"Ay, sir," said he, "'tis a time for us a' to be on our knees. But ha'e courage, and dinna let us spoil the guid cause by our weak mortal complaining. Is't no' better to be hunkering in a moss-hole and communing with the Lord than waxing fat like Jeshurun in carnal corruption? Call on God's name, but no' wi' sighing, but wi' exaltation, for He hath bidden us to a mighty heritage." "Ye speak brave and true, Henry, and I'm wi' your every word. But tell me what's to become o' my bairn? What will Anne dae? I once thought there was something atween you----" He stopped abruptly and searched the face of the young man. At his words Master Semple had started as under a lash. "Oh, my God," he cried, "I had forgotten! Anne, Anne, my dearie, we canna leave ye, and you to be my wife. This is a sore trial of faith, sir, and I misdoubt I canna stand it. To leave ye to the tender mercies o' a' the hell-hounds o' dragoons--oh, I canna dae't!" He clapped his hand to his forehead and walked about the room like a man distraught. And now I put in my word. "What ails you, Henry? Tell me, for I am sore grieved to see you in such perplexity." "Ails me?" he repeated. "Aye, I will tell ye what ails me"; and he drew his chair before me. "Andrew Gibb's come ower frae the Ruthen wi' shure news that a warrant's oot against us baith, for being at the preaching on Callowa' Muir. 'Twas an enemy did it, and now the soldiers are coming at ony moment to lay hands on us and take us off to Embro'. Then there'll be but a short lease of life for us; and unless we take to the hills this very nicht we may be ower late in the morning. I'm wae to tak' sae auld a man as Master Lambert to wet mosses, but there's nothing else to be dune. But what's to become o' Anne? Whae's to see to her, when the dragoons come riding and cursing about the toon? Oh, it's a terrible time, John. Pray to God, if ye never prayed before, to let it pass." Mademoiselle had meantime spoken never a word, but had risen and gone to her father's chair and put her arms around his neck. Her presence seemed to cheer the old man, for he ceased mourning and looked up, while she sat, still as a statue, with her grave, lovely face against his. But Master Semple's grief was pitiful to witness. He rocked himself to and fro in his chair, with his arms folded and a set, white face. Every now and then he would break into a cry like a stricken animal. The elder man was the first to counsel patience. "Stop, Henry," says he; "it's ill-befitting Christian folk to set sic an example. We've a' got our troubles, and if ours are heavier than some, it's no' for us to complain. Think o' the many years o' grace we've had. There's nae doubt the Lord will look after the bairn, for he's a guid Shepherd for the feckless." But now of a sudden a thought seemed to strike Henry, and he was on his feet in a twinkling and by my side.