“Heaven reward ye for the mercy o’ yer heart, and the courage o’ this deed,” said John.
“Say nothing,” whispered their deliverer, “but follow me.”
Each man crept from the window, and the stranger again closed it behind them. “Follow me, and speak not,” whispered he again; and, walking at his utmost speed, he conducted them for several miles across the hills; but still he spoke not. Old John marvelled at the manner of their deliverer; and he marvelled yet more when he led them to Philiphaugh, and to the very spot where, more than thirty years before, he had found the child on the bosom of its dead mother; and there the stranger stood still, and, turning round to those he had delivered—“Here we part,” said he; “hasten to your own house, but tarry not. You will find horses in readiness, and flee into Westmoreland; inquire there for the person to whom this letter is addressed; he will protect you.” And he put a sealed letter into the hands of the old man, and, at the same time, placed a purse in the hands of Daniel, saying, “This will bear your expenses by the way—Farewell!—farewell!” They would have detained him, but he burst away, again exclaiming, as he ran—“Farewell!”
“This is a marvellous deliverance,” said John; “it is a mystery, an’ for him to leave us on this spot—on this very spot—where puir Philip”—— And here the heart of the old man failed him.
We need not describe the rage of Claverhouse, when he found, on the following day, that the prisoners had escaped; and how he examined and threatened the sentinels with death, and cast suspicious glances upon Lieutenant Mowbray; but he feared to accuse him, or quarrel with him openly.
As John, with the preacher and his son, approached the house, Mary heard their footsteps, rushed out to meet them, and fell weeping upon her father’s neck. “My bairn!” cried the old man; “we are restored to ye as from the dead! Providence has dealt wi’ us in mercy an’ in mystery.”
His four farm-horses were in readiness for their flight; and Mary told him how the same soldier who had saved her from sharing their fate, had come to their house at midnight, and assured her that they should not die, and to prepare for their flight; “and,” added she, “in token that he who had sent him would keep his promise towards you, he gave me this ring, requesting me to wear it for your deliverer’s sake.”
“It is Philip’s ring!” cried the old man, striking his hand before his eyes—“it is Philip’s ring!”
“My Philip’s!” exclaimed Mary; “oh, then, he lives!—he lives!”
The preacher leaned his brow against the walls of the cottage and groaned.