“God be praised,” cried John Maxwell, “the bairns are found! But where’s Nanny?”
Poor David tried to speak, but could not articulate a word.
“Maybe ye couldna carry them a’?” said John; “but tell me whaur Nanny is, and I’se set out for her momently.”
“Ye needna, John, ye needna,” said David; “it’s ower late, it’s ower late!”
“How sae? how sae?” cried John; “surely naething mischancy has happened to the lassie?”
“John,” said David, “grasping his hand, she’s murdered—my bairn’s murdered, John!”
“Gude preserve us a’,” cried John; “an’ wha’s dune it?”
“Elie Anderson,” answered David; “the poor innocent lies yonder a’ cut to bits;” and the unhappy man broke into a passion of tears.
John Maxwell darted off to Saunders Wilson’s. “Rise, Saunders!” cried he, thundering at the door; “haste ye and rise!”
“What’s the matter now?” said Saunders.