“God has, for His ain wise ends, made the heart o’ the puir man that has just left us tender, an’ He’s made mine teuch, but tak’ notice, thou wolf in sheep’s clothing, that it’s no upon its teuchness but upon the speerit o’ the Lord that I depend for grace to withstand on this evil day.”
“Strike!” said the Duke, in a low stern voice.
The mallet fell; the wedge compressed the strong limb, and Andrew compressed his lips.
“Again!”
A second time the mallet fell, but no sign did the unhappy man give of the pain which instantly began to shoot through the limb. After a few more blows the Duke stayed the process and reiterated his questions, but Black took no notice of him whatever. Large beads of sweat broke out on his brow. These were the only visible signs of suffering, unless we except the deathly pallor of his face.
“Again!” said the merciless judge.
The executioner obeyed, but the blow had been barely delivered when a loud snap was heard, and the tortured man experienced instant relief. Jock Bruce’s little device had been successful, the instrument of torture was broken!
“Thanks be to Thy name, O God, for grace to help me thus far,” said Black in a quiet tone.
“Fix on the other boot,” cried Lauderdale savagely, for the constancy as well as the humility of the martyr exasperated him greatly.
The executioner was about to obey when a noise was heard at the door of the Council Chamber, and a cavalier, booted and spurred and splashed with mud, as if he had ridden fast and far, strode hastily up to the Duke and whispered in his ear. The effect of the whisper was striking, for an expression of mingled surprise, horror, and alarm overspread for a few moments even his hard visage. At the same time the Bishop of Galloway was observed to turn deadly pale, and an air of consternation generally marked the members of Council.