in her last quarter, hung on the southern horizon, ready to shroud herself from such unhallowed doings in the mountain shadow. Above them was the famous burial-ground, where, time out of mind, the suicides of two counties had been enearthed. The earth was partially blackened by a thaw, which still continued; but vast wreaths lay in the hollows, and looked out in cold and chilly brightness from their mountain recesses. Grierson insisted, in terms peculiar to himself, on the old shepherd and his family giving information of the retreat of M'Dougal, who had been traced but last night to the neighbourhood. It was mentioned by one of the dragoons, that he even saw the herd-lad foregather with a figure, which he took to be William M'Dougal, on the hill-top; but he was too distant, and without his horse, else he would have given chase.
The young man was interrogated, but refused to give any information on the subject. Grierson lost all patience, swore a round oath, and, presenting his pistol, shot him dead on the spot. The report of firearms brought up two figures, scarcely discernible in the dubious light, from the fold-dyke. The one was a female, the other a male. O God! they were those of Mary and William, who, being unable to withdraw himself from his beloved, had ensconced himself, along with her, amongst the rushes of the little cot. They came rushing on in frenzy, exclaiming that they were there to suffer—to be shot—to be tortured; but entreating that their kind and innocent entertainers might not suffer on their account. "So ho!" exclaimed Grierson, "we have unkennelled the foxes at last; secure them, lambs, and let us march for the guid town of Biggar; we will reach it ere night; and then, ho! my jolly lovers, for Edinburgh—sweet Edinburgh! Can you sing, my sweet maiden,
'Now wat ye wha I met yestreen?'
It's a pretty song, my neat one; and all about Edinburgh, and Arthur's Seat, and love, and sweet William. You will certainly give us a stanza or two by the way? It beats your covenanting psalm-singing hollow." And then he sang out, in a whining covenanting tone—
"'Wo's me, that I in Meschech am
A sojourner so long;
Or that I in the tents do dwell
To Grierson that belong.'
March, march, devils and devil's dams; we have now picked up a goodly company of these heather-bleats—these whistling miresnipes of the hills—no less than eight; we will march them, every clute, in at the West Port, to glorify God at the head of the Grassmarket. March! It is broad day, and we have a pretty long journey. As for you" (speaking to the shepherd), "old sheep's-head and Moniplies, we will leave you and your good friends to do the duties of sepulture to this bit of treason. There is good ground, I am told, hard by, where the weary rest. You can all cut your own throats, to save us the trouble, and your churchyard accommodation is secured to you. Good-by, old Lucky and young Chucky! I have no time at present to doff my bonnet and do the polite; and your joe, there, is past speaking, I suspect, much more past kissing. Good-by! good-by!" said the monster, waving his sword, and laughing immoderately at his own savage wit.
The body of Sandy Laidlaw was indeed carefully interred—not where pointed out by Lag, but in the churchyard of Leadhills, over which a small headstone still retains the letters, "A. L., murdered 1687." Poor Leezy Lawson, who was indeed the betrothed of Sandy, never saw a day to thrive after this dreadful morning. She went out of one strong convulsion into another for many hours; and then sank into a lethargic unconsciousness, which terminated in mental and bodily imbecility, which ended, in less than twelve months, in death. Her body lies alongside of that of her lover; but there is no intimation of this fact on the stone; and all marks of the presence on earth of these two once living and happy beings has passed away—etiam periere ruinæ—their very dust has perished.
The court at Edinburgh was crowded on the trial of the state prisoners, particularly of those who had been concerned in the rescue at Enterkin. There Lauderdale sat, after an evening's debauch, with his long hair hanging uncombed about his shoulders and over his brow; with his waistcoat unbuttoned towards the bottom; his face round, swollen, red, and fiery, and his eyes swimming in every cruel and unhallowed imagining. Poor Mary Maxwell, trembling, weak, and worn out with travelling on foot, was placed at the bar, and M'Kenzie, the king's advocate, proceeded against her. Her indictment was in the usual style. She was accused of harbouring nonconformists; of intercommuning with outlaws; of conspiring and aiding in the hellish rescue at Enterkin, where murder had been committed; and in continuing, after all due warning, to hold intercourse with the king's enemies. But the proof of all this was somewhat deficient; and even in these awful times, such was the respect for public opinion, that the court durst not, in the absence of some direct evidence, pronounce sentence of death. She, as well as William M'Dougal, against whom there was still less evidence, were remitted to Dunnottar Castle—of which march and unheard-of misery we have already told the tale—and were to have been exported thence, in due time, to America; but mercy and King William intercepted the cruel sentence: and William M'Dougal and Mary Maxwell were permitted to return to their native glen in peace. The M'Dougals of Glenross are sprung from this root, and still continue a respected name in the valley.