“Patrick, dispute not mine authority,” cried Sir Walter, his rage now beginning to get the better of him; “my father’s weakness hath made me thy chieftain. Stand back I tell thee! Stand back! place thyself not between me and my just vengeance, or even the name of brother shall not hinder me from dashing thee to the ground.”
“Nay, stand you back!” cried Patrick, covering the priest with his body, whilst the clansmen retreated from the prisoner at his word. “Walter, I would save this wretched man for another and a calmer tribunal; and, in thus saving him, I would save thee, my brother, from——”
“Stand from before his polluted carcase!” cried Sir Walter, collaring Patrick, and casting him from him with a force that threw him several yards away from the spot where they were contending, and prostrated him headlong on the ground. “Now, Clan-Allan! now do your duty to your chieftain! I’ll see that my sentence—aye, and your sentence, is duly carried through!”
“Mercy, most noble knight!” cried the wretched man.
“Mercy, most noble knight!” cried the wretched man, as they dragged him along to the pile, deadly pale, and quailing with fear—his pride all gone, and the terrors of a horrible death upon him. “Mercy! O spare me! spare me, most noble Sir Walter Stewart! I confess that I have deeply sinned against you and yours; I confess that——”
“Silence, caitiff!” cried the stern Sir Walter, loudly and hastily interrupting him; “I am no priest—I want none of thy confessions. Confess thyself inwardly to thine outraged Maker. Thou shalt have time for that. Down on thy knees! confess thy sins in secret to Him, and pray to Him for mercy in the next world, for here all laws, human and divine, tell me that thou shouldst have none; and thou shalt have none from me.”
The miserable wretch, trembling, haggard, and conscience-stricken, knelt down at a short distance from the great heap of dry and decayed timber which they had prepared. By this time it was lighted, and it soon began to blaze up so high as widely to illuminate the broad faces of the wooded hills on both sides of the valley, arousing them from that gloom which had been already gradually deepening over them into shadow, since the sinking of the sun. Neither his countenance nor his eyes were directed heavenwards; yet his lips moved, more like those of some one uttering an incantation, than of a penitent seeking of Heaven to be shriven of his sins. Full time was allowed him. But the stern Sir Walter Stewart stood over him, as if jealous lest his fears or his agony of mind, might goad him on to utter some secret aloud before the clansmen, which he wished to see consumed, and for ever annihilated with all that was mortal of him who held it. And when he thought that he had given the wretched man enough of licence, he waved his hand—turned himself aside for a moment—heard one piercing shriek—and when he looked again the myriads of brilliant sparks that were rising into the air from the fall of a heavy body among the fuel, sufficiently proved to him, that the miserable object of his wrath had been thrown into the very midst of the burning heap. Another, and a fainter cry, made Sir Walter again turn involuntarily towards the pile. There the head appeared, with the face contorted with torment, and fearfully illuminated. The body reared itself up for a moment, as if by one last struggling effort of life, and these half-stifled words were dolefully heard,—
“Walter Stewart!—THY GRAVE IS NEAR!”
The Clan-Allan men stood appalled. Again the figure sank. More broken and decayed wood was thrown on the pile, and they continued to heap it up until all signs of a human form were obliterated. Then it was that Sir Walter, calling his followers into a ring around him, swore them solemnly, on their chieftain’s sword, to eternal secrecy; and then, sick at the thought of the work they had done, chieftain and clansmen slowly, and silently, left the place and began to wend their way down the glen. Sir Walter thought of his brother Patrick as he went—he halted, and blew that bugle sound, which was well known as a private signal between them. But there was no note of reply. Taking it for granted, therefore, that the stern act of justice, which circumstances had compelled him to see done on the Priest, had been too much for the sensitive mind of Patrick even to contemplate, and that, therefore, he had hurried away to avoid witnessing the horrible spectacle, Sir Walter pensively and moodily moved homewards.