"'She might have gone away,' said one of the troopers; 'we didn't want to kill her or the old woman; it was their own fault.' "'All this fearful scene had been witnessed by a faithful servant, who had hidden herself in a loft, where, trembling and overpowered with grief, she had seen and heard all. "'When Gilbert Gordon returned in the evening, what was his horror to see his father, mother and only daughter weltering in their blood on the green sward in front of the manse! "'With the assistance of a few mourning parishioners, by the light of the pale moon, they dug a hurried grave, and after a few words of solemn prayer from the lips of Gilbert Gordon, they laid away the precious remains of the martyred dead in hope of a joyful resurrection, placing a small board to mark the place where they slept; and when those troubled days were over, an humble tomb-stone marked the very spot where they lay down their lives for Jesus. "'Go, read it, Roland,' said my mother; 'and never forget that the blood of martyrs flows in your veins. Always be strong for the right, my son; and remember that you are a Gordon as well as a Bruce.' "I read the inscription on the simple tomb-stone, partially defaced by time; the letters were very faint, but I still could read: 'The Rev. David Gordon; Janet, his wife; and his granddaughter, Lilian Gordon; martyred on the 20th day of October, 1643. They sleep in Jesus.' "Maddy, I have never forgotten that sacred spot; and so deep was the impression that, boy as I was, I felt as if my soul grew larger from that day, and as if I would rather suffer anything than dishonor a name so sacred as that of Gordon. I remember every word my mother said. I have thought of the story in the dark hours of the night, and have prayed that God would give me such a heroic soul as David Gordon's." Maddy listened to the recital, and all the deep feelings of her imaginative nature were stirred to their very depths. She could never again look upon Roland Gordon Bruce with any other feelings than those of deepest veneration; for, boy as he was, and poor as he was, was he not a descendant of martyrs? and as much of a hero in her young fancy, as though he had figured himself upon that bloody sward, and as though, instead of occurring in 1643, it had been an event of yesterday. The story had ended--returning to the rock, they took their seat once more upon its summit. The storm had all passed away; the gulls were flying to their nests, their white breasts glistening in the bright sunlight that now flooded the waters. "Maddy, I do think that I like storms better than calms. I like everything that brings the grandeur of God before me; there is a voice within, Maddy, that answers to the music of a storm." "I never could tell just how it was, Roland, but I often think just as you do, only I never could speak it in words."