A prayer stole up from my heart--not for mercy, but for the safety of
the hill-folks on the morrow, and for the pardon of my own sins. Only a
shriven soul could hope to be reunited with my beloved:--please God,
Mary would be waiting for me on the other side.
The trooper rose and came towards me.
"I'll bluid ye like a sheep," he snarled, and seizing me by the hair
swung my head over to one side.
Death stared me in the face, and, let me set it down for the comfort of
those who live in daily terror of death, at that moment I felt no fear.
"Like a sheep," he mumbled--and swung his arm back for the blow; but at
that instant he crashed forward carrying me before him, and his open
knife clattered on the floor.
"Thank God--oh, thank God," whispered a woman's voice, as she drew me,
still bound to the chair, from under the heavy body of the giant. In a
trice she had cut my bonds--and was chafing my numbed limbs.
"Ha'e I killed him?" she asked anxiously.
I looked at the giant. He was breathing heavily--and a long gash on the
back of his head was spurting jets of blood.
"No," I said--"only stunned him. I owe my life to you."
"Ay. Tae me an' the tatie-beetle," she answered, pointing to her weapon
on the floor. "But haste ye. Tie him up afore he comes tae."
I bound him, hands and feet, with a grim satisfaction, and left him
lying on his face.
The woman watched me anxiously, urging me to greater haste.
"And now," I said--"what of you? You must escape."
"Oh, I'll be a' richt," she said, leading the way to the other room.
"My man will be back in an 'oor. Tie me in a chair--and gag me: and I'll
tell a bonnie story when Peter comes hame."