In the present instance, however, Clavers was mistaken, and fairly overshot his mark; for poor Maron Linton was so overwhelmed with astonishment when she saw her husband and family taken prisoners and bound, that her speech lost all manner of coherence. She sobbed aloud—complained one while, entreated another; and then muttered over some ill–sorted phrases from the Scripture. When Clavers pressed his questions, she answered him, weeping, “O dear sir, my lord, ye ken I canna do naething, nor think naething, nor answer naething, unless ye let Watie loose again; I find as I war naebody, nor nae soul, nor naething ava wantin’ him, but just like a vacation or a shadow. O my lord, set my twa bits o’ callants an’ my puir auld man loose again, and I’ll say ony thing that ever ye like.” Threats and proffers proved alike in vain. Maron’s mind, which never was strong, had been of late so much unhinged by the terrors of superstition, that it wavered in its frail tenement like “the baseless fabric of a vision,” threatening to depart, and leave not a wreck behind. Clavers told her that her husband’s life depended on the promptness and sincerity of her answers, he having rendered himself amenable to justice by rescuing his daughter by force, whom they had taken prisoner on their arrival, having found her engaged in a very suspicious employment. This only increased Maron’s agony; and at length Clavers was obliged to give up the point, and ordered her into custody. The soldiers had by this time taken old John of the Muchrah and another of Laidlaw’s shepherds prisoners, who had come to assist their master with the farm–work that day. All these Clavers examined separately; and their answers, as taken down in short–hand by Mr Adam Copland, are still extant, and at present in my possession. The following are some of them, as decyphered by Mr J. W. Robertson, whose acquaintance with ancient manuscripts is well known. John Hay, shepherd in Muchrah, aged fifty–six, sworn and examined. “Do you know such a man as the Rev. James Renwick?” “Yes. I once heard him pray and preach for about the space of two hours.” “Was it on your master’s farm that he preached?” “No, it was in a linn on the Earl Hill, in the march between two lairds’ lands, that he preached that day.” “How durst you go to an unlawful conventicle?” “I didna ken there was a law against it till after—it’s a wild place this—we never hear ony o’ the news, unless it be twice a–year frae the Moffat fairs. But as soon as I heard him praying and preaching against the king I cam aff an’ left him, an’ brought a’ my lads an’ lasses wi’ me; but my wife wadna steer her fit—there she sat, shaking her head and glooming at me; but I trow I cowed her for’t after.” “What did he say of the king?” “O, I canna mind—he said nae muckle gude o’ him.” “Did he say that he was a bloody perjured tyrant?”