"Dinna meet again, dearest!" cried he; "we will meet—we shall meet!—we shall be happy too! Never talk o' no meeting again." And they clung round each other's necks and wept.
They wandered lang backward and forward, forgetting how the hours flew during their lang, fond whispers; and Flora's father, attended by a servant man, came forth to seek her. He vehemently upbraided and threatened his daughter, and he as vehemently reviled Alexander. He called him by names that I couldna mention, and that he bore patiently; but he also spoke disrespectfully o' his mother—he heaped insults on the memory o' his dead faither. Alexander could endure no more; he sprang forward, he grasped him by the throat. He placed his hand upon his sword, which he still wore, and exclaimed, "Sir! there is a point to all endurance, and you have passed it!"
Flora rushed forward, she placed her hand on Alexander's arm—"Forbear!—what would you do?" she cried; "it is my faither!"
"Nothing!" he replied, calmly, yet sternly; "I would do nothing; I have borne much provocation, and acted rashly—for which rashness forgie me, Flora. When I first drew my sword to resist oppression, I vowed that, should I meet one that was dear to you in the ranks o' the oppressor, though his sword should pierce my body, mine should no be raised against him. Fareweel, dearest—happier days may come."
Four years had not passed, when the Covenanters found that they had but small cause to be satisfied wi' the promises and assurances o' the king. Provoked by his exactions, and his attempts at despotism, the people o' England had taken up arms against him. Montrose, who had been one o' the leaders o' the Covenant party, though a man possessed o' wonderfu' military talents, was to the full as ambitious as he was clever; and he hadna principle aneugh to withstand royal promises, smiles, and flattery, he therefore turned traitor to the cause in which he had at first embarked, and he turned the arms o' his Highlanders, and a body o' fierce Irishmen, against the men whom, three years before, he had led to battle. Again many o' the Covenanters rushed to arms, and amongst them the sons o' Alice Cockburn.
They served as musketeers under Sir James Scott, and fought side by side at the battle of Tippermuir. When, through the treachery o' some, and the want o' management o' others, the Covenanters were put to flight, the little band o' musketeers, seeking refuge in some ruined buildings, kept up an incessant fire upon the forces o' Montrose, as if resolved to sell their lives at the dearest price. Montrose, after many efforts finding that they would not surrender, put himself at the head o' a powerful body o' Athole men, and rushed upon the gallant band, who defended themselves like lions at bay. O' the five brothers, who fought side by side, four fell; and the youngest only was left, like a servant o' Job of old, to tell the tidings. When Alexander beheld the dead bodies o' his brothers lying around him, sorrow and revenge raged in his breast together. His fury became as the fury o' a tiger that is robbed o' its young. He dashed into the midst o' his enemies—he pressed forward to where Montrose was, crying, "Vengeance! vengeance!" he reached him—they engaged hand to hand. Montrose was pressed against a wall o' the ruins.
"Fause traitor! renegade!" exclaimed Alexander—"here shall I die, the avenger o' my country and my brothers' blood!"
His sword was uplifted to strike, when a body o' Athole men rushing to the rescue o' their commander, the sword was shivered in Alexander's hand, and he was made prisoner.
Several who had heard the words which he had applied to their leader, and had seen his hand raised against his life, insisted that his punishment should be death; and in justification o' their demand, they urged the threat o' the Covenanters to do the same by whosoever Montrose might send to treat wi' them.
A sort o' court-martial was accordingly held, and the fettered prisoner was brought forth before a tribunal who had already agreed upon his sentence. He, however, looked his judges boldly in the face. His cheeks were not blanched, nor did his lips move with fear; he heard the charges read against him—the epithets that had been applied to Montrose, who was the king's representative—and that he had raised his sword against his life. He daringly admitted his having applied the epithets—he repeated them again; and, raising his clenched and fettered hands in the face of his judges, he justified what he had said; and he regretted that his sword had been broken in his hand before it had accomplished the deed which he desired.