Part 18

"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.

"Nothing," was the weeping reply; "but yesterday morning strange reports reached us concerning some desperate encounter that had taken place between the Laird and some of our party. This alarmed me dreadfully, and my son, seeing the sad state to which I was reduced by anxiety regarding the prolonged absence of Walter, went off at an early hour with the intention of seeking him. Up to the time at which I left home he had not returned, and too anxious to remain longer without news of some kind, I instantly resolved, spite of the distance, and my own weakness, to come hither, hoping he might be with you, or that you would be able to give me some information respecting him."

"Now may God, in his infinite mercy, grant that this new and exceeding bitter trial be averted from us," piously exclaimed the venerable matron, throwing her arms around the necks of her weeping daughters; "but let us not murmur, my children, should it be otherwise decreed by Him whose goodness and loving-kindness are beyond all praise. Our heart's dearest treasures are but lent us for a season--soon, soon must they be restored; then let us, recognising the unspeakable love which prompts the removal of our choicest blessings that our thoughts may be weaned from earth to heaven, exclaim with the bereaved King of Israel, 'The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord!'"

Scarcely had old Mrs. Henderson finished her pious exhortation, ere the door again opened--but this time it was a man's eager footstep which paced the passage, and the voice of Walter Henderson's son that saluted their ears. He entered; his countenance looked worn and haggard, and he tossed back his dishevelled hair from his forehead with an air of despondency that escaped not the eyes of the watchful mother.

"My son! my son!" she exclaimed, throwing herself on his neck; "what of your father? speak, I can bear it all; only speak, my son!"

"You here, mother!" he gasped forth, and his voice died away in a broken murmur.

"Oh, my Walter! I see it all; thou art dead! I, too, am a widow!"

"No, mother, no! he is not yet dead, and while there is life there is hope--comfort yourself, my mother!"

"Where is he, that we may try and save him?" demanded his grandmother.

The young man shook his head as he answered, "He lies in a dungeon beneath Lag Castle, and to-morrow's sunrise sees him suffer on Lag Hill!"

"To-morrow!" screamed forth the distracted wife, and fell prostrate on the floor.

"He shall not die; oh, mother, speak to me!" cried her almost distracted son; and raising her tenderly in his arms, he gazed in her face with a look of unspeakable anguish, fearful lest she too might be snatched from him. Then seeing her recover a little, he continued pouring in words of consolation into her ears, such as were dictated by love and hope.

"Oh! can ye do nought to save him?" cried his aged grandmother, "I fear me her life will go, should he suffer death. Poor thing; oh my helpless children, you have indeed suffered much! God in his mercy succour you, for I fear man can do but little."

"Mother, he shall not die! God will never permit such an atrocious deed to sully the face of his beautiful earth," cried John Henderson, his eyes beaming with renewed hope; "so do not despair--all will yet be well. Yesterday," he continued hurriedly, "I fell in with William Hislop wending his way towards our house. On seeing me he expressed his satisfaction at the meeting, and informed me that my father was a prisoner in Lag Castle. It appeared, from his statement, that, driven to the verge of madness by my uncle's death, my father had determined upon burning the castle to the ground. This he proceeded to do in company with some friends; but information of their coming was conveyed to the Laird by a soldier who had been taken prisoner by my father, and managed to escape, so that he entrapped them all, with the exception of William Hislop, who fortunately succeeded in secreting himself among some wood, from which retreat he overheard the bloody Lag declare his intention of murdering them to-morrow. The hour sun-rise; the place Lag Hill. We are determined, if possible, to prevent this dastardly deed. Even now William Hislop is scouring the country in search of aid, and I have managed to secure some bold youths who are only too willing to assist in so good a cause. Being in this neighbourhood, I came to acquaint you with my purpose, hoping that my dear mother would hear nothing of it until all had been decided; but 'tis better thus, the sight of her pale suffering face has nerved me anew for the combat." So saying, he embraced her tenderly, and again exclaiming "Mother, he shall not die!" rushed forth from the dwelling.

The fatal morning at length arrived; and scarcely had the appearance of a few streaks of red in the east betrayed the early dawn, ere Sir Robert Grierson and his companions were pursuing their way, on horseback, towards Lag Hill, whither the prisoners had already gone. Owing to the unavoidable absence of Captain Bruce, with a considerable portion of the Laird's followers, the guard in charge of the Covenanters was composed of but few men; yet, trusting in the terror of his name, and the secrecy with which the whole affair had been conducted throughout, Sir Robert was not apprehensive of any attempt at rescue being made. On gaining the summit of the hill where stood the prisoners, Sir Robert Grierson, placing his hand on a barrel all stuck round with sharp-pointed weapons, demanded of Walter Henderson how he relished the thoughts of quitting the world in so terrible a manner; adding, with a hoarse laugh in which his companions joined, "that it would enable him to judge whether the Word was indeed sharper than any two-edged sword!"

"Sir Robert Grierson," replied Walter Henderson mildly, "jest not thus with one about to bid farewell to this world, and who would fain compose his mind that he might be able to reflect on the joys pertaining to a better. But before suffering death," he continued, "I would wish to obtain your forgiveness for the sinful attempt I made to destroy your castle. In the darkness and solitude of my dungeon I had time to reflect on the crime I had been guilty of, in taking vengeance into my hand instead of leaving it to Him who hath said, 'Vengeance is mine; I will repay!' but you had foully slain my brother, and I was mad. At the best we are but poor erring mortals; for a time Satan got possession of my heart, and I thirsted for revenge. I am now about to pay the penalty of my presumptuous sin--would God it were alone!--and I would fain leave the world at peace with you and all men."

"Bravo, old hodden-grey!" cried Sir Robert with a loud laugh of derision. "Thou hast mistaken thy vocation; the pulpit were a fitting place for thee, and had I but known of thy talents in this line, I should have had one erected for thee that thou mightest have held forth in a style becoming thy merits."

Walter Henderson turned from the speaker with a look of mingled contempt and pity, and gazing on his companions with the deepest sorrow expressed on his countenance, seemed as if about to address them, when Captain Dalziel interposed, exclaiming in a stern voice, "Now cease your canting nonsense; we want none of your conventicle phrases!"

"No, no," said Sir Robert Grierson; "pray let him go on; I never was at a field-preaching, and should like to hear how they conduct matters there; besides, there is plenty of time, and the rascals will have leisure to examine our playthings. So now, old Round-bonnet, proceed--we are all attention!"

"My friends," said Walter Henderson, heedless alike of their remarks and the jeers that accompanied them, "we have been brought here to suffer death, and I trust we shall meet it with the calm serenity of men who are travellers towards a better country. Of the cruelty of him who hath decreed that we should perish by such unheard-of tortures I shall say nought, lest, by dwelling on the subject, I should forget my recently-acquired spirit of Christian forgiveness, and heap such curses on his head as might endanger my own salvation. Let us not, then, dwell on the sufferings we must experience ere we can win repose in death, but rather let us rejoice that we are thus called upon to suffer, and in the glorious prospect that lies before us of our being accepted in the sight of God." ("Prophesy, prophesy, old fellow!" shouted Cornet Douglas.) "Oh, my friends," pursued the aged Covenanter, his face flushed with enthusiasm, "even now, as I stand at the gates of death, the thin veil which separates the future from us is torn from my sight, and I behold a scene which gladdens my old eyes." ("Out with it, out with it, hurrah!" cried the Laird and his party, amid shouts of laughter.) "I see," he continued, "a prosperous and happy country smiling around me, the inhabitants of which live in peace one with another, and the hand of the persecutor is no longer lifted to smite. The village bell sounds sweetly on the Sabbath morn, and the faithful preacher of the Word of God, no longer fearing to teach his little flock in the sight of all men, instructs his hearers in the simple doctrines of their beloved faith; while aged matrons, as together they cross the peaceful churchyard, pause for a moment, ere entering the house of God, to gaze on the simple stone which marks the Covenanted grave. My brethren, we shall not be forgotten. In the bosoms of our countrymen, we shall live for ever. Till remotest ages, shall our wrongs and our sufferings form a soul-stirring theme; and the aged parent, as with kindling eyes he rehearses in the ears of his children the tales that have descended to him of our untiring zeal in the cause of the Covenant, shall point to the rusted sword hanging sheathed on the wall, and bless God that his forefathers were amongst the number of those who fought and bled in defence of the rights and privileges of the Church of Scotland."

"Thine hour has come!" said Sir Robert Grierson, making a signal for him to prepare for death.

The sun had now arisen, and its bright rays tinted with a roseate hue the summit of the mighty Criffel, and lit up the wild and desolate hill on which the bloody deed was about to be enacted. At the sight of the brilliant luminary, which never more should rise for him, Walter Henderson seemed for an instant overcome, but it was only for an instant, and soon he regained his wonted composure.

"Now, we shall soon see how the old rascal will face death," cried Sir Robert, in a tone of fiendish delight; "here, bring hither the barrel, and see that all the weapons are properly arranged so that he shall lose nothing of his punishment. That's it; in with him, and whenever I fire off this pistol send him head-long down the hill!"