the stories they tell about Lag Tower being haunted?" inquired Andrew Hamilton, who was not a little prone to indulge in the superstitious fears so generally entertained by his countrymen.

Just as one of his companions was about to reply, a loud crash in the yard, as if some heavy substance was thrown to the ground, at once arrested their attention. The men instantly started to their feet, and eagerly listened for a repetition of the sound; but nothing more was heard.

"What can it be?" said one of the party, whose pallid face and faltering voice betokened the agitation. under which he laboured.

"O! it is just the wind that has blown down something about the barn," replied one of his comrades.

At the mention of the word barn Andrew Hamilton gave utterance to a loud exclamation, and seizing a lantern that stood on the table, darted towards the door, closely followed by his astonished companions. With a sinking heart, he pursued his way; and to his unspeakable horror, the first object that greeted his eyesight, on his arriving at the spot, was the door--the key of which he was carrying for safety in his pocket--lying prostrate on the ground, bereft of its hinges. Impatient to learn the worst, he rushed into the barn; it was empty--the prisoner was gone.

The reader must now please to accompany us into the interior of Lag Tower, in the banqueting hall of which several gentlemen are seated round a long oaken table, strewn with the remains of dessert, half-emptied bottles of wine, drinking cups, etc. The gentleman presiding over the entertainment, and whose hoarse laugh even now resounds through the hall, is the dreaded persecutor, Sir Robert Grierson; on his right hand are seated Captain Bruce and Captain Dalziel, also notorious for their dreadful cruelties practised towards the Covenanters; while Lieutenant Livingstone, Cornet Douglas, and others of lesser note, occupy the remaining seats. The hall, which is long and narrow in its proportions, is lighted up by the aid of pine-torches stuck in the wall, and the huge fire, as it roars in the capacious chimney, casts a ruddy glow over the swarthy faces of the revellers, and dances fantastically over the suits of time-honoured armour, swords, guns, pistols and other warlike weapons with which the walls of the apartment are adorned.

A pause has ensued in the conversation--it is the Laird who breaks it. "Well, Dalziel, and so you managed to make the old Whig swallow the oath after all, ha, ha, ha! Upon my word, it is well worth all the trouble we have been put to during these troublous times, just to witness the rare state of terror into which some of these canting knaves are thrown when they imagine their last hour is come. Down they go smack upon their knees, turning up their eyes, and if you only permitted them, they would spend at least three hours in praying for the steadfast upholding of the most blessed Kirk and Covenant; and, for my part, I don't believe one out of twenty understands the precise meaning of the words; it is just the fact of their having them so constantly dinned into their ears by these old maundering hypocrites, whom they regard as the precious salt of the earth, that impresses them with the belief of their embracing everything that ought to be prayed for. Little encouragement do they get from me in that line. At the bare whisper of the words 'Covenants of Grace' I discharge my pistol close to their ears, and they very soon come down to earth again, and endeavour to enter into a covenant of mercy with me, whom they style the Man of Sin; but they soon discover temporising does not do for me: my words are few and plain. Take the oath at once or suffer the penalty. 'Mercy, mercy, Sir Robert! remember our wives and helpless little ones at home; what will become of them should we be deprived of our lives?' Then take the oath! I find this peremptory mode of speech does my business far more effectually than any long-winded discourse; that's what they are accustomed to, and they would willingly listen for hours, if we had only breath sufficient to hold out so long, to any amount of rubbish with which it might please us to cram them; but the brevity of speech with which I issue forth my demands puts them at once to the rout; and the short and the long of the matter is, they are either brought to hear reason, or look their last upon the sun."

"It is really extraordinary how many maintain their firmness even to the last," said Captain Dalziel, as he filled his goblet to the brim and drained it at a single draught; "they seem to take a pride in suffering death, and I firmly believe would rather lose fifty lives, or endure any amount of torture, than allow the oath of abjuration to pass their lips."

"Ha, ha! my friend," exclaimed Sir Robert Grierson with a loud laugh, "I think I am the only one of you all who can manage these skulking fellows and compel them to take the oath in spite of themselves. Never shall I forget that scene in the church of Dairy, should I live to be an hundred; how horror-stricken the whole pack were!"

"Why, what did you do to them?" inquired Lieutenant Livingstone. "I have never heard what I considered to be a true version of that affair, although I have often wished to learn what really occurred on that occasion, as it seems to have made a great noise throughout the country."

"Why, you see," said the Laird in reply, "towards the beginning of last year I chanced to be in Galloway holding courts throughout the different parishes--and a fatiguing time I had of it, I can tell you. The Courts were wretchedly attended. Of course, ill-affected people did not come of their own accord, and there was not sufficient force to compel them to do so. Determined, however, not to be defeated, I one day assembled a large concourse of men and women--in fact, every one belonging to Dairy--in the parish church, without assigning any ostensible reason for so doing. After the church was filled to overflowing, I caused the door to be locked; and at the blast of my bugle, a band of trusty followers--previously made acquainted with my plans--came galloping up and instantly surrounded the church. This done I put my head in at one of the windows, and gazing with a wrathful countenance--though I could scarce forbear laughing outright--on the astonished group within, I shouted aloud, 'He or she, who wishes to leave this place alive, must instantly take the oath of abjuration!' Had a bombshell fallen in the midst of the assembled company, scattering death and ruin around, they could not have looked more appalled than they did on hearing these awful words. To all their prayers and entreaties--and they were not a few--I vouchsafed but the same reply--free egress and pardon to all those to whom I administer the oath. This was accompanied by a loud flourish of trumpets which seemed to complete the general consternation. 'O, Sir Robert, hae ye nae conscience, man, that ye tak sic a pleasure in making folks' lives a burden to them?' whined out an old witch, raising her apron to the corner of one eye, and looking at me hard from the other; 'do let me out; I am an auld woman----' 'The greater reason for your being a sensible one,' I replied; but she continued as though she heard me not. 'I have a large family, some of whom are biding at hame; and it would be an unco-like thing for the likes o' me to have it to say on my return that I had been and taken a non-juring oath, or some ither thing equally wicked. What chance, think ye, wad there be o' my getting to heaven after doing the likes o' that?' 'There appears to be very little chance of your getting there at present,' I said in reply; 'for, if you are an attentive reader of your Bible, as I trust you are, you must have observed the strict injunction to honour the king. And I think you will allow there is not much consideration for the person of his most gracious Majesty in your composition, or you would not refuse to take the oath which would at once prove to my satisfaction that you are a true and loyal subject.' 'Ay, ay,' she rejoined, 'that may be all very true; but it is not an earthly monarch we are bound to obey, when our consciences testify against his proceedings; and you know brawly yoursel', that the king has slipped away sadly from the straight line it behoved him to keep till, if not for his own sake, at least for the sakes of these pious and now persecuted men wha wad fain hae regarded him in the light o' a parent. But, oh, he is, indeed, a sad example o'----' 'Enough, enough, my good woman!' I exclaimed in an angry tone, for I was waxing wroth at the pertinacity with which she eluded the subject of the oath; and pulling a pistol out of my pocket, I affected to be examining the priming as though to make ready to fire should she not yield obedience to my wishes. The sight of the ugly weapon was enough. With a loud exclamation betwixt a groan and a howl, the old beldame testified her willingness to do my bidding; adding, she hoped she might not be held accountable for that day's work, as it was only to prevent the crime of murder she had given in. A few of those present, seeing how greatly things were against them, imitated her good example; while others, again, possessing the stubborn old Covenanting spirit, repelled with scorn all offers of pardon purchased at such a price. However, they soon discovered that if they were obstinate so were we; and being, moreover, thoroughly wearied of their confinement, and alarmed at the prospect of a still longer imprisonment, they gradually gave in one by one, until the whole had consented to come to terms. After having duly administered the oath--which seemed indeed a terrible ordeal for the most of them--I wound up the affair by exclaiming, 'Now you are a fold full of clean beasts--you may go away home;' upon which the doors were thrown open, and amid loud shouts of derisive laughter, the crest-fallen Covenanters issued forth, looking and muttering unutterable things."

Here Sir Robert ended his narration, and the loud shouts of approving merriment with which the recital was received, testified how much the listeners relished hearing of any practical joke that had for its object any one of the party who had rendered themselves so obnoxious to the then existing Government.

"And did the varlets keep true to their oath?" inquired Lieutenant Livingstone, after he had in some measure recovered his wonted composure of countenance.

"I understood not, from some spies whom I had placed in and about Dairy," answered the Laird, "whereupon I immediately set out at the head of some chosen followers and traversed the whole extent of the parish. Having very good reasons to believe that my spies were correct in their information, I took the liberty of exacting some pretty considerable fines from the richer portion of the community, greatly to their astonishment and indignation, they having fancied themselves secure from all further molestation. No less a sum than seven hundred pounds was extorted by me from three persons who had been bewailing at a sad rate their defalcation in the church of Dairy; and, as you may fancy, their hearts were not lightened by the loss of so much money."

"By the bye, Laird, how did you get on with that beggarly fellow also residing in Galloway?" inquired Captain Dalziel, when Sir Robert had finished speaking. "You may remember the last time I saw you, you were on the point of starting off in pursuit of him. Did you manage to catch him, or is he still lurking in some secret place? if so, we shall ferret him out."

"There are no such proceedings necessary," replied Sir Robert with a grim smile; "we have had many a peck at him since that eventful day, the cowardly skulking fellow that he is. Why, we spent nearly a fortnight in search of him; but, my word! his goods and chattels paid toll for all the annoyance he gave us. I wish you could have seen his wife's face as we ripped up the mattresses, scattered the contents on the floor, and carried off the ticken, as well as every other thing capable of being transported; how she did wring her hands and tear her hair; yet for all we did and threatened to do, she would not betray her husband's lurking-place. Women are so obstinate in cases like these. However, while ransacking the house, we came upon a young damsel, whom we concluded to be the daughter of the person we were in quest of. To all my inquiries regarding her father, she turned a deaf ear, protesting she knew nought of his whereabouts. Determined to try another plan, I then inquired of her where she had spent the previous evening? Entirely thrown off her guard, and suspecting no evil, she answered, in the house of Mrs. ----, naming an elderly gentlewoman, whose name I have at this instant forgotten. Thither we instantly went, and were rewarded for our trouble by the discovery of two other rebels of whom we were also in search. Suspecting the other would not be far distant, we then galloped to the sea-shore and ransacked the caves amongst the rocks, in one of which we came upon our friend, and also another who had taken refuge with him. In accordance with my orders, all four were instantly conveyed to Bangor prison, where the proper authorities tendered to them the oath of abjuration, which was taken by one and refused by the others. Then a court of assize was held and indictments served on the remaining rebels, two of whom also gave in. On being informed that the fourth still held out, I went thither, determined to reduce him to reason. He remained steadfast to his purpose, declaring nothing should tempt him to swerve from his duty, upon hearing which I broke out into a fearful passion, and swore by the bones of my father that if he did not take the oath in the space of five minutes, he should be barking and flying on his way to another world. This produced the desired effect, and the fellow, who seemed most horribly afraid, at length succumbed. But I can tell you it was all they could do to get me to spare his life I was so indignant with the rascal."

Here Sir Robert paused and replenished his goblet.

"Is there any truth in the report that the Whigs are arming themselves in this part of the country?" inquired Captain Bruce of Sir Robert Grierson, who replied in the negative, adding that the sneaking poltroons had suffered too much at the Pentlands and Bothwell Bridge ever to attempt anything like a formal stand against the Government soldiers; besides the stringent measures he had thought proper to adopt in Dumfriesshire and Galloway would effectually prevent any of the opposite faction from attempting aught like retaliation in the neighbourhood. He then proceeded to give them a detailed account of the summary manner in which he had, that morning, dispatched old Elias Henderson--a proceeding on his part which met with unqualified approbation from the assembled revellers, who each in his turn related some memorable exploit in which they had in a special manner signalised themselves by their unheard of atrocities.

"Ha! ha!" shouted Sir Robert Greirson, "what a fine set of fellows we are to be sure! come, let us drink each other's good health in a goblet of sparkling Burgundy. There's myself, whom the rascals have nicknamed 'the bloody Lag.' There's you, my worthy friend on the right, who rejoice in the appellation of 'the fiery Dalziel;' and Bruce, who is termed 'the ungodly;' and you, Livingstone, 'the wicked lieutenant.' And pray, what are you styled?" he added, turning towards Cornet Douglas, who replied with a frightful grimace, "the black cornet," an answer which convulsed the hearers with laughter, as the young man in question rejoiced in an unwonted sallowness of complexion.

"I wonder, Sir Robert," observed Captain Dalziel, after they had duly honoured the proposed pledge, "that you do not feel apprehensive of these exasperated men attacking you some night in this old castle. It strikes me that you are rather incautious in thus making enemies so near your own threshold. This is a wild, solitary place; and were these wandering, psalm-singing fellows to unite together, they might work serious damage ere you could possibly have time to aprize your nearest friends. I am not joking, I assure you," pursued Captain Dalziel; "the idea just came into my head this evening while riding through the glen; more particularly, as I observed some rather grim-looking rascals hovering near the bye-roads. I paused for a moment in order to observe their motions more closely; but guessing my evident intentions, they addressed a few words to each other, and then sauntered carelessly away across the heath.

"What! attack Lag Tower!" cried Sir Robert, with a loud burst of incredulous laughter. "I only wish the knaves would try it. But, no; they are too well aware of what the consequences would be to brave the lion in his den. But should they come, they will find a cold, if not a warm reception; for, in the twinkling of an eye, I can, by means only known to myself, surround the castle with a lake which it would rather puzzle these canting Whigs to get across. Ha! ha! there is nothing I should like better than to see a whole troop of them immersed in such a slough of despond. What say you, Livingstone? would you not think it a transporting sight to see our most worthy friends--all clad in hodden-grey and Kilmarnock bonnets--floundering in the water like so many porpoises, while you stood on the castle-wall with your musket, in readiness to pop them off one by one as they showed their heads above water? On my life, Dalziel, I would willingly lose the best suit of armour in my possession should----"

At this instant, while loud shouts of laughter resounded through the hall, the door was flung open to its widest extent, and John Kirsop, his face haggard with emotion, staggered into the room.

"How now, sirrah!" exclaimed Sir Robert Grierson indignantly; "how darest thou enter our presence after this fashion?"

"Pardon, pardon! Sir Robert," broke in John Kirsop, his voice trembling through apprehension; "but this is no time for ceremony."

"What meanest thou, knave?"

"The rascally Whigs have flown to arms, and even now are but a few paces distant, threatening all manner of vengeance against you and yours. Their present plan, so far as I could learn, is to destroy the castle by fire. This they propose doing this very night."

"Ha!" cried Sir Robert, starting to his feet, an example that was speedily followed by the others; "have the traitors presumed thus far? Saw ye aught of these bold conspirators?" he continued; "how many may they number? Speak out, knave, and let us lose no time in dallying; even now the villains may have commenced their operations. Livingstone, do you run to the loop-hole facing the north, and keep a look out from that quarter; and you, Douglas, hasten to the one on the right hand as you ascend the stair, where you may be able to perceive what is going on; and now, Kirsop, proceed with your narration, and that as briefly us possible."

Thus admonished, Kirsop related all that had befallen him since leaving Drumlanrig. When he came to mention his interview with Walter Henderson, Sir Robert smiled grimly, and nodded his head towards Captain Dalziel, as though he recognised the truth of his warning.

At the conclusion of the story, Sir Robert exclaimed, while filling a goblet with wine, which he handed to the exhausted soldier, "Thou art an honest fellow, Kirsop, and shalt not lose thy reward when once we get this troublesome affair arranged to our satisfaction."

Scarcely had Sir Robert Grierson finished speaking, when Lieutenant Livingstone rushed into the hall, exclaiming in a hurried whisper, "They are here! they are here! even now I perceived them stealing round the corner."

"How many may there be?" demanded Sir Robert.

"A dozen or more, I should fancy," was the reply.

"A dozen!" cried Sir Robert, with a scornful laugh, "why, from the way that fellow Kirsop spoke, one would have imagined that a hundred men at least were at the gates."

"I but told the truth," said Kirsop doggedly; "they numbered a few when they started, but they spoke of reinforcements; and that old Whig, Walter Henderson, declared the whole country-side were in arms in defence of their liberties, so----"

"Enough, enough!" exclaimed Sir Robert impatiently, "and now, my friends, let us hasten to crush these rebels. A dozen men! Why, we ourselves would be sufficient to cope with thrice that number."

"What mean you to do, Sir Robert?" inquired Captain Dalziel.

"Mean to do!" re-echoed the fiery Laird. "Why, roast the knaves alive, to be sure! ay, every mother's son of them."

"Will you open the flood-gates on this occasion?" said Lieutenant Livingstone, laughing as he spoke.

"No, no," was the stern reply; "that were too speedy a death for these undisciplined rascals; a more lingering doom awaits them. Lag Hill shall witness their last agonies." So saying, Sir Robert Grierson strode across the hall, and detaching a sword from a pin on which it hung, fastened it to his belt. While thus engaged, Cornet Douglas entered, and, in addition to Lieutenant Livingstone's information, told Sir Robert that the assailants were even then engaged in piling up huge logs of wood, obtained from the supply set apart for the use of the castle against the outer walls.

"Then no farther time must be lost," broke in Sir Robert. "Do you, Livingstone, Bruce, and Douglas station yourselves at the three windows overlooking the scene of action; and the instant the rascals attempt to set fire to the wood, send a volley amongst them, whilst we steal round by the side postern and attack them on the rear. I think that will settle the business," said Sir Robert with a laugh, as he cautiously descended the stair, closely followed by his companions. In the meantime, as notified by Cornet Douglas, Walter Henderson and his party were proceeding noiselessly and rapidly with their operations, and already a considerable portion of their labour had been accomplished. The increasing darkness of the night favoured their project, the moon, which in the former part of the evening shone with a brilliancy that in some measure threatened to frustrate their schemes, having veiled her brightness behind huge masses of leaden-coloured clouds which slowly drifted along the sky. It formed a strange and striking picture this old castle of Lag, rising, as it did, amid a wide extent of flat, desolate moor-land which stretched away in the distance until relieved by a range of bare irregular looking hills bounding the prospect. So thought one of the party, William Hislop by name, as in common with his comrades, he proceeded leisurely to pile up around the castle walls huge blocks of wood destined, as he imagined, to level it with the ground. In conjunction with this thought, he remarked to one of his companions that it was a lonesome-looking place, and that for his part he did not quite like the task they were engaged in, adding, by way of consolation, "if that old vulture, Lag, gets us atween his claws, it's little flesh we'll hae on our backs when aince we get out o' them."

"Why, then, did you join us if such were your feelings?" said the person addressed. "I am sure had Walter Henderson known you had no love for the undertaking, he would not have pressed you to come hither."

"It's not that I think we are doing anything wrong in burning doon the castle--no, no; the bloody persecutor, as he is, weel deserves it at our hands, and I felt rale brave and anxious about the doing o' the same, when Walter Henderson brought it hame to our souls in the manner he did; but somehow or another the case looks different now, and it's such an eerie-looking bit to be meddling wi' at this time o' night, that----"

"Hear till that, man!" suddenly exclaimed his by no means comfortable companion in a low tone of voice.

"Hear till what?" cried William Hislop, now fairly started out of all composure by this sudden exclamation. "Tush, man," he said after a moment's pause, "it's only an owlet screaming; do you no' see it up by yonder?" and they both stood still a while to observe the bird which wheeled in rapid circles around the castle, screaming and flapping its wings as though to apprise the inmates of the terrible danger that menaced them.

"Do you think that can be ain of Lag's familiar spirits?" he continued, addressing his companion; "for ye ken it is reported through the country that he keeps a wheen evil spirits to tell him all that he wants to know."

"That I canna' pretend to say," answered his comrade, whose eyes still followed the excited bird; "but it seems in a terrible state o' flutter: what can it mean by going on at that gait?"

"Did you see that strange light dancing along the moor as we came across the road?" inquired William Hislop, who was evidently a firm believer in ought that savoured of the supernatural.

"Yes I did," was the reply.

"And what do you think it was?"

"A will-o'-the-wisp, to be sure!"

"Aweel, may be!" was the doubting reply; "truly may I say that never yet has that same twinkling light cam' across my path, but something most terrible has happened to me afterwards!"

"Silence!" cried Walter Henderson in a low stern voice. At this instant a cock, which had taken up its quarters for the night on a neighbouring tree, apparently cheated into the belief from the unusual stir that prevailed around its generally peaceful domicil, that morning had already dawned, gave forth its usual challenge to the sun; a proceeding which so thoroughly alarmed William Hislop, that he exclaimed aloud, regardless of time and place, "Gude save us a'! The cock to be crowing at this time o' night; it's easy seen what 'ill be the end o' this fine work!"

"Have you a mind to ruin yourself and us, that you thus indulge in such untimely remarks?" whispered Walter Henderson, and he grasped William Hislop tightly by the arm as he spoke. "The greatest caution is necessary," he continued, "lest we be discovered and our plans thereby frustrated. Now cease your apologies and attend to me. The wood is all ready; and it but remains for us to apply the light, and our labour will be accomplished. I will advance first, and do you follow; here are the necessary materials;" so saying, he placed a piece of flint and tinder in the trembling hands of William Hislop, who rather unwillingly proceeded to fulfil the duty imposed upon him. But scarcely had the match been ignited, when, according to the commands of Sir Robert Grierson, a volley of musketry was discharged from the windows overhead, which stretched several of the assailants upon the ground. On hearing this dreadful sound, the forerunner of yet more terrifying alarms, the lighted match fell from William Hislop's Land, and giving utterance to a loud exclamation of horror, he fell forward, as though he had been shot, on the pile of wood before him.

"Betrayed! betrayed!" shouted Walter Henderson, drawing his sword as bespoke; "fly, my friends, fly, while there is yet time!"

In obedience to his commands, the panic-stricken men rushed to the outer gate; but scarcely had the foremost reached it, when a firm grasp was laid on his collar, and he found himself a prisoner. The others were captured in a similar manner; the darkness of the night preventing their being able to distinguish friends from foes. The terrible voice of Sir Robert Grierson was then heard, ordering lights to be brought that the faces of the prisoners might be discernible. Eager to do his bidding, several of his retainers rushed to the banqueting hall, and snatching the pine-torches from off the walls, brought them to Sir Robert, who, seizing the one borne by John Kirsop, waved it aloft in the air over the heads of the terrified prisoners, as they stood motionless in the hands of their captors awaiting the doom they feared to be inevitable. By the ruddy glow of the lights, Sir Robert at once distinguished the venerable form of Walter Henderson. "Ha, thou hoary-headed traitor!" he exclaimed in a furious tone; "and is this the way in which you seek to follow after _that_ which is good? Is it by deeds like these that you would fain hope to build up the walls of your crumbling kirk, and patch up anew your broken Covenant! Covenant forsooth! Who would seek to enter into terms with traitors such as you? Not I for one, and that you will learn right speedily; dearly shall all of you rue this night's work. And you thought to catch the lion asleep," he pursued in a mocking tone; "ha, ha! then you made a slight mistake, that is all; and were it not that business, which brooks no delay, requires my presence in another part of the country, to-morrow should witness your final agonies; but ere the sun has thrice completed its circuit of the heavens, shall you, and your partners in iniquity, cease to cumber the earth. Away with the villains," he cried, addressing his retainers, "throw them into the deepest and darkest dungeons beneath the castle, and there, amid the gloom that surrounds them, let them comfort themselves with the thoughts of a speedy doom awaiting them."

"Murderer of my brother!" shouted Walter Henderson, struggling to free himself; "this night's work is a fitting termination to a day so begun; but think not, though thy infernal arts have prevented the completion of our purpose, that thou wilt always escape. No; a terrible day of retribution awaits thee, and when it does arrive, thou wilt remember the innocent blood thou hast shed, and cease to hope. In what had my poor brother wronged thee that thou must basely deprive him of life? In what manner had he infringed the laws that his blood must pay the forfeit? Oh, Judas, that thou art!----"

"How darest thou speak to Sir Robert Grierson thus?" cried Lieutenant Livingstone, at the same time dealing him a buffet on the side of the head.

"Away with the old hypocrite!" thundered forth Sir Robert Grierson with an impatient wave of the hand; "convey him to his quarters, and feed him on coarse bread and water during the remainder of his sojourn on earth; it will, in some measure, cool the fever of his blood, and enable him to view things in a clearer light than he has hitherto done. Kirsop, to your watchful care I commit the prisoner."

"Kirsop!" exclaimed Walter Henderson in a tone of dismay, "ha, that explains it all! Fool, fool that I was to trust him for one moment out of my sight!"

"Don't blame yourself, old fellow," said the soldier with a grin, "because fortune has given the scales a turn in our favour; but rather rejoice in the thoughts that you will leave the world with your conscience freed from the heavy crime which would otherwise have rendered it top-heavy, and prevented your getting out of purgatory quite so soon as you would have wished, had I not escaped from the hands of the person to whose care you commended me."

This last stroke of bad fortune quite overcame Walter Henderson, and muttering "God's will be done!" he suffered his captor to lead him away, to the loathsome dungeon appointed for his reception.

The remains of the unfortunate Covenanters who had perished at the outset of the affair had long been removed from the court yard, and Sir Robert Grierson and his friends were again seated at the festive board, carousing and blaspheming according to their wont; still William Hislop had not yet mustered up courage sufficient to emerge from his hiding-place. It was, to say the least of it, rather a hard bed he had chosen on which to repose his wearied limbs, still, as he himself expressed it, anything was preferable to lying dead on the courtyard or sickening in a dungeon; and it would be the height of ingratitude for him to complain who had, without doubt, fared the best of the party. True he was still, in some measure, within the "Laird's grasp;" yet as he listened to the wild bursts of revelry which ever and anon fell upon his ear, he felt assured that soon the whole party would be laid prostrate beneath the table, and then he might venture forth in safety. An hour or two, which seemed to William Hislop, in his anxious state of mind, like so many ages, passed away without producing the desired change in the banqueting hall; on the contrary, mirth seemed on the increase; and William Hislop, from his hiding-place, could distinctly hear Sir Robert Grierson, whose voice he had reason to remember, deliver a song, which, judging from the uproarious shouts of laughter that followed each verse, seemed of an unusually joyous character.

"The auld vagabond that he is!" muttered the incensed listener, "to be going on in that daft manner just after he has doomed a wheen fellow-creatures to death; it really astonishes me that the walls o' the castle dinna' come doon about his ears and finish him in the midst o' his evil on-goings. Truly the Lord is merciful! Nae wonder cauld water takes to the boil whenever he puts his foot in't! I am sure I wad gin he cam near me, the nasty fellow that he is. My very blood rins cauld till hear him going on at that gait; it's like naething human. Gude sake! how I pity these poor fellows at this moment in the power o' sic a character; indeed, I may just as well pity myself when I'm at it, for I'm no that far out o' the wood that I can afford to waste time in talking to mysel' like some auld spaewife--the more especially when I may be able to do something a hantle better, than a wheen useless words, for my comrades in captivity." So saying, William Hislop thrust aside a huge block of wood which somewhat obstructed his exit, and prepared to issue forth. Scarcely had he ventured a few steps across the courtyard, when, with a loud scream, the owl darted forth from its hiding-place amongst the ivy, and again commenced wheeling in rapid circles around the castle; but this time in such close proximity as almost to strike him with its wings. Horrified beyond measure at the sight of this unexpected apparition, and fully persuaded of its being nothing else than an emissary of Satan's, William Hislop crept back to his retreat amongst the wood, where he lay for several minutes, gazing with distended eyes on the ill-omened bird as it pursued its wayward flight.

"I am a gone man!" he muttered; "a gone man! that owl will be the death o' me! It has discovered I am here, and the next thing will be the Laird coming his ain sell to pull me out o' my hiding-place. Whist ye there wi' your crying! I am sure ye might be contented wi' the lot that has fallen to your share and let me alane. O sirs me! had I but foreseen the tae half o' the misfortunes that were to befall us this dreadful night, I wad hae been sitting by my mother's hearthstane, supping my porritch wi' a thankfu' heart, instead o' lying here, expecting every moment to be my last."

While William Hislop was thus indulging in soliloquy, one of the windows of the banqueting hall was thrown open, and a voice exclaimed, evidently in reply to a question from within, "Morning breaks, and ere another hour has passed, we must be in our saddles;" then the casement was closed, and once more the festivity was resumed.

"Now, William Hislop, now or never!" With these words, addressed to himself, the impatient Covenanter again ventured forth from the place of his concealment. This time the owl kindly forebore screaming; but stationed itself on the branch of a tree overhanging the courtyard, from which elevation it gazed on the intruder with eyes that seemed to emit sparks of fire, as though questioning his right to depart. Creeping cautiously along, under shadow of the wall, William Hislop managed to gain, unobserved, that portion of it which admitted of an easy descent on the other side. This position attained, his courage in some measure revived, and pausing a moment to shake his hand at the owl before taking his final leap, he muttered between his teeth, "There now, ye may gang and tell your hopeful master, from me, that maybe there 'ill be mair company assembled on Lag Hill, on the morning o' the execution, than he wots o'," and with these mysterious words, accompanied by another gesture of defiance, William Hislop darted from off the wall, and rapidly disappeared amidst the gloom of the early morning.

About two miles to the south of the village of Dunscore, in a little valley, sheltered by mountains from every blast that swept over the neighbouring heath, stood the form belonging to the deceased Elias Henderson. The house pertaining to the farm partook of the usual appearance of farm-houses in Scotland, at the period of which we write, and was scrupulously clean and attractive in its exterior; while the well-stocked yard and barns bespoke the thrifty farmer. Indeed, few persons following this precarious occupation could boast of greater success than had fallen to the lot of Elias Henderson.

It was the evening of the second day from that on which our story opens, and the deep air of silence that reigned in and around the farm-house of Westercleugh, told in language more expressive than the most eloquent words, that death had laid its ice-cold hand on one of the inmates. In the kitchen, close to the window, is seated an aged woman, the mother of the deceased; her hands are crossed on her breast, and her eyes remain immovably fixed on the open pages of the Bible lying on her knee. In appearance she is calm and resigned, for more than three-score years and ten have passed over her head, and old age has somewhat chilled the current of human affection, yet she mourns her sad bereavement; and while lamenting that death should have taken him who was in the prime of manhood and spared the aged, she turns to the Word of God for consolation in her affliction. In another corner of the apartment is seated, or rather reclining, for her head is thrown over the back of her chair, the bereaved wife, in an utter abandonment of grief. Her children stand grouped around her; the elder ones sharing their mother's sorrow; while the youngest, an infant of not more than two years old, sits smiling and crowing in its little chair. Silence is everywhere maintained; and the servants belonging to the farm tread with the utmost caution as they go in and out in the execution of their accustomed duties, so truly do they sympathise with their mistress in the loss of her husband, and no less deep and sincere is their grief for the loss of a kind and indulgent master. The rays of the setting sun streamed through the casement, lighting up the venerable features of the matron, as though to comfort her, in midst of her grief, with the blissful promise of a future state, where those for ever separated in this world should be re-united in the bonds of love. After gazing for a moment on the brilliant messenger, she arose from her seat, and putting aside her Bible, crossed over to where Mrs. Henderson lay absorbed in grief, and placing her hand on her shoulder, said in a sad, yet firm voice--"Marion, grieve no more for him who has now gone from amongst us! Rouse yourself from that state of useless sorrow; it is the living who require our sympathy and care--the dead need it not. No amount of weeping ran ever restore those who have once crossed the river of death. But, oh! bethink you, Marion, of the happiness, we may humbly venture to hope, our beloved one is now enjoying in the presence of his Maker, for he was a sincere Christian, and strove to do ins duty manfully. Think not," she continued, "because my poor old eyes refuse to weep, that I lightly esteem the irreparable loss I have sustained. During the long period of years it has pleased the Lord that I should sojourn in this vale of tears, I have seen the young whom I loved and the aged fall around me like the leaves of autumn. And what, think you, has strengthened me in all my affliction? Nothing but the hope of a cloudless hereafter. Think on that, Marion. Think on the promises of the Gospel, and endeavour, while on earth, so to do your duty to yourself and your children, that no link may be awanting in the chain, which will, I trust, unite us all in the regions above." At the mention of her children, Mrs. Henderson started up from her recumbent posture, and throwing her arms around their necks, clasped them to her bosom, weeping passionately, and exclaiming the while, "Oh my poor fatherless children!" In the midst of this ungovernable burst of sorrow, the latch of the outer door was gently lifted, and a slow and cautious footstep was heard advancing along the passage leading to the kitchen. On her turning round, old Mrs. Henderson was surprised, and in some degree terrified, to perceive it was the wife of her son Walter who at that moment entered.

"What has happened, Sarah? in the name of heaven, speak!" she cried, observing the look of hopeless misery with which her daughter-in-law advanced towards her.

"Walter! Walter! have ye seen nought of my Walter?" exclaimed the fainting woman as she sank upon the nearest chair. "He left me on the morning of his brother's death, and has never returned. Yesterday," she continued in a choking voice, "my son set off in search of him, and he, too, has failed to come back. Oh, what shall I do if they also have fallen into the hands of that wicked Lag!"

This sad intelligence struck the hearers dumb, and they remained motionless, gazing on one another with eyes that revealed the horror their tongues refused to express. At length, with a noble effort, the sorrowing mistress of Eastercleugh roused herself from her hitherto inactive grief, and strove, by every means in her power, to alleviate the uncontrollable distress of her sister-in-law, who having recently arisen from a sick bed, was thoroughly exhausted by the fatigue and anxiety she had undergone.

"And have you heard nothing concerning your husband since his departure from home?" inquired old Mrs. Henderson, who stood with her arm supporting the aching head of her daughter-in-law.