“Nane whatever,” said Peter; “ye’d best c’way back t’ toon wi’ me. Ye’ll be safer there nor here, an’ may chance to be o’ service to the lassies.”
Alas for the poor lassies! They were in the fangs of the wolves at that very time. In that council-room where, for years, the farce of “trial” and the tragedy of cruel injustice had been carried on, Marion Clark and Isabel Scott were standing before their civil and clerical inquisitors. The trial was nearly over. Proceeding upon their mean principle of extracting confession by the method of entrapping questions, and thus obtaining from their unsuspecting victims sufficient evidence—as they said—to warrant condemnation, they had got the poor serving-maids to admit that they had attended field-preachings; had conversed with some whom the Government denounced as rebels; and other matters which sufficed to enable them to draw up a libel. Those two innocent girls were then handed over to the Justiciary Court, before which they were charged with the crime of receiving and corresponding with Mr Donald Cargill, Mr Thomas Douglas, Mr John Welsh, and Mr Richard Cameron; with the murderers of Archbishop Sharp; and with having heard the said ministers preach up treason and rebellion!
When the indictment was read to them the poor things meekly admitted that it was correct, except in so far as it called the ministers rebels and asserted that they preached up treason. The jury were exceedingly unwilling to serve on the trial, but were compelled to do so under threat of fine. After deliberating on the evidence they found the girls both guilty, by their own confession, of holding the opinions charged against them, but that as actors, or receivers of rebels, the charge was not proven.
Upon this they were condemned to die, but before leaving the court Isabel Scott said impressively: “I take all witness against another at you to your appearance before God, that your proceeding against us this day is only for owning Christ, His Gospel, and His members.” (See A Cloud of Witnesses, page 122 (edition 1871.)) They were then led back to prison.
When Quentin and Peter arrived in Edinburgh, two days later, they passed under the West Port, which was decorated with the shrivelled heads and hands of several martyrs, and made their way to the Grassmarket, which they had to traverse in going towards Candlemaker Row. Here they found a large crowd surrounding the gallows-tree which did such frequent service there. Two female figures were swinging from the beam.
“The auld story,” said the shepherd in a low sad voice. “What was their crime?” he inquired of a bystander.
“They tried to serve the Lord, that was a’,” replied the man bitterly. “But they ended their coorse bravely. Ane sang the 84th Psalm and the ither spake of God’s great love an’ free grace to her and to sinfu’ man.”
“Puir things!” exclaimed Quentin with tremulous voice. “It’s ower noo. They’re fairly inside o’ the celestial gates.”
The sight was all too common in those dark days to induce delay, but the two friends had to pass near the gallows, and naturally looked up in passing.
“Quentin!” gasped Peter, stretching out both hands towards the martyrs, whose now soulless frames were hanging there, “it’s—it’s Marion an’—”