“Lord forgie us, sir!” said the poor fellow, his teeth chattering like a pair of nut-crackers, his hair erect like boar’s bristles, and his face as pale as that of a corpse—“Lord forgie us, sir! we maun instantly gang before the Council!—O Lord, what made them send for a puir bodie like me, sae mony braw lords and gentles!—and there’s my mither come on the lang tramp frae Glasgow to see to gar me testify, as she ca’s it, that is to say, confess and be hanged; but deil tak me if they mak sic a guse o’ Cuddie, if I can do better. But here’s Claverhouse himsell—the Lord preserve and forgie us, I say anes mair!”
“You must immediately attend the Council Mr Morton,” said Claverhouse, who entered while Cuddie spoke, “and your servant must go with you. You need be under no apprehension for the consequences to yourself personally. But I warn you that you will see something that will give you much pain, and from which I would willingly have saved you, if I had possessed the power. My carriage waits us—shall we go?”
It will be readily supposed that Morton did not venture to dispute this invitation, however unpleasant. He rose and accompanied Claverhouse.
“I must apprise you,” said the latter, as he led the way down stairs, “that you will get off cheap; and so will your servant, provided he can keep his tongue quiet.”
Cuddie caught these last words to his exceeding joy.
“Deil a fear o’ me,” said he, “an my mither disna pit her finger in the pie.”
At that moment his shoulder was seized by old Mause, who had contrived to thrust herself forward into the lobby of the apartment.
“O, hinny, hinny!” said she to Cuddie, hanging upon his neck, “glad and proud, and sorry and humbled am I, a’in ane and the same instant, to see my bairn ganging to testify for the truth gloriously with his mouth in council, as he did with his weapon in the field!”
“Whisht, whisht, mither!” cried Cuddie impatiently. “Odd, ye daft wife, is this a time to speak o’ thae things? I tell ye I’ll testify naething either ae gate or another. I hae spoken to Mr Poundtext, and I’ll tak the declaration, or whate’er they ca’it, and we’re a’ to win free off if we do that—he’s gotten life for himsell and a’ his folk, and that’s a minister for my siller; I like nane o’ your sermons that end in a psalm at the Grassmarket.” [Note: Then the place of public execution.]
“O, Cuddie, man, laith wad I be they suld hurt ye,” said old Mause, divided grievously between the safety of her son’s soul and that of his body; “but mind, my bonny bairn, ye hae battled for the faith, and dinna let the dread o’ losing creature-comforts withdraw ye frae the gude fight.”