to give way to feeling, he
learned that night the full meaning of what it is to "weep with those
that weep." Moreover, his tongue was unloosed, and he poured forth his
soul in prayer, and quoted God's Word in a way that cheered, in no small
degree, his stricken friend. During several days he remained at
Priesthill, doing all in his power to assist the family, and receiving
some degree of comfort in return; for strong sympathy and fellowship in
sorrow had induced him to reveal the fact that he loved Margaret Wilson,
who at that time lay in prison with her young sister Agnes, awaiting
their trial in Wigtown.

Seated one night by the carrier's desolated hearth, where several
friends had assembled to mourn with the widow, Quentin was about to
commence family worship, when he was interrupted by the sudden entrance
of Ramblin' Peter. The expression of his face told eloquently that he
brought bad news. "The Wilsons," he said, "are condemned to be drowned
with old Mrs. McLachlan."

"No' baith o' the lasses," he added, correcting himself, "for the
faither managed to git ane o' them off by a bribe o' a hundred pounds--
an' that's every bodle that he owns."

"Which is to be drooned?" asked Quentin in a low voice.

"Marget--the auldest."

A deep groan burst from the shepherd as the Bible fell from his hands.

"Come!" he said to Peter, and passed quickly out of the house, without a
word to those whom he left behind.

Arrived in Wigtown, the wretched man went about, wildly seeking to move
the feelings of men whose hearts were like the nether millstone.

"Oh, if I only had siller!" he exclaimed to the Wilsons' father,
clasping his hands in agony. "Hae ye nae mair?"

"No' anither plack," said the old man in deepest dejection. "They took
all I had for Aggie."

"Ye are strang, Quentin," suggested Peter, who now understood the reason
of his friend's wild despair. "Could ye no' waylay somebody an' rob
them? Surely it wouldna be coonted wrang in the circumstances."

"Sin is sin, Peter. Better death than sin," returned Quentin with a
grave look.

"Aweel, we maun just dee, then," said Peter in a tone of resignation.

Nothing could avert the doom of these unfortunate women. Their judges,
of whom Grierson, Laird of Lagg, was one, indicted this young girl and
the old woman with the ridiculous charge of rebellion, of having been at
the battles of Bothwell Bridge and Airsmoss and present at twenty
conventicles, as well a