Page:Tale of the Rebellion of 1745, or, The broken heart (1).pdf/9

                      9 it throbbed is the heart of poor Fanny. She would start from her sleep, crying—“Save him !—save him!” as she fancied she beheld them dragging him to execution. In order to soothe her, her pa- rents and his, in the confidence that pardon would be extended to him, agreed that the day of his liberation should be the day of their bridal. She knew their affection, and her heart struggled with her fears to believe the “flattering tale.” James tried also to cheer her—he believed that his life would be spared—he endeavoured to smile and be happy. “Fear not my Fanny, he would say; your doubts are idle. The Elector”--- And here his father would interfere, “ Speak not so, my son,” said the old man earnestly, “speak not against princes in your bedchamber, for a bird of the air can carry the tidings. Your life is in the hands of a King—of a merciful one—and it is safe —only speak not thus—-do not, as you love me —as you love our Fanny, do not.” Then would they chase away her fears and speak of the intended bridal; and Fanny would smile pensively while James held her hand in his, and, as he gazed on her finger, he raised it to his lips, as though he took the measure of the ring. But hope deferred makes the heart sick; and though they still were confident that he would be pardoned,—yet their anxiety increased, and Fanny’s heart seemed unable longer to contain its agony and suspense. Six months had passed, but still no pardon came for James Dawson. The fury of the civil war was spent—the royal Adventurer had escaped—the vengeance of the sword was satisfied, and the law of the conquerors, and the scaffolds of the law, called for the blood of those whom the sword had saved. The soldier laid down his weapon, and the executioner took up his. On the