“O Samuel—Samuel!” said the poor woman, rushing from the knees of the captain to those of her husband, and ultimately, as she proceeded, taking him around the neck, and looking into his firm and unchanged countenance in the most imploring manner—“O Samuel! my own dear and kind husband! the father of my dear and dying boy! the brother of that helpless blind creature sitting greeting in the corner there! O Samuel Austin, look at me! Don’t look away that gate; look in my face again, whar ye said ye have often looked with pleasure. O look at me! look at me! at your own Betty Sheils, _kindly_, and just say one word—one single short word—yes! O say yes! at least do not say no; or we are ruined, harried, driven, in frost and snow, at mid-winter, into the mountains and the forests!” “No more of this mummery!” exclaimed Dalziell. “Either promise, my old boy, to do as your wiser half would have you, or, by all the broad acres of Binns, ye do not lodge another night under the rooftree of Penpont Manse—that’s all.” Hereupon the poor blind woman, who had all along been sobbing aloud came rushing forward; and, catching hold of her brother’s hand, bathed it in tears shed from beamless sockets, but remained silent. This was indeed a trying hour to this good and affectionate man; and, for a moment, his purpose seemed shaken, and he looked around him, and towards his son, who had hitherto remained a silent but interested spectator of what was going on. “O Willie, Willie!” at last exclaimed the poor heart-broken saint—“O Willie! my son! my only child! what wouldst _thou_ have thy father do?” “I would have him,” responded the boy (as he was called in the family)—“I would have him do his duty, and leave the rest to God.” “Thou art right—thou art right, my child! Come to my arms! I did but for an instant wish the cup to pass from me; but thou art more than thy father’s child. Thou hast saved thine own soul, and mine besides; and now, ye men of war, and of rapine, and of blood, come on; I am prepared”—(looking to his son)—“we are prepared; do your worst. God, who fed Elijah in the wilderness, will not permit the old, the blind, alas! my child, I fear I may add the _dying_, to perish houseless and helpless. We will rid ye of our presence this very day, and repair, with all possible despatch, whithersoever the Lord willeth.” Hereupon the poor mother fell down in a faint, and dropped into the arms of her blind sister-in-law. “Johnston,” said General Dalziell, “see these traitors unkenneled before noonday’s sunset, lock the kirk and the manse doors, and bring me the keys. March, my lads! We will be late for breakfast.” So saying, the troop, with the exception of two, galloped off for Drumlanrig, the seat of the Douglasses of Queensberry.