“Of course I do. I am no advocate of despotism.”
“Weel then,” continued the farmer with energy, “in the year saxteen forty-ane, an’ at ither times, kings an’ parliaments hae stamped the Covenants o’ Scotland as bein’ pairt o’ the law o’ this land—whereby freedom o’ conscience an’ Presbyterian worship are secured to us a’. An’ here comes Chairles the Second an’ breks the law by sendin’ that scoondrel the Duke o’ Lauderdale here wi’ full poors to dae what he likes—an’ Middleton, a man wi’ nae heart an’ less conscience, that was raised up frae naething to be a noble, nae less! My word, nobles are easy made, but they’re no’ sae easy unmade! An’ this Lauderdale maks a cooncil wi’ Airchbishop Sherp—a traiter and a turncoat—an’ a wheen mair like himsel’, and they send sodgers oot ower the land to eat us up an’ cram Prelacy doon oor throats, an’ curates into oor poo’pits whether we wull or no’. An’ that though Chairles himsel’ signed the Covenant at the time he was crooned! Ca’ ye that law or legally constituted authority?”
Although deeply excited by this brief recital of his country’s wrongs, Black maintained the quiet expression of feature and tone of voice that were habitual to him. Further converse on the subject was interrupted by their arrival at the farm, where they found all right save that Jean and Aggie were in a state of tearful anxiety about their poor neighbours.
While the farmer was seeing to the security of his house and its arrangements, preparatory to continuing the march to the Mitchells’ cottage, the rest of the party stood about the front door conversing. Will Wallace was contemplating Jean Black with no little admiration, as she moved about the house. There was something peculiarly attractive about Jean. A winsome air and native grace, with refinement of manner unusual in one of her station, would have stamped her with a powerful species of beauty even if she had not possessed in addition a modest look and fair young face.
The ex-trooper was questioning, in a dreamy way, whether he had ever before seen such a pretty and agreeable specimen of girlhood, when he experienced a shock of surprise on observing that Jean had gone to a neighbouring spring for water and was making something very like a signal to him to follow her.
The surprise was mingled with an uncomfortable feeling of regret, for the action seemed inconsistent with the maiden’s natural modesty.
“Forgie me, sir,” she said, “for being so bold, but oh! sir, if ye knew how anxious I am about Uncle Black, ye would understand—he is wanted so much, an’ there’s them in the hidy-hole that would fare ill if he was taken to prison just now. If—ye—would—”
“Well, Jean,” said Will, sympathising with the struggle it evidently cost the girl to speak to him—“don’t hesitate to confide in me. What would you have me do?”
“Only to keep him back frae the sodgers if ye can. He’s such an awfu’ man to fecht when he’s roosed, that he’s sure to kill some o’ them if he’s no’ killed himsel’. An’ it’ll be ruin to us a’ an’ to the Mitchells too, if—”
She was interrupted at this point by Black himself calling her name.