As she stopped, short of
breath with her sharp speaking, for she was very ancient, a mean lout of a
man edged himself up against her to get a better position for watching the
arrival of another body of clansmen. In a fierce access of rage she struck
him with the ebony stick on which she leaned and, almost hissing the words
at him, said, "Back to your buttons and your tassels, Thomas Ashley, and
get grace by thinking on your worthy father!"
The man sidled off, and she continued, addressing the Colonel, "In the
fifteen his father was one of us, and suffered worthily."
"For what, madam?" I asked.
"For the cause," she replied.
"For what particular service to the cause, madam?" I persisted.
"He was zealous against the schismatics, sir," she said boldly.
"Madam," was my reply, "if the zeal of any one of us, townsman or
clansman, takes the same form this day, I shall certainly wring his neck.
We can fight for Charles without burning chapels."
"Smite-and-spare-not would subscribe to that doctrine," said Margaret,
thrusting her way gently between the Colonel and me, and hooking a hand
round an arm of each of us.
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