"God be with you, my son," he answered in the same. I had used it inadvertently, but now my attention was excited, and I gazed at him inquiringly. "I am sorry," he continued, "to see a Scottish gentleman in this sad predicament." "I fear me, good sir, your regrets will not mend the matter much," I replied sourly, for the most intense hatred of the Imperialists was swelling in my breast; "you cannot do any thing for me, I presume." "Perhaps not--I am only poor father Ignatius." "The confessor of Count Tilly!" I exclaimed, thunderstruck; "pardon me, sir--I have often heard of you." "For little that is good--if in the Danish camp." "Nay, sir--even there I have heard you spoken of with respect, as the possessor of a thousand virtues." "Though a Jesuit--'tis wonderful! Though I am known as Ignatius in the Order of Jesus, at home, in poor old Scotland, I was kent but as David Daidle, the neer-do-weel o' the parish schule, and son o' auld Davie o' the Daidleysheugh, at the Rollo's Craig. Ye see, gude sir, I've no forgotten our auld Scottish whilk my puir mither taucht me." "How!" I exclaimed, clasping both his hands in mine; "are you the brother of my old Dominie Daidle, at home in dear Cromartie?" "The same--the same!" he sighed, with a flushing cheek and a kindling eye; "my brother did become a dominie; but I, with James of Jerusalem, and Father Leslie, now superior of the Scottish college at Douay, became followers of Ignatius Loyola. But my puir brother--when saw ye him last?" "But a few months ago; the poor dominie plays the fiddle as well as ever, and still leads the choir of our parish kirk. I promised to bring him from Germany the object of his greatest ambition--a metal horologue, which he is not likely to receive, however," I added, glancing at the setting sun, and the noose which dangled over my head. "Young gentleman, it seems to me as if your face was familiar to me, and your voice, too; yet I must have left old Scotland, years before you were born. You are a son of our father's laird and patron, Rollo of Craigrollo?" "Compelled to become a soldier of fortune, because of a certain unlucky heirloom----" "The Rollo spoon," replied the Jesuit, a broad smile spreading over his usually grave features; "I remember well that quaint heirloom of old Sir Ringan; I remember too, with gratitude, the many favours your family have for ages bestowed on mine, the hereditary vassals of your house. Oh! I would gladly repay but one of these, if in my power----" "You can more than repay them all, sir, for indeed you owe us nothing. If we did service to the dominie's family, they did good service to ours. Whose sword hewed a farther passage into Huntly's pikemen at Glenlivat, than old Davie Daidle's? I am to be hanged in ten minutes--hanged like a dog, because I have done my devoir as a soldier against these rascally Imperialists, and would not betray to them my kinsmen, the M'Farquhars. If you can save me----"