"If I lose my life this day, Susan," he said, quietly, "promise me you will rear the bairns in the true religion, and teach them to love and reverence the Church of Scotland and the faith of their forefathers."
Mistress Gray had no opportunity to reply, for at that moment the door was rudely thrown open, and Turner, with a corporal and sergeant, strode into the room.
"Andrew Gray of Hartrigge?" he said, briefly and imperiously.
"I am Andrew Gray," answered Hartrigge, with corresponding brevity.
"A vile Whig and a bigoted Presbyterian, a rebel against the king, and a harbourer of field preachers and like vermin," continued Turner, in his coarse fashion. "I have just come from Rowallan, but the puling womenfolk there have lost their tongues, and could tell us nothing of those we seek. In the king's name, Andrew Gray, I command you to instantly tell me where your canting old father, and your brother, the minister of Broomhill, are to be found. Remember you stand at peril of your life."
Andrew Gray folded his arms across his chest, and looked his questioner in the face with undaunted eye.
"Very well do I know that I stand at peril of my life," he made answer, calmly. "But I can tell you nothing of those you seek."
"You will not, you mean," cried Turner, passionately. "By heavens, the name of Gray seems inseparable from dogged obstinacy, as well as from rebellion and treason. If I tie up your eyes and point a pistol at your mouth it may refresh your memory."
Hartrigge spoke never a word; his wife sank weeping helplessly into a chair, while the children, all but Gavin, who had left the room, crouched beside her in terror.
"Woman, bid your husband obey orders, unless you want me to leave him to you to bury!" said Turner. "I have already wasted too much precious time among your kind."