"Fiends--bloody, brutal, heartless fiends--are ye all! And is this your
work, ye sons of the wicked and the accursed one? What! could not _one_
content ye? Was not the boy enough to sacrifice on your accursed temple
to Moloch, but ye must imbrue your hands in the blood of a weak, an
infirm, a helpless woman! Oh, may the God of the Covenant," added he,
bending reverently down upon his knees, and looking towards heaven, "may
the God of Jacob forgive me for cursing ye! And, thou man of blood"
(addressing Clavers personally), "think ye not that the blood of Brown,
and of my darling child, and my beloved wife--think ye not, wot ye not,
that their blood, and the blood of the thousand saints which ye have
shed, will yet be required, ay, fearfully required, even to the last
drop, by an avenging God, at your hands?"
Having uttered these words with great and awful energy, he was on the
point of drawing his sword, concealed under the flap of his coat, and of
selling his life as dearly as possible, when Mrs. Harkness, who had now
recovered her senses, rushed into his arms, exclaiming--
"Oh Thomas, Thomas, what is this ye hae done? Oh, beware, beware!--I am
yet alive and unskaithed.
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