"No, David, David," interrupted the mother, rousing herself from her silent grief, "we have given enough; no other child of mine shall venture in the war. John! John! John! my dear boy, my brave son! How good and kind he was to us all! And how glad he was to get home to see us; and how much we made of him!"
"Silence, wife," said David Ramsay, "this is no time to hold back from our duty. Andrew, listen to me: remember your brother has met his death fighting against these monsters, who hate the very earth that nurses liberty. You are young, boy, but you can handle a musket; we will not forget your brother's death."
"Nor the burning of a good house over your head, and a full barn, father; nor the frights they have given my poor mother."
"Nor the thousands of brave men," added the father, "who have poured out their blood to give us a land and laws of our own. My boy, we will remember these, for vengeance."
"Not for vengeance," said Allen Musgrove, "for justice, David. Your enemy should be remembered only to prevent him from doing mischief. The Lord will give him sword and buckler, spear and shield, who stands up for the true cause: and when it pleases Him to require the sacrifice of life from the faithful servant who fights the battle, he grants patience and courage to meet the trial. Your son was not the man, David, to turn his face away from the work that was before him; may God receive him and comfort his distressed family! He was an honest and brave son, David Ramsay."
"A braver soldier never buckled on broadsword, Allen Musgrove," replied the father. "Yes, I looked for this; ever since my dwelling was levelled to the ground by these firebrands, I looked for it. John's passion was up then, and I knew the thoughts that ran through his mind. Ever since that day his feelings have been most bitter; and he has flung himself amongst the Tories, making as little account of them as the mower when he puts his scythe into the grass of the meadows."
"God forgive him, David!" said Musgrove, "and strengthen you and the boy's good mother in this sharp hour of trial. They who draw the sword in passion may stand in fear of the judgment of the sword: it is a fearful thing for sinful man to shed blood for any end but that of lawful war, and at the bidding of his country. God alone is the avenger."
Mary had again raised herself from the bed, and at this moment gave vent to her feelings in a loud and bitter lamentation "John Ramsay is dead, is dead!" she exclaimed. "I cannot believe it. He that was so true and so warm-hearted, and that everybody loved! They could not kill him! Oh, I begged him to keep his foot from danger, and he promised me, for my sake, to be careful. I loved him, father; I never told you so much before, but I am not ashamed to tell it now before everybody; I loved him better than all the world. And we had promised each other. It is so hard to lose them that we love!" she continued, sobbing violently. "He was so brave and so good, and he was so handsome, Mrs. Ramsay, and so dutiful to you and his father, coming home to see you whenever the war would let him. And he walked, and rode, and ran, and fought for his friends, and them that he cared for. He was so thoughtful for your comfort too," she added, as she threw herself on her knees and rested her head in the lap of the mother, and there paused through a long interval, during which nothing was heard but her own moans mingled with the sighs of the party, "we were to be married after this war was at an end, and thought we should live so happily: but they have murdered him! Oh they have murdered him," and with her hair thrown in disorder over her face, she again gave vent to a flood of tears.
"Mary, daughter! Shame on you, girl!" said her father. "Do you forget, in the hour of your affliction, that you have a friend who is able to comfort? There is one who can heal up your sorrows and speak peace to your troubled spirit, if you be not too proud to ask it. I have taught you, daughter, in all time of tribulation to look to Him for patience and for strength to bear adversity. Why do you neglect this refuge now?"
"Our Father," said the maiden, fervently clasping her hands and lifting up her eyes, now dim with weeping, as she appealed to God in prayer, "who art in heaven—teach us all to say thy will be done. Take—take—my dear John—Oh my heart will burst and I shall die!" she uttered, almost overwhelmed with her emotions, as she again buried her face in Mistress Ramsay's lap—"I cannot speak!"