is refuge now?"

"Our Father," said the maiden, fervently clasping her hands and lifting
up her eyes, now dim with weeping, as she appealed to God in prayer,
"who art in heaven--teach us all to say thy will be done. Take--take--my
dear John--Oh my heart will burst and I shall die!" she uttered, almost
overwhelmed with her emotions, as she again buried her face in Mistress
Ramsay's lap--"I cannot speak!"

A silence of inexpressible agony prevailed for some moments. This was at
length interrupted by the uprising of the full, clear, and firm voice of
Allen Musgrove, who now broke forth from the opposite side of a room
where he had kneeled before a chair, in an earnest and impressive
supplication to the Deity, urged with all that eloquence which naturally
flows from deeply-excited feeling. From the solemnity of the occasion,
as well as from the habitually religious temper of the family assembled
in the little cabin, the words of the prayer fell upon the hearts of
those present with a singularly welcome effect, and, for the moment,
brought tranquillity to their feelings.

When the prayer was ended, the grief of the mourners rolled back in its
former flood, and burst from Mary Musgrove in the most heart-rending
bitterness. Paroxysm followed paroxysm with fearful violence, and these
outbreaks were responded to by the mother with scarcely less intensity.
All attempts at consolation, on the part of the men, were unavailing;
and it was apparent that nothing remained but to let the tide of anguish
take its own course.

It was now some time after night-fall, when Butler and Drummond beckoned
Allen Musgrove to leave the room. They retired into the open air in
front of the house, where they were immediately joined by David Ramsay.
Here Butler communicated to them the necessity of making immediate
arrangements for their return to the woodman's cottage, and for the
burial of the deceased trooper. His advice was adopted, and it was
resolved that Musgrove and Ramsay should accompany the other two to the
spot. Before the consultation was closed, Andy had come into the group,
and he was now directed, with all haste, to throw a saddle upon his
father's horse.

"You, Andrew, my son," said David Ramsay, "will stay at home and comfort
your poor mother, and Mary. Speak to them, boy, and persuade them to
give up their useless lamentations. It is the will of God, and we ought
not to murmur at it."

"The burning, father," replied the boy, w