Partly from habit, and partly to break the stillness, I spread the board for the evening meal. No one tasted food but wee Jamie.
When all had been done that could be done, we sat down, sad and silent, in the family room. David McDougal and his wife remained with us. Then, as we never finished the day without prayer, my mother took the dear familiar Book and handed it to Alexander. He read the seventy-ninth Psalm. His voice quivered with emotion, and when he read the verse, "Let the sighing of the prisoner come before thee," his utterance was choked. Tears flowed for a while. I was glad he could shed them. Then by a great effort he continued:
"'According to the greatness of thy power preserve thou those that are appointed to die; and render unto our neighbors sevenfold into their bosoms their reproach, wherewith they have reproached thee, O Lord. So we thy people and sheep of thy pasture will give thee thanks for ever: we will show forth thy praise to all generations.'"
His prayer was a wail for the deliverance of the kirk and for him who was dearer to us than life.
We all wept, for we sadly missed the voice that had so long borne our petitions to the throne of heavenly grace.
At a late hour we retired to rest, if possible, after the excitements and calamities of the day. We had but laid ourselves down when mother was called to Mary's bedside. Then I remembered that when I pressed her to my heart as we parted for the night, and said, "God be with you and comfort you, my own dear sister," she replied, "He is with me, and I feel as if I should soon see him face to face." I looked at her; she was so pale, and looked so pure and heavenly, that I feared it might be even as she said. I gave her another kiss, and without trusting my voice to speak again I turned away. Now her manner, look, and words came back to me, filling me with dreadful apprehensions. Oh, the bitterness of that long night! It seemed as if it would never end. When it did end, the morning found Alexander Ramsay a father; but his bairn was motherless. Thus went out the life of one who was winsome beyond compare.
How can we comprehend the bitterness and greatness of Alexander's bereavement! Father, mother, and wife taken from him in a few short hours!
He took the little one in his arms, kissed it fondly, and moaned, "Oh, my bairn, thou art not long for this world; then all will be gone!"
At any other time it would have been accounted a strange thing that three dead bodies should lie in one house; but then, when the persecution was on us in all its horrors, there was little wonder. Such outrages, though not common as yet, were not unknown.