“What have we here?” exclaimed the exasperated and really astonished intruder—giving, at the same time, the person engaged in prayer a rude push with his bootless foot[2]—“what have we got here?” addressing himself to one of the troop of the name of Johnston. “Why, here we have the whole batch—man, mistress, and maid—seeking Cromwell’s corkskrew. Come, have done with your canting and grunting, young one—up and be doing, thou old hoary traitor—clear up these blinkers, bonny Betty Blossom, for I have a message, in which ye are all somewhat concerned, from his Majesty, King Charles, God bless him! and his curse be on all his enemies. What! not grunt or growl an amen! Old Sam, I say, I have a polite message here from his Majesty’s Lord Chancellor, at the instance of my Lord Hamilton, Bishop of Galloway, to warn, denounce, and declare you a runnigate traitor, unless you shall, within eight days from and after this date, bestir your stumps, and wait upon his Lordship, in his palace at Whithorn; and there, and in that presence, receive and accept of ordination as an Episcopal curate from his Lordship—having first obtained a presentation to this living from the true and undisputed patron, my Lord Douglas of Queensberry.” “_That_,” ejaculated, instantly and firmly, the resolute and determined servant of God—“_That_ no power on earth nor under the earth—no force of arms nor menace of look—no Laird of Binns nor Bishop of Galloway—shall ever compel poor Samuel Austin, the honoured pastor of a Presbyterian people, _to do_.” “Then,” replied General Dalziell, making use of an oath which it would be fearful, as well as impious, to repeat, “off you shall budge, this very day, hour, and instant, and betake yourselves—man, woman, and boy, rag-tag and bobtail—from this here snug, comfortable manse, to that there wide and roomy and northern county of Angus, far and away beyond the river Tay—ay, and until my Lord Chancellor’s farther pleasure be known respecting you.” “O spare us!—O spare us!” exclaimed, or rather screamed, Mrs Austin, running up to the fearful, long-bearded man, and clasping him round the knees, weeping and wailing most dismally—“O spare us this once, and all shall be done as you wish it. Yes—yes, Sam, my dear Samuel Austin, you must just say the word—just say you will see about it—you will think about it—you will ask the Lord’s advice about it—and maybe these terrible men will leave us (the blind, ye see, sir, and the sick, and the old and infirm) to finish our days—whar the feck o’ them hae been spent—and to lay our banes in the auld kirkyard o’er by yonder.” “Get up, woman, wi’ your yammering and blarney! D’ye think the King’s officer does not know, and will not execute—ay, and to the letter—his duty. Get up! and mak that auld hardened traitor say the one half that ye hae done, and we shall soon rid you of our presence.”