ven the troopers, it is
said, were impressed--at all events, their subsequent conduct would seem
to countenance this belief. Their commander, however, was not much
affected, for he thrice interrupted his victim, telling him that he had
"given him time to pray, but not to preach."

"Sir," returned Brown, "ye know neither the nature of preaching nor
praying if ye call this preaching."

"Now," said Claverhouse, "take farewell of your wife and children."

After the poor man had kissed them, Claverhouse ordered six of his men
to fire; but they hesitated and finally refused. Enraged at this their
commander drew a pistol, and with his own hand blew out John Brown's
brains.

"What thinkest thou of thy husband now, woman?" he said, turning to the
widow.

"I ever thought much good of him," she answered, "and as much now as
ever."

"It were but justice to lay thee beside him," exclaimed the murderer.

"If you were permitted," she replied, "I doubt not but your cruelty
would go that length."

Thus far the excitement of the dreadful scene enabled the poor creature
to reply, but nature soon asserted her sway. Sinking on her knees by
the side of the mangled corpse, the widow, neither observing nor caring
for the departure of the dragoons, proceeded to bind up her husband's
shattered skull with a kerchief, while the pent-up tears burst forth.

The house stood in a retired, solitary spot, and for some time the
bereaved woman was left alone with God and her children; but before
darkness closed in a human comforter was sent to her in the person of
Quentin Dick.

On his arrival in Wigtown, Quentin, finding that his friends the Wilson
girls had been imprisoned with an old covenanter named Mrs. McLachlan,
and that he could not obtain permission to see them, resolved to pay a
visit to John Brown, the carrier, who was an old friend, and who might
perhaps afford him counsel regarding the Wilsons. Leaving Ramblin'
Peter behind to watch every event and fetch him word if anything
important should transpire, he set out and reached the desolated cottage
in the evening of the day on which his friend was shot.

Quentin was naturally a reserved man, and had never been able to take a
prominent part with his covenanting friends in conversation or in public
prayer, but the sight of his old friend's widow in her agony, and her
terrified little ones, broke down the barrier of reserve completely.
Although a stern and a strong man, not prone