Towards midnight, one evening early in January, a slight snow being on the ground, and the roads rendered easy footing by a touch of frost, Mistress Gray of Hartrigge, accompanied by Jane, set out to carry provisions to the fugitives. Since her son's death, Susan Gray's feelings concerning the Covenanters and their persecutions had undergone a change. In times gone she had not been a very zealous Churchwoman, and had often remonstrated with her husband concerning what she considered his bigoted and unwise zeal; but now her hatred against the oppressors equalled, if not excelled, that of Andrew. Yet his was the outcome of true religious zeal, while hers was the result of outraged human feelings. And I fear that very many of those who followed the fortunes of the Covenanters were actuated by like feelings with Mistress Gray.
No thought of fear troubled these two women as they traversed their lonely way through the wilds to the Witches' Cleugh. They spoke but little as they went, for the time had now come when talking over troubles only made them seem worse to bear. They found it better to shut them up in their own hearts, and make no moan to the world. The bright light of the moon made the surrounding landscape indescribably beautiful, yet what eye had these two for what in happier times would have afforded them pleasure and delight? To them the beauty of Nature was obscured by the pall of bitter personal sorrow. When they reached the cleugh, Jane Gray put a whistle to her mouth and blew the signal, which those in hiding had learned to know and welcome. Andrew Gray hastened through the thicket to guide them up to the cave; and Jane walked on a little in front, guessing that her brother would have many things to say to his wife, whom he had not seen for some weeks. When they together entered the cavern, which was dimly lighted, quiet but expressive greetings passed between them, but somewhat to Jane's surprise and alarm, her father did not offer to rise and speak to them. She advanced to the side of the low bed, and holding the flickering light above it, saw such a deep and significant change in the dear features, that she could not repress a cry of anguish.
"My father seems very ill. How long has he been thus?" she exclaimed, turning to her brothers. The tones of her familiar and much-loved voice seemed to awaken the old man to struggling consciousness, for he presently stirred, and opened his eyes.
"Is that my daughter's voice?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes, father, I am here," answered Jane, and dropping on her knees, she took the wasted hands in her firm gentle clasp. "Tell me, do you feel much distressed? Do you suffer much pain?"
"Not much pain, only great uneasiness and oppression, my daughter," he answered. "If it be the precursor of my summons home, how gladly do I bear it all, if only my Lord sees fit to call me speedily from these troubles, which I fear I bear with but a poor measure of cheerfulness and patience. But being old and stricken in years, I have not the same endurance with these young men, your brethren."
Jane Gray's eyes filled with bitter tears, and for a space sobs prevented her from speaking. Susan Gray now moved over to the bed, and after looking steadfastly at the old man's face for a brief space, she said decidedly, "Grandfather is very ill. What say you to having him moved to a comfortable bed at Hartrigge?"
For a moment they looked somewhat surprised at her proposal, which involved considerable risk, but she hastened to reassure them.
"The dragoons have grown weary of searching through Hartrigge, and, indeed, I hear, that having become convinced that you are not in the district, they are about to shift their quarters. So I think we needna' fear for them. You could carry him home this very nicht between you, and be back safe in hiding afore the first peep o' day."
"God bless you for your suggestion, Susan," said Jane Gray, gratefully. "It is kind of you to risk your own safety, and that of your bairns and house, for our sakes."