oner.

"Well, then," continued the interrogator, "let us know if you saw John
Balfour of Burley among the party?--I presume you know him?"

"I bless God that I do know him," replied Macbriar; "he is a zealous and
a sincere Christian."

"And when and where did you last see this pious personage?" was the query
which immediately followed.

"I am here to answer for myself," said Macbriar, in the same dauntless
manner, "and not to endanger others."

"We shall know," said Dalzell, "how to make you find your tongue."

"If you can make him fancy himself in a conventicle," answered
Lauderdale, "he will find it without you.--Come, laddie, speak while the
play is good--you're too young to bear the burden will be laid on you
else."

"I defy you," retorted Macbriar. "This has not been the first of my
imprisonments or of my sufferings; and, young as I may be, I have lived
long enough to know how to die when I am called upon."

"Ay, but there are some things which must go before an easy death, if you
continue obstinate," said Lauderdale, and rung a small silver bell which
was placed before him on the table.

A dark crimson curtain, which covered a sort of niche, or Gothic recess
in the wall, rose at the signal, and displayed the public executioner, a
tall, grim, and hideous man, having an oaken table before him, on which
lay thumb-screws, and an iron case, called the Scottish boot, used in
those tyrannical days to torture accused persons. Morton, who was
unprepared for this ghastly apparition, started when the curtain arose,
but Macbriar's nerves were more firm. He gazed upon the horrible
apparatus with much composure; and if a touch of nature called the blood
from his cheek for a second, resolution sent it back to his brow with
greater energy.

"Do you know who that man is?" said Lauderdale, in a low, stern voice,
almost sinking into a whisper.

"He is, I suppose," replied Macbriar, "the infamous executioner of your
bloodthirsty commands upon the persons of God's people. He and you are
equally beneath my regard; and, I bless God, I no more fear what he can
inflict than what you can command. Flesh and blood may shrink under the
sufferings you can doom me to, and poor frail nature may shed tears, or
send forth cries; but I trust my soul is anchored firmly on the rock of
ages."

"Do your duty," said the Duke to the executioner.

The fellow advanced, and asked, with a harsh and discordant voice, upon
which of the prisone