“Then we shall make short work with you,” rejoined Clobberton with an oath. “Ross, give him ten minutes to say his prayers, and then bind up his eyes. It is needless to palaver with him. We have other jobs of a like kind to manage to-day.”
Here Mary, who stood in a corner listening with terrified heart, uttered a loud scream when she heard her father’s doom pronounced. She rushed forth into the middle of the room, and fell upon her knees before Clobberton.
“Oh, captain, do not slay my father! Take my life. It was my fault alone that the old man was let into the house. My father refused to admit him. Take my life and save his. I shall be his murderess if he die—for I brought him into this trouble.”
She continued some moments in this attitude, gazing up at him with looks of fear and entreaty, and clasping his knees. He had, however, been too long accustomed to scenes of this afflicting nature to be much moved; and he extricated himself from the unhappy girl with brutal rudeness. She fell speechless at his feet.
“Confound the wench! Was there ever seen the like of it? She takes me for one of your chicken-hearted milksops,—out of the way with the ninny.”
He was about to lay rough hands upon her, when a trooper, stepping forward, raised her gently up and placed her on a seat. This was the only one of Clobberton’s followers whose appearance was at all indicative of humanity. He was a handsome and strongly-built young man of six feet. His countenance was well formed; but its expression was rather dissolute, and rendered stern, apparently by the prevalence of some fierce internal passion. The marks of a generous heart were, notwithstanding, imprinted upon its bold outlines; and whoever looked upon him could not help thinking that his natural disposition had been perverted by the wicked characters and scenes among which he was placed.
“Captain,” said he, “I do not see the use of shooting this old fool. I begin to feel that we have had a surfeit of this work. Besides, if what the girl declares is correct, there is no great matter of treason in the case. At all events, I would vote to leave the business to the Justiciary.”
“Graham,” said Clobberton, eyeing him sternly, “give me none of your cursed whining palaver. What is your liver made of? When there is anything in the way of justice to be done, you are as mealy and cream-faced as if you saw the devil. A fine fellow to wear the king’s uniform! If you say another word,” added he, with a frightful oath, “I’ll have you reported to the general!”
“Captain,” said Graham, stepping modestly but firmly forward, “you may speak of me as you please—you are my officer—(though neither you nor any man of the regiment need be told that when my service was needed in real danger, I was never behind); but I cannot stand by unmoved and see downright butchery. If you have anything to urge against this man, let him be brought to Edinburgh, and there tried by the commission, which will punish him severely enough, in all conscience, if he be really guilty. I have assisted in some of these murders; but my conscience tells me that I have done wrong; and whatever the consequences be, I shall assist at them no more.”
“Ay,” said Clobberton, “you are a pretty dainty fellow—fitter to strut about in regimentals before wenches than behave like a man; but, Mr John Graham, let me tell you that your eloquence, instead of retarding, has hastened the fate of this rascally traitor. And, let me tell you farther, that on my arrival at head-quarters, I shall have you arraigned for mutiny and disobedience of orders. Ross, blindfold Hamilton and lead him out.”