“Ye will excuse me, sir,” retorted Simon, “but I tremble at no such thing; only, as I have already remarked, I have no particular ambition for being honoured wi’ the exaltation o’ the halter; and, moreover, I see no cause why a man should die unnecessarily, or where death can be avoided. Sir Gideon,” added he, “humble prisoner as I at this moment am, and in your power, I leave it to you if ever ye saw ony thing in my conduct in the field o’ battle (and ye have seen me there) that could justify ony ane in calling me either milk-livered or a coward? But, sir, I consider it would be altogether unjustifiable to deprive ane o’ life, which is always precious, merely because my maister is stubborn, and winna marry your daughter. But, oh, sir, I am not a very auld man yet, and if ye will set me at liberty, though I am now a married man, in the event o’ my ever becoming a widower, I gie ye my solemn promise that I will marry ony o’ your dochters that ye please!”
“Audacious idiot!” exclaimed the old knight, raising his hand and striking poor Simon to the ground.
“Sir Gideon Murray!” cried the young laird fiercely, “are ye such a base knave as to strike a fettered prisoner! Shame fa’ ye, man! where is the pride o’ the Murrays now?”
Sir Gideon evidently felt the rebuke, and, withdrawing from the apartment, said, as he departed—“Remember that when the sun-dial shall to-morrow note the hour of twelve, so surely shall ye be brought forth—and a wife shall be your lot, or the wuddy your doom.”
“Leave me!” cried the youth impatiently, “and the gallows be it—my choice is made. Till my last hour trouble me not again.”
“Sir! sir!” cried Simon, “I beg, I pray that ye will alter your determination. There is surely naething so awful in the idea o’ marriage, even though your wife should have a face not particularly weel-favoured. Ye dinna ken, sir, but that the young woman’s looks are her worst fault; and, indeed, I hae heard her spoken o’ as a lassie o’ great sense and discretion, and as having an excellent temper; and, oh, sir, if ye kenned as weel what it is to be married as I do, ye would think that a good temper was a recommendation far before beauty.”
“Hold thy fool’s tongue, Simon,” cried the laird; “would ye disgrace the family wi’ which ye make it your boast to be connected, when in the power and presence o’ its enemies? Do as ye see me do—die and defy them.”
It was drawing towards midnight, when the prison-door was opened, and the sentinel who stood watch over it admitted a female dressed as a domestic.
“What want ye, or whom seek ye, maiden?” inquired the laird.
“I come,” answered she mildly, “to speak wi’ the laird o’ Harden, and to ask if he has any dying commands that a poor lassie could fulfil for him.”