Steenie was still obliged to remain in concealment most of the time. Robert McDougal and a few other brave men were with him. Sometimes they came down upon a stray party of the enemy to liberate one of their captive brethren; but oftener they were stationed at a little distance to warn and guard the people as they convened to worship God.
It was on a bonnie June morning in 1683 that we were thus convened and he was thus on duty. A spy communicated with the persecutors, and a troop of horse came in hot haste towards us. In less time than I can write it a bullet pierced Steenie, and he fell to the ground. The soldiers passed on to the open glade in which the meeting was held; but the people were scattered in every direction.
Regardless of danger, we, his friends, hurried to the spot. I was among the last to reach him. As I approached I heard him ask, "Where is Effie?" "I am come," I said, as I knelt beside him and kissed his brow, then pale and strange in his struggle with death. He looked affectionately at me, and seemed to wish for something. I put my arm around Janet, who was weeping over him, and drawing her closer to me I kissed her again and again. Then he smiled a faint, glad smile, and beckoned me to come nearer. I bent my ear to catch his words, which were becoming more indistinct. He spoke of Robert. "Do not turn away from my old and true friend," he whispered. Fainter and fainter were the words which came from the fast whitening lips, till every sound died away. A slight motion of the lips, and a scarcely perceptible heaving of the chest, and Steenie's soul took flight to that bonnie land where we well believe there is no more sorrow.
The agony of poor Janet was very great. Twice within one year had the dearest object of her earthly affections been ruthlessly slain. I looked at her, though I scarcely dared to do so. I saw that strong arms were supporting her; they were those of Robert McDougal. His face was very pale, but his voice was steady as he said, "One less with us, one more in heaven."
It is hard to give up our friends, even from a peaceful death-bed, when we can realise that God's hand alone rules; but to feel that our loved ones fall a prey to the anger of their oppressors—the innocent by the hand of the guilty—is a sore trial to the most trusting Christians. There are moments when the human nature within them cries out for redress, if not for vengeance. I felt as if my own heart would burst between sorrow for Janet and my anguish for the loss of Steenie.
We were bearing our dead from the fatal spot when, strange to say, I first thought of my mother, who was in our little home miles away. Poor mother, whose hair was whitened with age and her many afflictions, whose step was slow and feeble, whose grief had already been too deep for tears, how could I tell her! How could she bear this added sorrow! "God help her," I groaned.
"O Margaret," I said, for she was walking beside me, "how can we tell her these heavy tidings? You must tell her, for indeed I cannot."
"May God give me wisdom to break it to her gently," said Margaret.
Slowly and carefully she broke the sad news to our mother, who said not a word. Her face assumed a fixed, ghastly look. I feared the news would kill her. Soon her lips moved as if in prayer. Then I felt relieved; for was she not laying her burden at the feet of One who can sustain us in all our troubles?