They were led from the prison-house, and through the court-yard, towards a tall elm-tree, round which all the retainers of Sir Gideon were assembled to witness the execution; and the old knight took his place upon an elevated seat in the midst of them.
The executioners were preparing to perform their office, when Agnes, or Muckle-mouthed Meg, as she was called, came forth, with a deep veil thrown over her face, and sinking on her knee before the old knight, said, imploringly—“A boon, dear faither—yer dochter begs a simple boon.”
“Ye tak an ill season to ask it, Meg,” said the knight, angrily; “but what may it be?”
She whispered to him earnestly for a few minutes, during which his countenance exhibited indignation and surprise; and when she had finished speaking, she again knelt before him and embraced his knees.
“Rise, Meg, rise!” said he, impatiently, “for yer sake, an’ at yer request, he shall hae another chance to live.” And, approaching the prisoner, he added—“William Scott, ye hae chosen death in preference to the hand o’ my dochter. Will ye noo prefer to die rather than marry the lassie that ran wi’ the letter to yer mother, an’ without my consent brought her to see ye?”
“Had another asked me the question,” said the laird, “though I ken not who she is, yet she has a kind heart, and I should hae said ‘No,’ an’ offered her my hand, heart, an’ fortune; but to you, Sir Gideon, I only say—do yer worst.”
“Then, Willie, my ain Willie!” cried his mother, who at that moment rushed forward, “another does request ye to marry her, an’ that is yer ain mother!”
“An’,” said Agnes, stepping forward, and throwing aside the veil that covered her face, “puir Meg, ower whom ye gied a preference to the gallows, also requests ye!”
“What!” exclaimed the young laird, grasping her hand, “is the kind lassie that has striven, night and day, to save me—the very Meg that I hae been treating wi’ disdain?”
“In troth am I,” she replied, “an’ do ye prefer the wuddy still?”