“My daughter consorting with traitors and schismatics! Breathe but the word again, and by the God of heaven I will cleave you to the chine!” and his fingers played nervously with the hilt of his sword; but, seeing the deprecating look of the trooper, he recovered himself, and added, “tush! man, you are innocent, but take care how even innocently you rouse the tiger.”
“Tiger,” shrieked the old woman, who had known Sir Roland in former days, and who now seemed impelled by some sudden gust of passion to speak out, “it is well said; ay! one whose fangs have been in the hearts of the persecuted remnant—but God will avenge his people. Know, false persecutor, that your daughter has gone forth to-day to become one of the chosen few against whom, oh! man of sin, you have so often ridden with steel and war horse, holding the commission of your master, the Evil One. Go to, Roland Græme, I mind ye when ye were a boy, and little did I think ye would ever become the Judas you are now.”
It is probable that if her hearer had comprehended the whole of this harangue, a bullet would have been the speaker’s reward; but the first words of the old woman, when taken in connection with the desertion of the house, and his own misgivings from Helen’s late letter, assured him that his daughter had indeed attended the conventicle. The conviction fell on his heart with agonizing force. Remembering the injunctions of indiscriminate butchery he had laid on his subordinate, and well knowing that the command would be fulfilled to the very letter, he staggered back in his saddle, with a face whiter than ashes, and was fain to grasp the pommel for support, while he exclaimed in tones wrung from him by the keenest anguish—
“My child!—my child!—I have murdered my child!”
“What is that ye say?” screamed the old hag, leaning eagerly forward; “have ye sent out your reiving dragoons against the Lord’s anointed? and ye fear that they will slay your ain bairn. Oh! man of blood, the judgment of God has come upon ye—the judgment has come upon ye!”
But to the voice of the speaker, as well as to the astonished looks of the dragoons, the father was insensible. He still remained clutching the saddle, every feature of his face working with intense agony, and his eyes glaring vacantly on the air. Those who looked on him shrunk back aghast at the horror of his aspect; which, fearful as it was, only faintly shadowed forth the torture of the soul within. The peril of his only child stupefied him for a time. Then a succession of wild images rose up to his mind. He saw his daughter flying before the ruthless dragoons—he heard her cries for mercy, and the bitter sneer of disbelief on the part of her pursuers—he beheld her lying a corpse on the bare heath, her bosom gashed with brutal wounds, and her long fair hair dabbled with blood. In that moment the memory of every one whom he had slain came up before him—the mothers who had clung to his knees, the babes who had looked innocently in his face as they died, the daughters whose aged parents he had slain before their eyes. He thought of the silvery headed patriarch whom he had shot for refusing the test, and the prophetic warning of the victim that he, even he, the proud persecutor, should curse the day he ever drew his sword against the saints, came up to his memory. He groaned in anguish. For a time none dared to intrude on his misery. One of his men, a trusty body adherent, at length ventured to speak, by asking him if they had not better ride with all haste after Lennox, in the hope that they might yet come up in time. Starting, as if a shot had struck him, the father plunged his rowels into the side of his steed, until the blood gushed forth, and wheeling his horse sharp around, looked back sternly on his followers, as he led the way at a fearful pace up the hill. Well did he know the country around, and necessary, indeed, was that knowledge, for his frantic gallop required the most intimate acquaintance with every turn and inequality of the road. Over hill and dale, through glen and moor he dashed, reckless of danger, for how could he think of aught but his daughter? Oh! what would he not have given to be assured that he should once more look into her soft blue eyes, that he should again press her to his bosom. What now to him was rank or wealth? Perhaps he thought that Helen would be able to reveal her name ere she fell a victim—but no! for even if she spoke, would his subordinate believe her story? Once, the very suspicion that she favored the Covenanters had angered him, but now he would forgive every thing, only to be assured of her safety. The contending emotions—hope and fear, love and anger, suspense and despair—that agitated his bosom, made that hour’s ride an hour of agony, such as he had never before thought a human being could endure, and live. He felt that the curse of God was on him—that all the agonies he had inflicted on others were now concentrated on himself—that he was bound to the wheel of fire. His punishment had already begun. He had rushed against the thick bosses of the Almighty’s buckler, and found, like him of old, that man could not contend against the Most High.
We remember, when a boy, waking from a dream of horror, to find our mother smiling over our sleep. Oh! never shall we forget the heavenly radiance of that loved face, for radiant with heaven it seemed to us, after the terrors of that midnight vision. Even so we feel when turning from contemplating the tortures of the persecutor, to gaze on his sainted child. The hour was now approaching noon, and Helen, in the presence of the silent flock, had taken upon her those vows she could never put off. Tears fell from many an eye as the worshipers beheld her thus in their midst; and the old pastor was so affected that he could scarcely speak.
“God will reward you, my daughter, and give you strength,” he said; “I bless His holy name that thou art delivered from the dominion of Baal. It is hard, I know, to disobey a parent; but saith not the Scripture, that we must leave father and mother, if required, and take up our cross and follow Christ? Only persevere, and God will make your way plain to you, guiding you, even as he led the children of Israel, with a pillar of cloud by day, and of fire by night. Trials, and sore ones, we must all have in this world—and I boast not, but only speak to cheer you, when I say that mine have been many and hard, but God has given me grace to endure all, even as He will give it unto you. But my race is nearly run; the golden urn will soon be broken at the fountain. I only pray to die like the martyrs of old, with my armor on, and my sword girt to my thigh. Come, oh! Lord, most mighty,” he continued, raising his hands and eyes rapturously above, “come, oh! Lord most gracious, and come quickly!”
A deep silence followed the conclusion of this prayer, while the tears of many fell fast and thick. Every eye was fixed on the holy man, or turned to Helen, for the countenances of both already seemed to glow, as those of angels. None dared to draw a breath, lest they should dispel the hushed stillness that so well accorded with the solemnity of the moment. But suddenly a cry was heard, clear, loud and startling—“The dragoons—the dragoons are here!” and had a voice come from the dead, it would not have produced a more sudden change in the hearers. Every one started up, and all eyes were turned toward the point whence the cry had proceeded. There, on a gentle eminence, stood a shepherd waving his plaid, and making gestures for the congregation to fly up the glen. In an instant all was confusion. Mothers clasped their infants to their bosoms, and looked up tremblingly, with faces whiter than ashes—maidens clung to their lovers, and gazed around with dilated eyes and looks of terror—and fathers and brothers, gathering around these dear ones, hurried them on foot and horseback, in the direction indicated by the sentinel. The escort of Helen and her aunt had been several armed retainers, and these now rallied to the side of their mistress and the pastor, prepared to make good their retreat, or defend themselves to the last. Hoping to escape the notice of the pursuers, they dashed off in a different direction from that pursued by the others of the congregation; but just as they turned the angle of the hill, the pennons of the troopers came into sight, and by the immediate diversion of a party in pursuit of them, the fugitives knew they were detected. Pricking their horses, they now hurried rapidly onward, and for several hundred yards lost sight of their pursuers. At length, the little party reached the brow of a slight acclivity.
“Faster—faster,” said one who had looked back, “they gain on us—press on.”