e hatred of an apostate.
This man pulled down the house of the poor woman, carried away her
furniture, and, leaving her and her younger children to wander in the
fields, dragged her son Andrew, who was still a lad, before Claverhouse,
who happened to be marching through that part of the country.
Claverhouse was just then strangely lenient. Some thought that he had
not been quite himself since the death of the Christian carrier, ten
days before. But Westerhall was eager to signalise his loyalty, and
extorted a sullen consent. The guns were loaded, and the youth was told
to pull his bonnet over his face. He refused, and stood confronting his
murderers with the Bible in his hand. "I can look you in the face," he
said; "I have done nothing of which I need be ashamed. But how will you
look in that day when you shall be judged by what is written in this
book?" He fell dead, and was buried in the moor. [291]

On the same day two women, Margaret Maclachlin and Margaret Wilson, the
former an aged widow, the latter a maiden of eighteen, suffered death
for their religion in Wigtonshire. They were offered their lives if they
would consent to abjure the cause of the insurgent Covenanters, and to
attend the Episcopal worship. They refused; and they were sentenced to
be drowned. They were carried to a spot which the Solway overflows twice
a day, and were fastened to stakes fixed in the sand between high and
low water mark. The elder sufferer was placed near to the advancing
flood, in the hope that her last agonies might terrify the younger into
submission. The sight was dreadful. But the courage of the survivor
was sustained by an enthusiasm as lofty as any that is recorded in
martyrology. She saw the sea draw nearer and nearer, but gave no sign
of alarm. She prayed and sang verses of psalms till the waves choked her
voice. After she had tasted the bitterness of death, she was, by a cruel
mercy unbound and restored to life. When she came to herself, pitying
friends and neighbours implored her to yield. "Dear Margaret, only say,
God save the King!" The poor girl, true to her stern theology, gasped
out, "May God save him, if it be God's will!" Her friends crowded round
the presiding officer. "She has said it; indeed, sir, she has said it."
"Will she take the abjuration?" he demanded. "Never!" she exclaimed.
"I am Christ's: let me go!" And the waters closed over her for the last
time. [292]

Thus was Scotland governed by that prince who