"You are our prisoner," said one of the latter, producing his warrant, and laying his hand upon Peter.
Peter's cheek grew pale; he stood silent and motionless, as if palsy had smitten his very soul. Ann uttered a short, sudden scream of despair, and fell senseless at the feet of the best-man. Her cry of agony recalled the bridegroom to instant consciousness; he started round—he raised her in his arms, he held her to his bosom. "Ann!—my ain Ann!" he cried; "look up—oh, look up, dear! It is me, Ann—they canna, they daurna harm me."
Confusion and dismay took possession of the whole party.
"What is the meaning o' this, sirs?" said Robin Paterson, his voice half-choked with agitation; "what has my son done, that ye choose sic an untimeous hour to bring a warrant against him?"
"He has done, old boy, what will give him employment for seven years," said the gamekeeper, insolently. "Constables, do your duty."
"Sirs," said Robin, as they again attempted to lay hands upon his son, "I am sure he has been guilty o' nae crime—leave us noo, an' whatever be his offence, I, his faither, will be answerable for his forthcoming to the last penny in my possession."
"And I will be bail to the same amount, master constables," said the old skipper; "for, blow me, d'ye see, if there an't black work at the bottom o' this, and somebody shall hear about it, that's all."
Consciousness had returned to the fair bride. She threw her arms around Peter's neck—"They shall not—no, they shall not take you from me!" exclaimed she.
"No, no, dear," returned he; "dinna put yersel' about."
The minister had come out of the manse, and offered to join the old men as security for Peter's appearance on the following day.