The wave fell back: muttering in painful anger, the Macalpines obeyed the king-man among them, and restrained themselves. Big Duncan in his stern patience went forward. Before him, however, was a slight boyish figure, with uncovered head and long fair hair—the child was lifted in the youth’s arms, “I will carry him—good woman, come with me—come away from this place. It is not right you should see it—come away.”
“I thank ye, young gentleman,” said Big Duncan: “it becomes a young heart to shrink from the like of this, but we maun stay. Neither my wife nor me can leave the glen till we leave it with our haill people.”
Giles Sympelton hurried on to the widow’s cottage with the boy. The child was not much hurt—he was only stunned; and attended by his mother and aunt, he was taken into the house. Sympelton placed himself in front of the Macalpines by Mr. Lumsden’s side.
The destruction went on—you could trace its progress by the agonized looks of these watching people. Now a sharp, sudden cry from some distressed mother, that bore witness the destroyers were throwing down the roof under which her little ones had been born. Now a long, low groan told the father’s agony. The young men were shutting out the sight with their hands—they could not school themselves to patience; the little children, clinging about their feet, kept up a plaintive cry of shrill dismay and wonder, the chorus of that heart-breaking scene. House after house, un-windowed, roofless, and doorless, stood in mute desolation behind the hirelings of the unjust law, as their work went on. At last it was completed, and they approached the widow’s cottage again. There was an instant forgetfulness of individual suffering. Closely, side by side, the Macalpines surrounded the house of the widow. These strong men were dangerous opponents—even these excited women might be formidable to meet at such a time. The officers held back.
“I implore—I beseech!” cried Mr. Lumsden, “spare this house! Leave the sick youth within to die in peace. Leave us this one asylum for the aged and the feeble. If ye are men, spare the widow—spare the boy!”
“Fitz!” cried Giles Sympelton, in a tone of indignant appeal.
Mr. Whittret was enraged and furious.
“Lose no time, Simpson!” he cried. “It is three o’clock already. Make haste and finish!”
Big Duncan Macalpine stood undecided.
“It’s a life!” he muttered. “It’s lawful to defend a life, at any risk or hazard! Sir—Mr. Lumsden—what will we do?”