ne week, ye would risk to sell it twice? Why did not ye, with
your father, your brother, and your _wife_, flee into England, where
protection was promised!"

"My father!--my brother!--my wife!--mine!--mine!" repeated the preacher
wildly. "There are no such names for my tongue to utter!--none!--none to
drop their love as morning dew upon the solitary soul o' Andrew Duncan!"

"Are they murdered?" exclaimed Mowbray, suddenly, in a voice of agony.

"Murdered!" said the preacher, with increased bewilderment. "What do you
mean?--or wha' do you mean?"

"Tell me," cried Mowbray, eagerly; "are not you the husband of Mary
Brydone?"

"Me!--me!" cried the preacher. "No!--no!--I loved her as the laverock
loves the blue lift in spring, and her shadow cam between me and my ain
soul--but she wadna hearken unto my voice--she is nae wife o' mine!"

"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Mowbray; and he clasped his hands together.

It is necessary, however, that we now accompany John Brydone and his
family in their flight into Westmoreland. The letter which their
deliverer had put into their hands was addressed to a Sir Frederic
Mowbray; and, when they arrived at the house of the old knight, the
heart of the aged Covenanter almost failed him for a moment; for it was
a proud-looking mansion, and those whom he saw around wore the dress of
the Cavaliers.

"Who are ye?" inquired the servant who admitted them to the house.

"Deliver this letter into the hands of your master," said the
Covenanter; "our business is with him."

"It is the handwriting of Master Edward," said the servant, as he took
the letter into his hand; and, having conducted them to a room, he
delivered it to Sir Frederic.

In a few minutes the old knight hurried into the room, where the
Covenanter, and his son and his daughter, stood. "Welcome, thrice
welcome!" he cried, grasping the hand of the old man; "here you shall
find a resting-place and a home, with no one to make you afraid."

He ordered wine and food to be placed before them, and he sat down with
them.

Now John marvelled at the kindness of his host, and his heart burned
within him; and, in the midst of all, he thought of the long-lost
Philip, and how he had driven him from his house--and his cheek glowed
and his heart throbbed with anxiety. His son marvelled also, and Mary's
bosom swelled with strange thoughts--tears gathered in her eyes, and she
raised the ring that had been the token of her father's deliverance