CAMPBELL (beginning grimly and passing through astonishment, expostulation, and a feigned contempt for mother and pity for son, to a pretence of sadness which, except at the end, makes his words come haltingly).  Ah! ye also.  I suppose ye understand, woman, how it will go wi’ your son? (To his clerk) Here’s a fine mother for ye, James!  Would you believe it?  She kens what would save her son—­the very babe she nursed at her breast; but will she save him?  Na! na!  Sir, he may look after himself!  A mother, a mother!  Ha! ha!

(CAMPBELL laughs. MACKENZIE titters foolishly. CAMPBELL pauses to watch effect of his words.)

Aye, you would think, James, that she would remember the time when he was but little and afraid of all the terrors that walk in darkness, and how he looked up to her as to a tower of safety, and would run to her with outstretched hands, hiding his face from his fear, in her gown.  The darkness!  It is the dark night and a long journey before him now.

(He pauses again.)

You would think, James, that she would mind how she happit him from the cold of winter and sheltered him from the summer heats, and, when he began to find his footing, how she had an eye on a’ the beasts of the field and on the water and the fire that were become her enemies—­And to what purpose all this care?—­tell me that, my man, to what good, if she is to leave him at the last to dangle from a tree at the end of a hempen rope—­to see his flesh given to be meat for the fowls of the air—­her son, her little son!

MARY STEWAET.  My son is guilty of no crime!

CAMPBELL.  Is he no’!  Weel, mistress, as ye’ll no’ take my word for it, maybe ye’ll list to Mr. Mackenzie here.  What say ye, James?

MACKENZIE.  He is guilty of aiding and abetting in the concealment of proscribed persons; likewise with being found in the possession of arms, contrary to statute, both very heinous crimes.

CAMPBELL.  Very well said, James!  Forby, between ourselves, Mrs. Stewart, the young man in my opeenion is guilty of another crime (snuffs)—­he is guilty of the heinous crime of not knowing on which side his bread is buttered.—­Come now—­

MARY STEWART.  Ye durst not lay a finger on the lad, ye durst not hang him.

MACKENZIE.  And why should the gentleman not hang him if it pleesure him?

(CAMPBELL taps snuff-box and takes pinch.)

MARY STEWART (with intensity).  Campbell of Kilmhor, lay but one finger on Dugald Stewart and the weight of Ben Cruachan will be light to the weight that will be laid on your soul.  I will lay the curse of the seven rings upon your life:  I will call up the fires of Ephron, the blue and the green and the gray fires, for the destruction of your soul:  I will curse you in your homestead and in the wife it shelters and in the children that will never bear your name.  Yea, and ye shall be cursed.