"The smoke had no’ had time to blaw frae the muzzles o’ the muskets ere Jean had broken frae her captors, and flung hersel’ on her knees beside the body o’ her man. She raised his heid and held it in her lap: and bendin’ ower kissed his face. ’Andra,’ she cried, ’Andra--my ain bonnie man! Waken, Andra! waken! and speak to me. Andra! Andra! Canna ye hear me? It’s me--Jean, yer ain wee lass: ye mind, Andra, ca’in’ me that lang syne afore Dauvit was born. Andra, speak to me! Juist ae wee word, Andra!’ She paused, and stared wildly at the upturned face. Then bursting into tears she sobbed, ’Oh, Andra, my ain dear man, the faither o’ my bairns, they ha’e killed ye.’ As the tears streamed doon her cheeks she took her kerchief frae her neck and spread it ower his face. Then lovingly and tenderly she laid his heid doon and spreadin’ her open hands abune it said, ’Ane o’ the elect noo.’ "Then she rose tae her feet. As she did so she noticed the body o’ the lad, and wringing her hands knelt doon beside it. ’Puir wee laddie,’ she said. ’God comfort your mither, wherever she may be,’ and she bent ower and kissed his broo. Then springing up she faced Claver’se and the dragoons. He was pacing up and doon restlessly, sword in hand. Clenching her fists she shook them angrily at him. ’May God in heaven pey ye for this day’s wark. Inhuman fiends! Are ye men born o’ women--or spawn o’ the de’il?’ and leaping forward sae suddenly that Claver’se hadna time to throw himsel’ on guard, she seized his sword and wrenched it frae his grip afore he knew that she was on him. She swung up the blade, and brocht it wi’ a crash upon his heid. It was sic a blow as would ha’e cleft him to the chin, if she had had skill wi’ the weapon. But it turned in her haun’ so that she struck him wi’ the flat o’t, and he fell senseless to the ground. And then she turned on the troopers--ae woman against twenty armed men--striking richt and left, stabbing, lunging, and thrusting till she had scattered the hale troop, aghast at her onslaught, and the mischief she had dune their leader. But her triumph was short. Four o’ the troopers plunged their spurs into their horses and rode her down, and as she lay stunned ane o’ the troopers dismounting put his musket to her heid and fired." *CHAPTER XXXIX* *FALSE HOPES* The tears were streaming down my cheeks. I could contain myself no longer. "Then, Mary is alive," I cried. "Thank God! thank God!" The packman raised a warning hand, and in a steady voice which, to my fevered ears, sounded harsh and cold, said: "Haud yer wheesht till I feenish the story." And with the sudden hope that had sprung up in my breast quenched like a watered flame, I knitted my hands together and waited.