“You confessed to my sergeant,” said Claverhouse, “that you saw and entertained him, knowing him to be an intercommuned traitor; why are you not so frank with me?” “Because,” replied the prisoner, “I presume you are, from education, taught to understand the rights upon which you seem disposed to trample; and I am willing you should be aware there are yet Scotsmen who can assert the liberties of Scotland.” “And these supposed rights you would vindicate with your sword, I presume?” said Colonel Grahame. “Were I armed as you are, and we were alone upon a hill-side, you should not ask me the question twice.” “It is quite enough,” answered Claverhouse, calmly; “your language corresponds with all I have heard of you;--but you are the son of a soldier, though a rebellious one, and you shall not die the death of a dog; I will save you that indignity.” “Die in what manner I may,” replied Morton, “I will die like the son of a brave man; and the ignominy you mention shall remain with those who shed innocent blood.” “Make your peace, then, with Heaven, in five minutes’ space.--Bothwell, lead him down to the court-yard, and draw up your party.” The appalling nature of this conversation, and of its result, struck the silence of horror into all but the speakers. But now those who stood round broke forth into clamour and expostulation. Old Lady Margaret, who, with all the prejudices of rank and party, had not laid aside the feelings of her sex, was loud in her intercession. “O, Colonel Grahame,” she exclaimed, “spare his young blood! Leave him to the law--do not repay my hospitality by shedding men’s blood on the threshold of my doors!” “Colonel Grahame,” said Major Bellenden, “you must answer this violence. Don’t think, though I am old and feckless, that my friend’s son shall be murdered before my eyes with impunity. I can find friends that shall make you answer it.” “Be satisfied, Major Bellenden, I will answer it,” replied Claverhouse, totally unmoved; “and you, madam, might spare me the pain the resisting this passionate intercession for a traitor, when you consider the noble blood your own house has lost by such as he is.” “Colonel Grahame,” answered the lady, her aged frame trembling with anxiety, “I leave vengeance to God, who calls it his own. The shedding of this young man’s blood will not call back the lives that were dear to me; and how can it comfort me to think that there has maybe been another widowed mother made childless, like mysell, by a deed done at my very door-stane!” “This is stark madness,” said Claverhouse; “I must do my duty to church and state. Here are a thousand villains hard by in open rebellion, and you ask me to pardon a young fanatic who is enough of himself to set a whole kingdom in a blaze! It cannot be--Remove him, Bothwell.”