"Well, I agree to that," said Wallace, in a tone that indicated surprise with a dash of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"An' ye promise no' to try to get away when you're tied to--when _I'm_ tied to _you_?"

"I promise."

Hereupon the farmer, reaching out his hand, picked up the black silk neckcloth which he had laid aside, and with it firmly bound his own left wrist to the right wrist of his captive, talking in a grave, subdued tone as he did so.

"Nae doot the promise o' a spy is hardly to be lippened to, but if I find that ye're a dishonourable man, ye'll find that I'm an uncomfortable prisoner to be tied to. Noo, git up, lad, an' we'll gang hame thegither."

On rising, the first thing the trooper did was to turn and take a steady look at the man who had captured him in this singular manner.

"Weel, what d'ye think o' me?" asked Andrew, with what may be termed a grave smile.

"If you want to know my true opinion," returned Wallace, "I should say that I would not have thought, from the look of you, that you could have taken mean advantage of a sleeping foe."

"Ay--an' I would not have thought, from the look o' _you_," retorted Andrew, "that ye could hae sell't yersel' to gang skulkin' aboot the hills as a spy upon the puir craters that are only seekin' to worship their Maker in peace."

Without further remark Andrew Black, leaving his coat and plaid to keep company with the sword and stick, led his prisoner down the hill.

Andrew's cottage occupied a slight hollow on the hillside, which concealed it from every point of the compa.s.s save the high ground above it. Leading the trooper up to the door, he tapped gently, and was promptly admitted by some one whom Wallace could not discern, as the interior was dark.

"Oh, Uncle Andrew! I'm glad ye've come, for Peter hasna come back yet, an' I'm feared somethin' has come ower him."

"Strike a light, la.s.sie. I've gotten haud o' a spy here, an' canna weel do't mysel'."

When a light was procured and held up, it revealed the pretty face of Jean Black, which underwent a wondrous change when she beheld the face of the prisoner.

"Uncle Andrew!" she exclaimed, "this is nae spy. He's the man that cam'

to the help o' Aggie an' me against the dragoon."

"Is that sae?" said Black, turning a look of surprise on his prisoner.

"It is true, indeed, that I had the good fortune to protect Jean and her friend from an insolent comrade," answered Wallace; "and it is also true that that act has been partly the cause of my deserting to the hills, being starved for a day and a night, and taken prisoner now as a spy."

"Sir," said Andrew, hastily untying the kerchief that bound them together, "I humbly ask your pardon. Moreover, it's my opeenion that if ye hadna been starvin' ye wadna have been here 'e noo, for ye're uncommon teuch. Rin, la.s.sie, an' fetch some breed an' cheese. Whar's Marion an' Is'b'l?"

"They went out to seek for Peter," said Jean, as she hastened to obey her uncle's mandate.

At that moment a loud knocking was heard at the door, and the voice of Marion, one of the maid-servants, was heard outside. On the door being opened, she and her companion Isabel burst in with excited looks and the information, pantingly given, that the "sodgers were comin'."

"Haud yer noise, la.s.sie, an' licht the fire--pit on the parritch pat.

Come, Peter, let's hear a' aboot it."

Ramblin' Peter, who had been thus named because of his inveterate tendency to range over the neighbouring hills, was a quiet, undersized, said-to-be weak-minded boy of sixteen years, though he looked little more than fourteen. No excitement whatever ruffled his placid countenance as he gave his report--to the effect that a party of dragoons had been seen by him not half an hour before, searching evidently for his master's cottage.

"They'll soon find it," said the farmer, turning quickly to his domestics--"Away wi' ye, la.s.sies, and hide."

The two servant-girls, with Jean and her cousin Aggie Wilson, ran at once into an inner room and shut the door. Ramblin' Peter sat stolidly down beside the fire and calmly stirred the porridge-pot, which was nearly full of the substantial Scottish fare.

"Noo, sir," said Black, turning to Will Wallace, who had stood quietly watching the various actors in the scene just described, "yer comrades'll be here in a wee while. May I ask what ye expect?"

"I expect to be imprisoned at the least, more probably shot."

"Hm! pleasant expectations for a young man, nae doot. I'm sorry that it's oot o' my power to stop an' see the fun, for the sodgers have strange suspicions aboot me, so I'm forced to mak' mysel' scarce an'

leave Ramblin' Peter to do the hospitalities o' the hoose. But before I gang awa' I wad fain repay ye for the guid turn ye did to my bairns. If ye are willin' to shut yer eyes an' do what I tell ye, I'll put you in a place o' safety."

"Thank you, Mr. Black," returned Wallace; "of course I shall only be too glad to escape from the consequences of my unfortunate position; but do not misunderstand me: although neither a spy nor a Covenantor I am a loyal subject, and would not now be a deserter if that character had not been forced upon me, first by the brutality of the soldiers with whom I was banded, and then by the insolence of my comrade-in-arms to your daughter--"

"Niece; niece," interrupted Black; "I wish she _was_ my dauchter, bless her bonny face! Niver fear, sir, I've nae doot o' yer loyalty, though you an' yer freends misdoot mine. I claim to be as loyal as the best o'

ye, but there's nae dictionary in _this_ warld that defines loyalty to be slavish submission o' body an' sowl to a tyrant that fears naether G.o.d nor man. The quastion noo is, Div ye want to escape and wull ye trust me?"

The sound of horses galloping in the distance tended to quicken the young trooper's decision. He submitted to be blindfolded by his captor.

"Noo, Peter," said Andrew, as he was about to lead Wallace away, "ye ken what to dae. Gie them plenty to eat; show them the rum bottle, let them hae the rin o' the hoose, an' say that I bade ye treat them weel."

"Ay," was Ramblin' Peter's laconic reply.

Leading his captive out at the door, round the house, and re-entering by a back door, apparently with no other end in view than to bewilder him, Andrew went into a dark room, opened some sort of door--to enter which the trooper had to stoop low--and conducted him down a steep, narrow staircase.

The hors.e.m.e.n meanwhile had found the cottage and were heard at that moment tramping about in front, and thundering on the door for admittance.

Wallace fancied that the door which closed behind him must be of amazing thickness, for it shut out almost completely the sounds referred to.

On reaching the foot of the staircase, and having the napkin removed from his eyes, he found himself in a long, low, vaulted chamber. There was no one in it save his guide and a venerable man who sat beside a deal table, reading a doc.u.ment by the light of a tallow candle stuck in the mouth of a black bottle.

The soldiers, meanwhile, having been admitted by Ramblin' Peter, proceeded to question that worthy as to Andrew Black and his household.

Not being satisfied of the truth of his replies they proceeded to apply torture in order to extract confession. It was the first time that this mode of obtaining information had been used in Black's cottage, and it failed entirely, for Ramblin' Peter was staunch, and, although inhumanly thrashed and probed with sword-points, the poor lad remained dumb, insomuch that the soldiers at length set him down as an idiot, for he did not even cry out in his agonies--excepting in a curious, half-stifled manner--because he knew well that if his master were made aware by his cries of what was going on he would be sure to hasten to the rescue at the risk of his life.

Having devoured the porridge, drunk the rum, and destroyed a considerable amount of the farmer's produce, the lawless troopers, who seemed to be hurried in their proceedings at that time, finally left the place.

About the time that these events were taking place in and around Black's cottage, bands of armed men with women and even children were hastening towards the same locality to attend the great "conventicle," for which the preparations already described were being made.

The immediate occasion of the meeting was the desire of the parishioners of the Reverend John Welsh, a great-grandson of John Knox, to make public avowal, at the Communion Table, of their fidelity to Christ and their attachment to the minister who had been expelled from the church of Irongray; but strong sympathy induced many others to attend, not only from all parts of Galloway and Nithsdale, but from the distant Clyde, the sh.o.r.es of the Forth, and elsewhere; so that the roads were crowded with people making for the rendezvous--some on foot, others on horseback. Many of the latter were gentlemen of means and position, who, as well as their retainers, were more or less well armed and mounted. The Reverend John Blackadder, the "auld" minister of Troqueer--a noted hero of the Covenant, who afterwards died a prisoner on the Ba.s.s Rock--travelled with his party all the way from Edinburgh, and a company of eighty horse proceeded to the meeting from Clydesdale.

Preliminary services, conducted by Mr. Blackadder and Mr. Welsh, were held near Dumfries on the Sat.u.r.day, but at these the place of meeting on the Sabbath was only vaguely announced as "a hillside in Irongray," so anxious were they to escape being disturbed by their enemies, and the secret was kept so well that when the Sabbath arrived a congregation of above three thousand had a.s.sembled round the Communion stones in the hollow of Skeoch Hill.

Sentinels were posted on all the surrounding heights. One of these sentinels was the farmer Andrew Black, with a cavalry sword belted to his waist, and a rusty musket on his shoulder. Beside him stood a tall stalwart youth in shepherd's costume.

"Yer ain mother wadna ken ye," remarked Andrew with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I doubt that," replied the youth; "a mother's eyes are keen. I should not like to encounter even Glendinning in my present guise."

As he spoke the rich melody of the opening psalm burst from the great congregation and rolled in softened cadence towards the sentinels.

CHAPTER THREE.

THE TRUE AND THE FALSE AT WORK.