"None, sir," replied his old hostess; "I dwell alone, like the widow of Zarephath. Few guests come to this puir place, and I haena custom eneugh to hire servants. I had anes twa fine sons that lookit after a' thing. —But God gives and takes away,—His name be praised!" she continued, turning her clouded eyes towards Heaven.—"I was anes better off, that is, waridly speaking, even since I lost them; but that was before this last change."
"Indeed!" said Morton; "and yet you are a Presbyterian, my good mother?"
"I am, sir; praised be the light that showed me the right way," replied the landlady.
"Then I should have thought," continued the guest, the Revolution would have brought you nothing but good."
"If," said the old woman, "it has brought the land gude, and freedom of worship to tender consciences, it's little matter what it has brought to a puir blind worm like me."
"Still," replied Morton, "I cannot see how it could possibly injure you."
"It's a lang story, sir," answered his hostess, with a sigh. "But ae night, sax weeks or thereby afore Bothwell Brigg, a young gentleman stopped at this puir cottage, stiff and bloody with wounds, pale and dune out wi' riding, and his horse sae weary he couldna drag ae foot after the other, and his foes were close ahint him, and he was ane o' our enemies. What could I do, sir? You that's a sodger will think me but a silly auld wife; but I fed him, and relieved him, and keepit him hidden till the pursuit was ower."
"And who," said Morton, "dares disapprove of your having done so?"
"I kenna," answered the blind woman; "I gat ill-will about it amang some o' our ain folk. They said I should hae been to him what Jael was to Sisera. But weel I wot I had nae divine command to shed blood, and to save it was baith like a woman and a Christian. And then they said I wanted natural affection, to relieve ane that belanged to the band that murdered my twa sons."
"That murdered your two sons?"