diff options
Diffstat (limited to '46769-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 46769-8.txt | 11182 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 11182 deletions
diff --git a/46769-8.txt b/46769-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 747c80c..0000000 --- a/46769-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11182 +0,0 @@ - FLOWER O' THE HEATHER - - - - -This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United -States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are -located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Flower o' the Heather - A Story of the Killing Times -Author: Robert William Mackenna -Release Date: September 07, 2014 [EBook #46769] -Language: English -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLOWER O' THE HEATHER *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - - FLOWER O' THE HEATHER - - A STORY OF THE KILLING TIMES - - - BY ROBERT WILLIAM MACKENNA - - AUTHOR OF "THE ADVENTURE OF DEATH," "THE - ADVENTURE OF LIFE," "THROUGH A TENT DOOR" - - - - LONDON - JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. - - - - - FIRST EDITION ...... October, 1922 - Reprinted .......... October, 1922 - Reprinted .......... December, 1922 - Reprinted .......... January, 1923 - Reprinted .......... November, 1923 - Reprinted .......... January, 1925 - Reprinted, 3s. 6d. . May, 1925 - Reprinted .......... July, 1926 - Reprinted .......... August..1926 - Reprinted .......... January, 1926 - Reprinted, 2s. ..... May, 1920 - Reprinted .......... January, 1927 - Reprinted, 3s. 6d. . May, 1927 - - - - _Printed in Great Britain by - Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._ - - - - - TO - - JAMES MACKENNA, C.I.E., I.C.S. - - - - - *CONTENTS* - -CHAPTER - - I. On Devorgilla's Bridge - II. Trooper Bryden of Lag's Horse - III. By Blednoch Water - IV. The Tavern Brawl - V. In the Dark of the Night - VI. In the Lap of the Hills - VII. The Flute-player - VIII. A Covenanter's Charity - IX. The Story of Alexander Main - X. The Field Meeting - XI. Flower o' the Heather - XII. The Greater Love - XIII. Pursued - XIV. In the Slough of Despond - XV. In the Haven of Daldowie - XVI. Andrew Paterson, Hill-Man - XVII. An Adopted Son - XVIII. The Wisdom of a Woman - XIX. The Making of a Daisy Chain - XX. Love the All-Compelling - XXI. The Hired Man - XXII. "The Least of these, My brethren" - XXIII. The Search - XXIV. Baffled - XXV. The Shattering of Dreams - XXVI. Hector the Packman - XXVII. On the Road to Dumfries - XXVIII. For the Sweet Sake of Mary - XXIX. Beside the Nith - XXX. In the Tiger's Den - XXXI. The Cave by the Linn - XXXII. Toilers of the Night - XXXIII. The Going of Hector - XXXIV. The Flight of Peter Burgess - XXXV. Within Sight of St. Giles - XXXVI. For the Sake of the Covenant - XXXVII. "Out of the snare of the Fowlers" -XXXVIII. The Passing of Andrew and Jean - XXXIX. False Hopes - XL. I seek a Flower - XLI. In the Hands of the Persecutors - XLII. In the Tolbooth of Dumfries - XLIII. By the Tower of Lincluden - XLIV. "Quo Vadis, Petre?" - XLV. On the Wings of the Sea-Mew - XLVI. Sunshine after Storm - XLVII. The End; and a Beginning - - - - - *FLOWER O' THE HEATHER* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *ON DEVORGILLA'S BRIDGE* - - -It is a far cry from the grey walls of Balliol College to the sands at -Dumfries, and there be many ways that may lead a man from the one to the -other. So thought I, Walter de Brydde of the City of Warwick, when on -an April morning in the year of grace 1685 I stood upon Devorgilla's -bridge and watched the silver Nith glide under the red arches. - -I was there in obedience to a whim; and the whim, with all that went -before it--let me set it down that men may judge me for what I was--was -the child of a drunken frolic. It befell in this wise. - -I was a student at Balliol--a student, an' you please, by courtesy, for -I had no love for book-learning, finding life alluring enough without -that fragrance which high scholarship is supposed to lend it. - -It was the middle of the Lent term, and a little band of men like-minded -with myself had assembled in my room, whose window overlooked the -quadrangle, and with cards, and ribald tales, and song, to say nothing -of much good beer, we had spent a boisterous evening. Big Tom had -pealed five score and one silvery notes from Christ Church Tower, and -into the throbbing silence that followed his mighty strokes, I, with the -fire of some bold lover, had flung the glad notes of rare old Ben's -"Song to Celia." A storm of cheers greeted the first verse, and, with -jocund heart, well-pleased, I was about to pour my soul into the -tenderness of the second, when Maltravers, seated in the window-recess, -interrupted me. - -"Hush!" he cried, "there's a Proctor in the Quad, listening: what can he -want?" Now when much liquor is in, a man's wits tend to forsake him, -and I was in the mood to flout all authority. - -"To perdition with all Proctors!" I exclaimed. "The mangy spies!" And I -strode to the window and looked out. - -In the faint moonlight I saw the shadowy figure of a man standing with -face upturned at gaze below my window. The sight stirred some spirit of -misrule within me, and, flinging the window wide, I hurled straight at -the dark figure my leathern beer-pot with its silver rim. The contents -struck him full in the face, and the missile fell with a thud on the -lawn behind him. There was an angry splutter; the man drew his sleeve -across his face, and stooping picked up the tankard. In that moment -some trick of movement revealed him, and Maltravers gasped "Zounds! -It's the Master himself." - -And so it proved--to my bitter cost. Had I been coward enough to seek -to hide my identity, it would have been useless, for the silver rim of -my leather jack bore my name. Thus it came to pass that I stood, a -solitary figure, with none to say a word in my behoof before the Court -of Discipline. - -I felt strangely forlorn and foolish as I made obeisance to the -President and his six venerable colleagues. I had no defence to offer -save that of drunkenness, and, being sober now, I was not fool enough to -plead that offence in mitigation of an offence still graver: so I held -my peace. The Court found me guilty--they could do none other; and in -sonorous Latin periods the President delivered sentence. I had no -degree of which they could deprive me: they were unwilling, as this was -my first appearance before the Court, to pronounce upon me a sentence of -permanent expulsion, but my grave offence must be dealt with severely. -I must make an apology in person to the Master; and I should be -rusticated for one year. I bowed to the Court, and then drew myself up -to let these grey-beards, who were shaking their heads together over the -moral delinquencies of the rising generation, see that I could take my -punishment like a man. The Proctor touched me on the arm; my gown -slipped from my shoulders. Then I felt humbled to the dust. I was -without the pale. The truth struck home and chilled my heart more than -all the ponderous Latin periods which had been pronounced over me. - -The Court rose and I was free to go. - -Out in the open, I was assailed by an eager crowd of sympathisers. -Youth is the age of generous and unreasoning impulses--and youth tends -ever to take the side of the condemned, whatever his offence. Belike it -is well for the world. - -I might have been a hero, rather than a man disgraced. - -"So they have not hanged, drawn, and quartered you," cried Maltravers, -as he slipped his arm through mine. - -"Nor sent you to the pillory," cried another. - -I told the crowd what my punishment was to be. - -"A scurrilous shame," muttered a sympathiser. "What's the old place -coming to? They want younger blood in their Court of Discipline. Sour -old kill-joys the whole pack of them: nourished on Latin roots till any -milk of human kindness in them has turned to vinegar." - -I forced a laugh to my lips. "As the culprit," I said, "I think my -punishment has been tempered with mercy. I behaved like a zany. I -deserve my fate." - -"Fac bono sis animo: cheer up," cried Maltravers, "the year will soon -pass: and we shall speed your departure on the morrow, in the hope that -we may hasten your return." - -I went to my rooms and packed up my belongings, sending them to the inn -on the Banbury Road, where on the morrow I should await the coach for -Warwick. Then I made my way to the Master and tendered him my apology. -He accepted it with a courtly grace that made me feel the more the -baseness of my offence. The rest of the day I spent in farewell visits -to friends in my own and other colleges--and then I lay down to rest. -Little did I think, as I lay and heard the mellow notes of Big Tom throb -from Tom Tower, that in a few weeks I should be lying, a fugitive, on a -Scottish hill-side. The future hides her secrets from us behind a -jealous hand. - -Morning came, and I prepared to depart. No sooner had I passed out of -the College gateway than I was seized by zealous hands, and lifted -shoulder high. In this wise I was borne to the confines of the City by -a cheerful rabble--to my great discomfort, but to their huge amusement. -The sorrow they expressed with their lips was belied by the gaiety -written on their faces, and though they chanted "_Miserere Domine_" -there was a cheerfulness in their voices ill in keeping with their -words. - -When we came to the confines of the City my bearers lowered me roughly -so that I fell in a heap, and as I lay they gathered round me and -chanted dolorously a jumble of Latin words. It sounded like some -priestly benediction--but it was only the reiterated conjugation of a -verb. When the chant was ended Maltravers seized me by the arm and drew -me to my feet: "Ave atque vale, Frater: Good-bye, and good luck," he -said. - -Others crowded round me with farewells upon their lips, the warmth of -their hearts speaking in the pressure of their hands. I would fain have -tarried, but I tore myself away. As I did so Maltravers shouted, "A -parting cheer for the voyager across the Styx," and they rent the air -with a shout. I turned to wave a grateful hand, when something tinkled -at my feet. I stooped and picked up a penny: "Charon's beer money," -shouted a voice. "Don't drink it yourself,"--at which there was a roar -of laughter. So I made my way to The Bay Horse, sadder at heart, I -trow, than was my wont. - -The follies of youth have a glamour when one is in a crowd, but the -glamour melts like a morning mist when one is alone. I seated myself in -the inn parlour to await the coach for Warwick, and as I sat I pondered -my state. It was far from pleasing. To return disgraced to the house -of my uncle and guardian was a prospect for which I had little heart. -Stern at the best of times, he had little sympathy with the ways of -youth, and many a homily had I listened to from his sour lips. This -last escapade would, I knew, be judged without charity. I had disgraced -my family name, a name that since the days when Balliol College was -founded by Devorgilla had held a place of honour on the college rolls. -For generations the de Bryddes had been _alumni_, and for a de Brydde to -be sent down from his Alma Mater for such an offence as mine would lay -upon the family record a blot that no penitence could atone for or good -conduct purge. So my reception by my guardian was not likely to be a -pleasant one. Besides there was this to be thought of: during my last -vacation my uncle, a man of ripe age, who had prided himself upon the -stern resistance he had offered all his life to what he called the -"wiles of the sirens," had, as many a man has done, thrown his -prejudices to the winds and espoused a young woman who neither by birth -nor in age seemed to be a suitable wife for him. A young man in love -may act like a fool, but an old man swept off his feet by love for a -woman young enough to be his granddaughter can touch depths of -foolishness that no young man has ever plumbed. So, at least, it seemed -to me, during the latter half of my vacation, after he had brought home -his bride. She was the young apple of his aged eye, and there was no -longer any place for me in his affections. - -I turned these things over in my mind, and then I thought longingly of -my little room at Balliol. To numb my pain I called for a tankard of -ale. As I did so my eye was caught by a picture upon the wall. It was -a drawing of my own college, and under it in black and staring letters -was printed: "Balliol College, Oxford. Founded by the Lady Devorgilla -in memory of her husband John Balliol. The pious foundress of this -college also built an Abbey in Kirkcudbrightshire and threw a bridge -over the Nith at Dumfries. _Requiescat in pace_." - -A sudden fancy seized me. Why need I haste me home? Surely it were -wiser to disappear until the storm of my guardian's wrath should have -time to subside. I would make a pilgrimage. I would hie me to Dumfries -and see with my own eyes the bridge which the foundress of Balliol had -caused to be built: and on my pilgrimage I might perchance regain some -of my self-respect. The sudden impulse hardened into resolution as I -quaffed my ale. Calling for pen and paper I proceeded to write a letter -to my uncle. I made no apology for my offence, of which I had little -doubt he would receive a full account from the college authorities; but -I told him that I was minded to do penance by making a pilgrimage to -Devorgilla's bridge at Dumfries and that I should return in due time. - -As I sealed the letter the coach drew up at the door, and I gave it to -the post-boy. With a sounding horn and a crack of the whip the coach -rolled off, and, standing in the doorway, I watched it disappear in a -cloud of dust. Then I turned into the inn again and prepared to settle -my account. As I did so I calculated that in my belt I had more than -thirty pounds, and I was young--just twenty--and many a man with youth -upon his side and much less money in his purse has set out to see the -world. So I took courage and, having pledged the goodman of the house -to take care of my belongings against my return, I purchased from him a -good oak staff and set out upon my journey. - -Thus it was that a month later I stood, as I have already told, upon the -bridge at Dumfries. A farm cart, heavily laden, rolled along it, and -lest I should be crushed against the wall I stepped into the little -alcove near its middle to let the wagon pass. It rattled ponderously -over the cobbled road and as it descended the slope towards the Vennel -Port there passed it, all resplendent in a flowing red coat thrown back -at the skirt to display its white lining, the swaggering figure of a -gigantic soldier. He stalked leisurely along the bridge towards me, and -as he passed I looked at him closely. His big, burnished spurs clanked -as he walked and the bucket tops of his polished jack-boots moved to the -bend of his knees. From his cocked hat a flesh-coloured ribbon -depended, falling upon his left shoulder, and touching the broad -cross-strap of his belt, which gripped his waist like a vice, so that he -threw out his chest--all ornate with a blue plastron edged with silver -lace--like a pouter pigeon. In his right hand he carried a supple cane -with which ever and anon he struck his jack-boot. Behind him, at a -prudent distance, followed two boys, talking furtively, lip to ear. As -they passed me I heard the one whisper to the other: - -"Liar! It's the King richt eneuch. My big brither tellt me, and he -kens!" - -"It's naething o' the kind," said the other. "I'll hit ye a bash on the -neb. He's only a sergeant o' dragoons," and without more ado the lads -fell upon each other. - -What the issue might have been I cannot tell, for, hearing the scuffle -behind him, the sergeant turned and began to retrace his steps. At the -sound of his coming the combatants were seized with panic; their enmity -changed to sudden friendship, and together they raced off towards the -town. The sergeant descended upon me, and tapping me on the chest with -the butt of his stick, said: - -"You're a likely young man. What say you to taking service wi' His -Majesty? It's a man's life, fu' o' adventure and romance. The women, -God bless them, canna keep their een off a sodger's coat. Are ye game -to 'list? There are great doings toward, for the King wants men to root -out the pestilent Whigs frae the West country. Will ye tak' the -shilling?" - -The suggestion thus flung at me caught me at unawares. I turned it over -rapidly in my mind. Why not? As a soldier, I should see some of the -country, and if the worst came to the worst I had money enough in my -belt to buy myself out. - -Moreover I might do something to redeem myself in the eyes of my -uncle--for had not the de Bryddes fought nobly on many a stricken field -for the King's Majesty. So, without more ado, I stretched out my hand, -and the King's shilling dropped into it. - -"Come on," said the sergeant brusquely, "we maun toast the King at my -expense," and he led the way to the Stag Inn near the Vennel Port. In -the inn-parlour he called for drinks, and ogled the girl who brought -them. We drank to His Majesty--"God bless him:" and then the sergeant, -after toasting "The lassies--God bless them," became reminiscent and -garrulous. But ever he returned to wordy admiration of a woman: - -"I tell ye," he said, "there's no' the marrow o' the Beadle o' St. -Michael's dochter in the hale o' Dumfries; an' that's sayin' a lot. The -leddies o' the King's Court--an' I've seen maist o' them--couldna haud a -candle tae her." He threw a kiss into the air; then he drank deeply and -called for more ale. "By the way," he said, "what dae ye ca' -yersel'?--and whaur did ye get sic legs? They're like pot-sticks, and -yer breist is as flat as a scone. But we'll pu' ye oot, and mak' a man -o' ye." - -"My name is de Brydde," I replied, ignoring his criticisms of my person. - -"De Brydde," he repeated. "It sounds French. Ye'd better ca' yersel' -Bryden. It's a guid Scots name, and less kenspeckle. Pu' yer shouthers -back, and haud up yer heid." - -Two dragoons entered the tavern, and the sergeant was on his dignity. - -"Tak' this recruit," he said, "to heidquarters, and hand him ower to the -sergeant-major. He's a likely chiel." - -I rose to accompany the men, but the sergeant tapped me on the shoulder: - -"Ye've forgotten to pay the score," he said. "Hey, Mary," and the -tavern maid came forward. - -The King's shilling that was mine paid for the sergeant's hospitality. -It's the way of the army. - -So I became Trooper Bryden of Lag's Horse. - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *TROOPER BRYDEN OF LAG'S HORSE* - - -After the cloistered quiet of Balliol I found my new life passing -strange. - -Sir Robert Grierson of Lag, our Commanding Officer, was a good soldier, -a martinet and a firm believer in the power of the iron hand. He was, -we knew, held in high favour by the authorities, and he had been granted -a commission to stamp out, by all means in his power, the pestilent and -bigoted pack of rebels in Dumfriesshire and Galloway who called -themselves Covenanters. He was quick of temper, but he did not lack a -kind of sardonic humour, nor was he without bravery. A King's man to -the core, he never troubled his mind with empty questionings; his orders -were to put down rebellion and to crush the Covenanters, and that was -enough for him. - -My fellow-troopers interested me. Some of them were soldiers of fortune -who had fought upon the Continent of Europe--hard-bitten men, full of -strange oaths and stranger tales of bloody fights fought on alien soil. -In their eyes the life of a soldier was the only life worth living, and -they held in contempt less bellicose mortals who were content to spend -their days in the paths of peace. Of the rest, some were Highlanders, -dreamy-eyed creatures of their emotions, in which they reined in with a -firm hand in the presence of any Lowlander, but to which they gave free -vent when much liquor had loosened their tongues. Brave men all--from -their youth accustomed to hardship and bloodshed--fighting was as the -breath of their nostrils. To me, accustomed to the milder ales of -England, their capacity for the strong waters of the North was a -revelation. They could drink, undiluted, fiery spirits of a potency and -in a quantity that would have killed me. I never saw one drunk; and at -the end of an evening of heavy indulgence there was not a man among them -but could stand steady upon his feet and find his way unaided back to -billets. So far as I could see the only effect of their potations was -that after the fourth or fifth pot they became musical and would sing -love-songs in the Gaelic tongue with a moisture gathering in their eyes -like dewdrops. After that they tended to become theological, and would -argue angrily on points of doctrine too abstruse for me to follow. The -Lowlanders were a curious mixture of sentimentality and sound -common-sense. They carried their drink less well than the Highlanders, -but they too were men of unusual capacity--at least to my way of -thinking--and always passed through a theological phase on their way to -a condition of drunkenness. - -I do not know whether my companions found as much interest in studying -me as I derived from observing them. Probably they pitied me, as the -Highlanders did the Lowlanders. I had not been born in Scotland: that, -in their eyes, was a misfortune which almost amounted to a disgrace. My -incapacity to rival them in their potations, and my inability to take -part in their theological discussions, made them regard me with -something akin to contempt. Once I overheard a Highlander whisper to a -Lowlander, "Surely she iss a feckless creature," and I guessed with a -feeling of abasement that he was speaking of me. On the whole, they -treated me with a rude kindliness, doing all they could to make me -acquainted with the elements of the rough-and-ready discipline which was -the standard of the troop, and protecting my ignorance, whenever they -dared, from the harsh tongue of the sergeant-major. - -We were mounted men, but our weapons were those of foot-soldiers. Our -horses, stout little nags, known as Galloways, were simply our means of -conveyance from place to place. If we had been called upon to fight, we -should probably have fought on foot, and we were armed accordingly, with -long muskets which we bore either slung across our shoulders or -suspended muzzle-downwards from our saddle-peaks. - -Equipped for rapid movement, we carried little with us save our weapons: -but under his saddle-flap each dragoon had a broad metal plate, and -behind the saddle was hung a bag of oatmeal. When we bivouacked in the -open, as many a time we did, each trooper made for himself on his plate, -heated over a camp fire, a farle or two of oat-cake, and with this -staved off the pangs of hunger. It was, as the sergeant had said, a -man's life--devoid of luxury, compact of hardship and scanty feeding, -with little relaxation save what we could find in the taverns of the -towns or villages where we halted for a time. - -In my ignorance, I had thought that when we set out from Dumfries to -march through Galloway we should find, opposed to us somewhere, a force -of Covenanters who would give battle. I had imagined that these rebels -would have an army of their own ready to challenge the forces of the -King: but soon I learned that our warfare was an inglorious campaign -against unarmed men and women. We were little more than inquisitors. -In the quiet of an afternoon we would clatter up some lonely road to a -white farm-house--the hens scattering in terror before us--and draw rein -in the cobbled court-yard. - -Lag would hammer imperiously upon the half-open door, and a terrified -woman would answer the summons. - -"Whaur's the guid-man?" he would cry, and when the good-wife could find -speech she would answer: - -"He's up on the hills wi' the sheep." - -"Think ye," Lag would say, "will he tak' the Test?" - -"Ay, he wull that. He's nae Whig, but a King's man is John,"--and to -put her words to the proof we would search the hills till we found him. -When found, if he took "The Test," which seemed to me for the most part -to be an oath of allegiance to the King, with a promise to have no -dealings with the pestilent Covenanters, we molested him no further, and -Lag would sometimes pass a word of praise upon his sheep or his cattle, -which would please the good-man mightily. - -But often our raids had a less happy issue. As we drew near to a house, -we would see a figure steal hastily from it, and we knew that we were -upon the track of a villainous Covenanter. Then we would spur our -horses to the gallop and give chase: and what a dance these hill-men -could lead us. Some of them had the speed of hares and could leap like -young deer over boulders and streams where no horse could follow. Many a -sturdy nag crashed to the ground, flinging its rider who had spurred it -to the impossible; and if the fugitive succeeded in reaching the vast -open spaces of the moorland, many a good horse floundered in the bogs to -the great danger of its master, while the fleet-footed Covenanter, who -knew every inch of the ground, would leap from tussock to tussock of -firm grass, and far out-distance us. - -Or again, we would learn that someone--a suspect--was hiding upon the -moors, and for days we would search, quartering and requartering the -great stretches of heather and bog-land till we were satisfied that our -quarry had eluded us--or until, as often happened, we found him. -Sometimes it was an old man, stricken with years, so that he could not -take to flight: sometimes it was a mere stripling--a lad of my own -age--surrounded in his sleep and taken ere he could flee. The measure of -justice meted to each was the same. - -"Will ye tak' the Test?" If not--death, on the vacant moor, at the -hands of men who were at once his accusers, his judges, and his -executioners. - -Sometimes when a fugitive had refused the Test, and so proclaimed -himself a Covenanter, Lag would promise him his life if he would -disclose the whereabouts of some others of more moment than himself. But -never did I know one of them play the coward: never did I hear one -betray another. Three minutes to prepare himself for death: and he -would take his bonnet off and turn a fearless face up to the open sky. - -And then Lag's voice--breaking in upon the holy silence of the moorland -like a clap of thunder in a cloudless sky--"Musketeers! Poise your -muskets! make ready: present, give fire!" and another rebel would fall -dead among the heather. - -The scene used to sicken me, so that I could hardly keep my seat in the -saddle, and in my heart I thanked God that I was judged too unskilful as -yet to be chosen as one of the firing party. That, of course, was -nothing more than sentiment. These men were rebels, opposed to the -King's Government, and such malignant fellows well deserved their fate. -Yet there began to spring up within me some admiration for their -bravery. Not one of them was afraid to die. - -Sometimes, of a night, before sleep came to me, I would review the -events of the day--not willingly, for the long and grisly tale of horror -was one that no man would of set purpose dwell upon, but because in my -soul I had begun to doubt the quality of the justice we meted out. It -was a dangerous mood for one who had sworn allegiance to the King, and -taken service under his standard: but I found myself beginning to wonder -whether the people whom we were harrying so mercilessly and putting to -death with as little compunction as though they had been reptiles -instead of hard-working and thrifty folk--as their little farms and -houses proved--were rebels in any real sense. I had no knowledge, as -yet, of what had gone before, and I was afraid to ask any of my fellows, -lest my questioning should bring doubt upon my own loyalty. But I -wondered why these men, some gone far in eld and others in the morning -of their days, were ready to die rather than say the few words that -would give them life and liberty. Gradually the light broke through the -darkness of my thoughts, and I began to understand that in their bearing -there was something more than mere disloyalty to the King. They died -unflinching, because they were loyal to some ideal that was more -precious to them than life, and which torture and the prospect of death -could not make them forswear. Were they wrong? Who was I, to judge? I -knew nothing of their history, and when first I set out with Lag's Horse -I cared as little. I had ridden forth to do battle against rebels. I -found myself one of a band engaged in the hideous task of exercising -duress upon other men's consciences. The thought was not a pleasant -one, and I tried to banish it, but it would come back to me in the still -watches when no sound was audible but the heavy breathing of my sleeping -companions,--and no sophistry sufficed to stifle it. - -Day after day we continued our march westward through Galloway, leaving -behind us a track of burning homesteads, with here and there a stark -figure, supine, with a bloody gash in his breast, and a weary face -turned up to the eternal sky. The sky was laughing in the May sunshine: -the blue hyacinths clustered like a low-lying cloud of peat-smoke in the -woods by the roadside, and the larks cast the gold of their song into -the sea of the air beneath them. The whole earth was full of joy and -beauty; but where we passed, we left desolation, and blood and tears. - -As the sun was setting we rode down the valley of the Cree, whose -peat-dyed water, reddened by the glare in the sky, spoke silently of the -blood-stained moors which it had traversed in its course. A river of -blood: a fitting presage of the duties of the morrow that had brought us -to Wigtown! - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *BY BLEDNOCH WATER* - - -Sharp and clear rang out the bugle notes of the reveille, rending the -morning stillness that brooded over the thatched houses of Wigtown. We -tumbled out of our beds of straw in the old barn where we had -bivouacked--some with a curse on their lips at such a rude awakening, -and others with hearts heavy at the thought of what lay before us. To -hunt hill-men among the boulders and the sheltering heather of their -native mountains was one thing: for the hunted man had a fox's chance, -and more than a fox's cunning: but it was altogether another thing to -execute judgment on two defenceless women, and only the most hardened -among us had any stomach for such devil's work. Inured to scenes of -brutality as I had become, I felt ill at ease when I remembered the task -that awaited us, and, in my heart, I nursed the hope that, when the -bugle sounded the assembly, we should learn that the prisoners had been -reprieved and that we could shake the dust of Wigtown from our feet -forever. - -It was a glorious morning: and I can still remember, as though it were -yesterday, every little event of these early hours. I shook the straw -from my coat and went out. There was little sign of life in the street -except for the dragoons hurrying about their tasks. My horse, tethered -where I had left him the night before, whinnied a morning greeting as I -drew near. He was a creature of much understanding, and as I patted his -neck and gentled him, he rubbed his nose against my tunic. I undid his -halter and with a hand on his forelock led him to the watering trough. -The clear water tumbled musically into the trough from a red clay pipe -that led to some hidden spring; and as my nag bent his neck and dipped -his muzzle delicately into the limpid coolness, I watched a minnow dart -under the cover of the green weed on the trough-bottom. When I judged he -had drunk enough I threw a leg over his back and cantered down the -street to the barn where we had slept. There, I slipped the end of his -halter through a ring in the wall, and rejoined my companions who were -gathered round the door. - -We had much to do; there was harness to polish, bridles and bits to -clean, and weapons to see to--for Sir Robert was a man vigilant, who -took a pride in the smartness of his troop. - -"It's a bonnie mornin' for an ugly ploy," said Trooper Agnew, as I sat -down on a bench beside him with my saddle on my knees. From his tone I -could tell that his heart was as little in the day's work as mine. - -"Ay, it's a bonnie morning," I replied, "too bonnie for the work we have -to do. I had fain the day was over, and the work were done, if done it -must be." - -"Weel, ye never can tell: it may be that the women will be reprieved. -I've heard tell that Gilbert Wilson has muckle siller, and is ready to -pay ransom for his dochter: an' siller speaks when arguments are waste -o' wind." He spat on a polishing rag, and rubbed his saddle vigorously. -"They tell me he's bocht Aggie off: and if he can he'll buy off Marget -tae. But there's the auld woman Lauchlison: she has neither siller nor -frien's wi' siller, and I'm fearin' that unless the Royal Clemency comes -into play she'll ha'e tae droon." - -"But why should they drown?" said I, voicing half unconsciously the -question that had so often perplexed me. - -"Weel, that's a hard question," replied Agnew, as he burnished his bit, -"and a question that's no for the like o' you and me to settle. A' we -ha'e to dae is to carry oot the orders of our superior officers. We -maunna think ower muckle for oorsel's." - -I was already well acquainted with this plausible argument, and indeed I -had heard Lag himself justify some of his acts by an appeal to such -dogma; but I was not satisfied, and ventured to remonstrate: - -"Must we," I asked, "do things against which our conscience rebels, -simply because we are commanded to do so?" - -Agnew hesitated for a moment before replying, passing the end of his -bridle very deliberately through a buckle, and fastening it with care. - -"Conscience!" he said, and laughed. "What richt has a trooper to sic' a -thing? I've nane noo." He lowered his voice--and spoke quickly. -"Conscience, my lad! Ye'd better no' let the sergeant hear ye speak -that word, or he'll be reporting ye tae Sir Robert for a Covenanter, and -ye'll get gey short shrift, I'm thinkin'. Tak' the advice o' ane that -means ye nae ill, and drap yer conscience in the water o' Blednoch, and -say farewell tae it forever. If ye keep it, ye'll get mair blame than -praise frae it--and I'm thinkin' ye'll no' get ony promotion till ye're -weel rid o't." - -"Whit's this I hear aboot conscience?" said Davidson, a dragoon who was -standing by the door of the barn. - -"Oh, naething," said Agnew. "I was just advising Bryden here to get rid -o' his." - -"Maist excellent advice," said Davidson. "A puir trooper has nae richt -to sic a luxury. Besides, it's a burden, and wi' a' his trappings he -has eneuch to carry already." He paused for a moment--looked into the -barn over his shoulder and continued: "To my way o' thinkin', naebody -has ony richt to a conscience but the King. Ye see it's this way. A -trooper maun obey his officers: he has nae richt o' private judgment, so -he has nae work for his conscience to do. His officers maun obey them -that are higher up--so they dinna need a conscience, and so it goes on, -up, and up till ye reach the King, wha is the maister o' us a'. He's -the only body in the realm that can afford the luxury: and even he finds -it a burden." - -"I'm no surprised," interjected Agnew. "A conscience like that maun be -an awfu' encumbrance." - -"Ay, so it is," replied Davidson. "They do say that the King finds it -sic a heavy darg to look after his conscience that he appoints a man to -be its keeper." - -Agnew laughed. "Does he lead it about on a chain like a dog?" he asked. - -"I canna tell you as to that," replied Davidson, "but it's mair than -likely, for it maun be a rampageous sort o' beast whiles." - -"And what if it breaks away," asked Agnew, laughing again, "and fleshes -its teeth in the King's leg?" - -"Man," said Davidson, "ye remind me: the very thing ye speak o' aince -happened. Nae doot the keeper is there to haud back his conscience frae -worrying the King, but I mind readin' that ane o' the keepers didna haud -the beast in ticht eneuch, and it bit the King. It had something to dae -wi' a wumman. I've forgotten the partic'lers: but I think the King was -auld King Hal." - -"And what happened to the keeper?" asked Agnew. - -"Oh, him," replied Davidson. "The King chopped his heid off. And that, -or something like it, is what will happen to you, my lad," he said, -looking meaningly at me, "if Lag hears ye talk ony sic nonsense. If thae -damnable Covenanters didna nurse their consciences like sickly bairns -they would be a bit mair pliable, and gi'e us less work." - -I would gladly have continued the conversation, but we were interrupted -by the appearance of the cook, who came round the corner of the barn -staggering under the weight of a huge black pot full of our morning -porridge. - -"Parritch, lads, wha's for parritch?" he called, setting down his load, -and preparing to serve out our portions with a large wooden ladle. We -filed past him each with our metal platter and a horn spoon in our -hands, and received a generous ladleful. The regimental cook is always -fair game for the would-be wit, and our cook came in for his share of -chaff; but he was ready of tongue, and answered jibe with jibe--some of -his retorts stinging like a whip-lash so that his tormentors were sore -and sorry that they had challenged him. - -Soon the last man was served and all of us fell to. - -When our meal was over there was little time left ere the assembly -sounded. As the bugle notes blared over the village, we flung ourselves -into our saddles, and at the word turned our horses up the village -street. The clatter of hoofs, and the jingle of creaking harness brought -the folks to their doors, for the appeal of mounted men is as old as the -art of war. We were conscious of admiring glances from many a lassie's -eye, and some of the roysterers among us, behind the back of authority, -gave back smile for smile, and threw furtive kisses to the comelier of -the women-folk. - -Near the Tolbooth Sir Robert awaited us, sitting his horse motionless -like a man cut out of stone. A sharp word of command, and we reined our -horses in, wheeling and forming a line in front of the Tolbooth door. -There we waited. - -By and by we heard the tramp of horses, and Colonel Winram at the head -of his company rode down the other side of the street and halted -opposite to us. Winram and Lag dismounted, giving their horses into the -charge of their orderlies, and walked together to the Tolbooth door. -They knocked loudly, and after a mighty clatter of keys and shooting of -bolts the black door swung back, and they passed in. We waited long, -but still there was no sign of their return. My neighbour on the right, -whose horse was champing its bit and tossing its head in irritation, -whispered: "They maun ha'e been reprievit." - -"Thank God for that," I said, out of my heart. - -But it was not to be. With a loud creak, as though it were in pain, the -door swung open, and there came forth, splendid in his robes of office, -Sheriff Graham. Followed him, Provost Coltran, Grier of Lag, and Colonel -Winram. Behind them, each led by a gaoler, came two women. Foremost -was Margaret Lauchlison, bent with age, and leaning on a stick, her thin -grey hair falling over her withered cheeks. She did not raise her eyes -to look at us, but I saw that her lips were moving silently, and a great -pity surged up in my breast and gripped me by the throat. Some four -paces behind her came Margaret Wilson, and as she passed out of the -darkness of the door she raised her face to the sky and took a long -breath of the clean morning air. She was straight as a willow-wand, -with a colour in her cheeks like red May-blossom, and a brave look in -her blue eyes. Her brown hair glinted in the sunlight, and she walked -with a steady step between the ranks of horsemen like a queen going to -her coronal. She looked curiously at the troopers as she passed us. I -watched her coming, and, suddenly, her big child-like eyes met mine, and -for very shame I hung my head. - -Some twenty yards from the Tolbooth door, beside the Town Cross, the -little procession halted, and the town-crier, after jangling his cracked -bell, mounted the lower step at the base of the cross and read from a -big parchment: - - -"God save the King! Whereas Margaret Lauchlison, widow of John -Mulligan, wright in Drumjargon, and Margaret Wilson, daughter of Gilbert -Wilson, farmer in Penninghame, were indicted on April 13th, in the year -of grace 1685 before Sheriff Graham, Sir Robert Grierson of Lag, Colonel -Winram, and Captain Strachan, as being guilty of the Rebellion of -Bothwell Brig, Aird's Moss, twenty field Conventicles, and twenty house -Conventicles, the Assize did sit, and after witnesses heard did bring -them in guilty, and the judges sentenced them to be tied to palisadoes -fixed in the sand, within the floodmark of the sea, and there to stand -till the flood overflows them. The whilk sentence, being in accordance -with the law of this Kingdom, is decreed to be carried out this day, the -11th of May in the year of grace 1685. God Save the King." - - -When he ceased there was silence for a space, and then Grier of Lag, his -sword scraping the gravel as he moved, walked up to the older prisoner, -and shouted: - -"Margaret Lauchlison, will ye recant?" - -She raised her head, looked him in the eyes with such a fire in hers -that his gaze fell before it, and in a steady voice replied: - -"Goodness and mercy ha'e followed me a' the days o' my life, and I'm no' -gaun back on my Lord in the hour o' my death,"--and she bowed her head -again, as though there was nothing more to be said, but her lips kept -moving silently. - -Lag turned from her with a shrug of the shoulders, and approached the -younger prisoner. She turned her head to meet him with a winsome smile -that would have softened a heart less granite hard; but to him her -beauty made no appeal. - -"Margaret Wilson," he said, "you have heard your sentence. Will ye -recant?" - -I can still hear her reply: - -"Sir, I count it a high honour to suffer for Christ's truth. He alone -is King and Head of His Church." - -It was a brave answer, but it was not the answer that Lag required, so -he turned on his heel and rejoined the Sheriff and the Provost. I did -not hear what passed between them, but it was not to the advantage of -the prisoners, for the next moment I saw that the gaoler was fastening -the old woman's left wrist to the stirrup leather of one of the troopers -who had been ordered to bring his horse up nearer the Town Cross. Many -a time since I have wondered whether it was ill-luck or good fortune -that made them hit on me to do such a disservice for Margaret Wilson. -It may have been nothing more than blind chance, or it may have been the -act of Providence--I am no theologian, and have never been able to -settle these fine points--but, at a word from Lag, her gaoler brought -the girl over beside me, and shackled her wrist to my stirrup leather. -I dared not look at her face, but I saw her hand, shapely and brown, -close round the stirrup leather as though she were in pain when the -gaoler tightened the thong. - -"Curse you," I growled, "there's no need to cut her hand off. She'll -not escape," and I would fain have hit the brute over the head with the -butt of my musket. He slackened the thong a trifle, and as he slouched -off I was conscious that my prisoner looked up at me as though to thank -me: but I dared not meet her eyes, and she spoke no word. - -There was a rattle of drums, and we wheeled into our appointed places, -and began our woeful journey to the sea. Heading our procession walked -two halberdiers, their weapons glistening above their heads. Followed -them the Sheriff and the Provost: and after these Winram and the -troopers in two lines, between which walked the prisoners. Lag rode -behind on his great black horse. It was a brave sight for the old town -of Wigtown--but a sight of dule. - -Down the street we went, but this time there were no glances of -admiration cast upon us: nothing but silent looks of awe, touched with -pity. Ahead I saw anxious mothers shepherding their children into the -shelter of their doors, and when we came near them I could see that some -of the children and many of the women were weeping. I dared not look -Margaret Wilson in the face, but I let my eyes wander to her hair, brown -and lustrous in the sunshine. My hand on the reins was moist, my lips -were dry, and I cursed myself that ever I had thrown in my lot with such -a horde of murderers. Agnew's words about conscience kept ringing in my -ears, and I felt them sear my brain. Conscience indeed! What kind of -conscience had I, that I could take part in such a devilish ploy? If I -had had the courage of a rabbit I would have swung the girl up before -me, set spurs to my horse, broken from the line and raced for life. But -I was a coward. I had no heart for such high adventure, and many a time -since, as I have lain in the dark before the cock-crowing, I have been -tortured by remorse for the brave good thing I was too big a craven to -attempt. - -The procession wound slowly on, then wheeled to the left and descended -to the river bank. I believe the Blednoch has altered its course since -that day. I have never had the heart to revisit the scene, but men tell -me so. Then, it flowed into the sea over a long stretch of brown sand -just below the town. It was neither broad, nor yet very deep: but when -the tide of Solway was at its full it flooded all the sand banks, and -filled the river-mouth so that the river water was dammed back, and it -became a broad stream. - -Far out on the sand I saw a stake planted: and another some thirty paces -nearer shore. They led the old woman, weary with her walk, to the -farther stake, and tying her to it left her there. Down the channel one -could see the tide coming in--its brown and foam-sprinkled front raised -above the underlying water. Cruel it looked, like some questing wild -beast raising its head to spy out its prey. A halberdier came and -severed the thong that fastened Margaret Wilson to my stirrup leather, -and led her away. My eyes followed her, and as she passed my horse's -head she looked at me over her shoulder and our eyes met. I shall see -those eyes until the Day of Judgment: blue as the speedwell--blue, and -unafraid. - -They led her to the nearer stake, and bound her there. There was a kind -of mercy in their cruelty, for they thought that if the younger woman -should witness the death of the elder one she might be persuaded to -recant before she herself was engulfed. Quickly, as is its wont, the -Solway tide rushed over the sand. Before Margaret Wilson was fastened -to the stake, the water was knee-deep where Margaret Lauchlison stood: -and soon it was at the maiden's feet. As the first wave touched her -there was a murmur like a groan from some of the town folk who had -followed us and stood behind us in little knots upon the river bank. -The tide flowed on, mounting higher and higher, until old Margaret -Lauchlison stood waist deep in a swirl of tawny water. She was too far -out for us to hear her if she spoke, but we could see that she had -raised her head and was looking fearlessly over the water. And then the -younger woman did a strange thing. Out of the fold of her gown over her -bosom she drew a little book, opened it and read aloud. A hush fell -upon us: and our horses, soothed by the music of her voice, stopped -their head-tossing and were still. She read so clearly that all of us -could hear, and there was a proud note in her voice as she ended: "For I -am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor -principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor -height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us -from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Then she -kissed the open page, and returned her testament to her bosom, and in a -moment burst into song: - - "My sins and faults of youth - Do Thou, O Lord, forget! - After Thy mercy think on me, - And for Thy goodness great." - -She sang like a bird, her clear notes soaring up to the blue vault of -heaven, out of the depths of a heart untouched by fear. I heard Agnew, -who was ranged next me, mutter "This is devil's work," but my throat was -too parched for speech. Would she never cease? On and on went that -pure young voice, singing verse after verse till the psalm was finished. -When she had ended the tide was well about her waist, and had already -taken Margaret Lauchlison by the throat. - -"What see ye yonder, Marget Wilson?" shouted Lag, pointing with his -sword to the farther stake. - -She looked for a moment, and answered: "I see Christ wrestling there." - -Then there was a great silence, and looking out to sea we saw a huge -wave sweep white-crested over the head of the older woman, who bent to -meet it, and was no more seen. The law had taken its course with her. - -There was a murmur of angry voices behind us, but a stern look from Lag -silenced the timorous crowd. Setting spurs to his horse he plunged into -the water, and drew up beside the nearer stake. He severed the rope that -bound the girl, whereat a cheer rose from the townsfolk who imagined -that the law had relented and that its majesty was satisfied with the -death of one victim. He turned his horse and dragged the girl ashore. -As they reached the bank, he flung her from him and demanded: - -"Will ye take the oath? Will ye say 'God Save the King?'" - -"God save him an He will," she said. "I wish the salvation of all men, -and the damnation of none." - -Now to my thinking that was an answer sufficient, and for such the town -folk took it, for some of them cried: "She's said it! She's said it! -She's saved!" - -Lag turned on them like a tiger: "Curse ye," he shouted, "for a pack o' -bletherin' auld wives! The hizzy winna' recant. Back intil the sea wi' -her," and gripping her by the arm he dragged her back, and with his own -hands fastened her again to the stake. Her head fell forward so that -for an instant her face lay upon the waters, then she raised it proudly -again. But a halberdier, with no pity in his foul heart, reached out -his long halberd, and placing the blade of it upon her neck pushed her -face down into the sea. - -"Tak' anither sup, hinny," he said, and leered at the townsfolk: but -they cried shame upon him and Lag bade him desist. - -On came the waters, wave after wave, mounting steadily till they reached -her heart: then they swept over the curve of her bosom and mounted -higher and higher till they touched her neck. She was silent -now--silent, but unafraid. She turned her face to the bank, and, O -wonder, she smiled, and in her eyes there was a mystic light as though -she had seen the Invisible. The cruel waves came on, climbing up the -column of her throat until, as though to show her a mercy which man -denied her, the sea swirled over her and her face fell forward beneath -the waves. Her brown hair floated on the water like a piece of beautiful -sea-wrack, and the broken foam clung to it like pearls. Justice--God -forgive the word--justice had been done: and two women, malignant and -dangerous to the realm because they claimed the right to worship their -Maker according to the dictates of their conscience, had been lawfully -done to death. - -There was a rattle of drums, and we fell into rank again. I looked -across the water. Far off I saw a gull flash like a streak of silver -into the waves, and near at hand, afloat upon the water, a wisp of brown -seaweed--or was it a lassie's hair? - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *THE TAVERN BRAWL* - - -It was high noon as we cluttered up the hill, back to our camping-place. -Our day's work was done, but it was not till evening that we were free -to go about our own affairs. Try as I might I could not blot out the -memory of the doings of the morning, and when night fell I took my way -with half a dozen companions to the inn that stood not far from the -Tolbooth in the hope that there I might find some relief from the -scourge of my thoughts. In the sanded kitchen, round a glowing -fire--for though it was May the nights were still chilly--we found many -of the townsfolk already gathered. Some were passing a patient hour -with the dambrod, seeking inspiration for crafty moves of the black or -white men in tankards of the tavern-keeper's ale. Others were gathered -round the fire smoking, each with a flagon of liquor at his elbow. - -I sat down at a little table with Trooper Agnew, and called for -something to drink. I was in no mood for amusement, and spurned Agnew's -suggestion that we should play draughts. The inn-keeper placed a -tobacco jar between us. - -"Ye'll try a smoke?" he queried. "It's guid tobacco: a' the better, -though I hardly daur mention it, that it paid nae duty." - -Nothing loth, Agnew and I filled our pipes, and the inn-keeper picking -up a piece of red peat with the tongs held it to our pipes till they -were aglow. It was, as mine host had said, good tobacco, and under its -soothing influence and the brightening effect of his ale my gloom began -to disappear. From time to time other troopers dropped in, and they -were followed by sundry of the townsfolk with whom, in spite of the -events of the morning, we red-coat men were on good terms. Close by the -fire sat one of the halberdiers--the man who had pushed the head of the -drowning girl under the water with his halberd. The ale had loosened his -tongue. - -"I dinna ken," he said, "but the thing lies here: if thae stiff-necked -Covenanters winna' tak' the oath to the King, it is the end o' a' proper -order in the country." He spat a hissing expectoration upon the glowing -peat. "I'm a man o' order masel'. I expect fowk to obey me in virtue -o' ma office just as I'm ready to obey them as God and the King ha'e set -abune me." - -He spoke loudly as though challenging his audience; but no one made -answer. - -The silence was broken by the clatter of draughts as two players ended a -game and set about replacing the men for another joust. The halberdier -took a long draught from his mug. - -"Tak' anither sup, hinny," he said, reminiscently, as he set the tankard -down. Then drawing the back of his hand across his mouth he continued: -"It was a fine bit work we did this mornin', lads. I rarely ta'en pairt -in a better job. There's naethin' like making an example o' malignants, -and I'm thinkin' it will be lang before ony mair o' the women o' this -countryside are misguided enough to throw in their lot wi' the -hill-preachers. She was a thrawn auld besom was Marget Lauchlison. I -have kent her mony a year--aye psalm-singing and gabbling texts. Will ye -believe it, she's even flung texts at me. Me! the toon's halberdier! -'The wicked shall fall by his own wickedness,' said she: 'The wicked -shall be turned into Hell'; 'The dwelling place of the wicked shall come -to naught.' Oh, she had a nesty tongue. But noo she's cleppin' wi' the -partans, thank God. Here, Mac, fill me anither jorum. It tak's a lot o' -yill tae wash the taste o' the auld besom's texts off ma tongue." - -The inn-keeper placed a full tankard beside him. - -"Tak' anither sup, hinny," he said with a laugh, and drank deeply. "Lag -was by-ordnar' the day; I thocht he was gaun to let the bit lassock off -when he dragged her oot o' the water. But nae sic thing, thank God! Ma -certes, he's a through-gaun chiel, Lag. The women-fowk thocht she had -ta'en the aith when she said 'God save him, an He will.' But Lag kent -fine what was in her black heart. She wanted only to save her life. -She was far better drooned--the young rebel! Naethin' like makin' an -example o' them when they are young. Certes, I settled her. Tak' -anither sup, hinny." - -A peal of laughter rang through the kitchen. It was more than I could -stand; for notwithstanding all I had seen and done as a trooper some -spark of chivalry still glowed in my heart, and I was under the spell of -her blue and dauntless eyes. I sprang to my feet. - -"Curse you for a black-hearted ruffian!" I shouted. "None but a damned -cur would make sport of two dead women." - -A silence absolute and cold fell upon the gathering at my first words, -and as I stood there I felt it oppress me. - -"Whit's this, whit's this," cried the halberdier. "A trooper turned -Covenanter! I'm thinkin' Lag and Winram will ha'e something to say to -this, an they hear o't." - -"Be silent!" I thundered. "I am no Covenanter, but it would be good for -Scotland if there were more such women as we drowned this morning, and -fewer men with such foul hearts as yours." - -It was an ill-judged place and time for such a speech, but I was on fire -with anger. The halberdier rose to his feet, flung the contents of his -tankard in my face, roared with laughter, and cried, "Tak' anither sup, -hinny." - -This was beyond endurance. With one leap I was upon him and hurled him -to the ground. He fell with a crash; his head struck the flagged floor -with a heavy thud, and he lay still. I had fallen with him, and as I -rose I received a blow which flung me down again. In an instant, as -though a match had been set to a keg of powder, the tavern was in an -uproar. What but a moment before had been a personal conflict between -myself and the halberdier had waxed into a general mêlée. - -Some joined battle on my side, others were against me, and townsmen and -troopers laid about them wildly with fists, beer-pots, and any other -weapons to which they could lay their hands. The clean sanded floor -became a mire of blood and tumbled ale, in which wallowed a tangle of -cursing, fighting men. - -Just when the fray was at its hottest the door of the kitchen was thrown -open, and the sergeant of our troop stood in its shadow. - -"What's this?" he shouted, and, as though by magic, the combat ceased. - -None of us spoke, but the inn-keeper, finding speech at last, said: "A -maist unseemly row, sergeant, begun by ane o' your ain men, wha wi' oot -provocation felled ma frien' the halberdier wha lies yonder a'maist -deid." - -The sergeant strode to the body of the halberdier and dropped on his -knees beside it. - -"What lousy deevil has done this?" he cried. - -"The Englishman," said the inn-keeper; "Nae Scotsman would ha'e felled -sic a decent man unprovoked." - -I looked at the halberdier, and saw with relief that he was beginning to -recover from his stupor. - -"Fetch us a gill o' your best, Mac," said the sergeant. "We'll see if a -wee drap o' Blednoch will no' bring the puir fellow roon'. And you, -Agnew, and MacTaggart, arrest Trooper Bryden. Lag will ha'e somethin' -to say aboot this." - -Agnew and MacTaggart laid each a hand on my shoulder, but my gorge was -up and I resented being made a prisoner. I looked towards the door; -there were four or five troopers in a knot beside it and escape in that -direction was impossible; but behind me there was a stair. One sudden -wrench and I tore myself from my captors and raced wildly up it. At the -top, a door stood open. I flung it to in the faces of Agnew and -MacTaggart, who were racing up behind me, and shot the bolt. Frail -though it was, this barrier would give me a moment's respite. I found -myself in an attic room, and to my joy saw, in the light of the moon, a -window set in the slope of the roof. Rapidly I forced it open, and -threw myself up and out upon the thatched roof. In a moment I was at -its edge, and dropped into the garden at the back of the inn. As I -dropped I heard the door at the stair-head crash and I knew that my -pursuers would soon be upon me. Crouching low I dashed to the bottom of -the garden, broke my way through the prickly hedge and flew hot-foot -down the hill. - -In the fitful light I saw the gleam of the river, and knew that my -escape was barred in that direction. I saw that I must either run along -the brae-face towards the sea, or inland up-river to the hills. As I -ran I came to a quick decision and chose the latter course. I glanced -over my shoulder, and, though I could see by the lights in their windows -the houses in the main street of the town, I could not distinguish any -pursuers. Behind me I heard confused shoutings, and the loud voice of -the sergeant giving orders. Breathless, I plunged into a thick growth of -bracken on the hill-side and lay still. I knew that this could afford -me only a temporary refuge, but it served to let me regain breath, and -as I lay there I heard the sergeant cry: "Get lanterns and quarter the -brae-side. He canna ford the water." - -I lay in my hiding-place until the lights of the lanterns began to -appear at the top of the brae, then I rose stealthily and, bent double, -hurried to the edge of the bed of brackens. Here, I knew, I was -sufficiently distant from my nearest pursuer to be outside his vision, -while his twinkling light gave me the clue to his whereabouts. Then I -turned and tore along the hillside away from the town. When I had -covered what I thought was the better part of a mile, I lay down under -the cover of a granite boulder. Far behind me I could see the wandering -lights, and I knew that for the moment I had outdistanced my pursuers; -and then to my great belief I heard the notes of the Last Post rise and -fall upon the night air. I smiled as I saw the scattered lights stop, -then begin to move compactly up the hill. At least half an hour, I -judged, must elapse before the pursuit could be renewed, and I felt with -any luck that interval ought to suffice for my escape. It was too -dark--and I was not sufficiently acquainted with the country-side--to -take my bearings, but I knew that the river Cree flowed past the town of -Newton-Stewart, and behind the town were the hills which had afforded -many a Covenanter a safe hiding-place from pursuit. Caution prevented me -from making for the high road, though the speed of my progress might -there be greater. Caution, too, forbade my keeping to the brink of the -river. My greatest safety seemed to lie along the tract between them, -so I set boldly out. - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *IN THE DARK OF THE NIGHT* - - -I had not gone far when my ears caught a familiar sound--the beat of -hoofs on the high road. I paused to listen, and concluded that two -horsemen were making for Newton-Stewart. I guessed the message they -carried, and I knew that not only was I likely to have pursuers on my -heels, but that, unless I walked warily, I was in danger of running into -a cordon of troopers who would be detailed from Newton-Stewart to search -for me. I was a deserter, to whom Lag would give as little quarter as -to a Covenanter. The conviction that there was a price on my head made -me suddenly conscious of the sweetness of life, and drove me to sudden -thought. - -By some means or other, before I concealed myself in the fastnesses of -the hills, I must obtain a store of food. The hiding Covenanter, I -remembered, was fed by his friends. I was friendless; and unless I -could manage to lay up some store of food before I forsook the inhabited -valleys nothing but death awaited me among the hills. As I thought of -this, an inspiration of courage came to me. Though it would be -foolishness to walk along the high road I might with advantage make -better speed and possibly find a means of obtaining food if I walked -just beyond the hedge which bordered it. Sooner or later I should in -this way come to a roadside inn. With this thought encouraging me, I -plodded steadily on. The highway was deserted, and no sound was to be -heard but the muffled beat of my own steps upon the turf. If pursuers -were following me from Wigtown, I had left them far behind. It might be -that Lag, thinking shrewdly, had decided that no good purpose was to be -served by continuing the pursuit that night, for he knew that a man -wandering at large in the uniform of a trooper would have little -opportunity of escaping. So, possibly, he had contented himself by -sending the horsemen to Newton-Stewart to apprise the garrison there. -Perhaps at this very moment he was chuckling over his cups as he thought -how he would lay me by the heels on the morrow. In fancy I could see -the furrows on his brow gather in a knot as he brooded over my -punishment. - -Then, borne on the still night air, I heard the click and clatter of -uncertain footsteps coming towards me. I crouched behind the hedge and -peered anxiously along the road: then my ears caught the sound of a -song. The wayfarer was in a jovial mood, and I judged, from the -uncertainty of his language, that he was half-drunk. I waited to make -sure that the man was alone, then I stole through the hedge and walked -boldly to meet him. - -"It is a fine night," I said, as I came abreast of him. He stopped in -the middle of a stave and looked me up and down. - -"Aye, it's a fine nicht," he replied. "Nane the waur for a drap o' -drink. Here! Tak' a dram, an pledge the King's health." He searched -his pockets and after some difficulty withdrew a half-empty bottle from -the inside of his coat and offered it to me. "The King, God bless him," -I said, as I put it to my lips. - -"It's a peety ye're no' traivellin' my road," said the wayfarer. "A -braw young callant like you wi' the King's uniform on his back would -mak' a graun convoy for an auld man alang this lanely road." - -"No," I answered, as I handed him his bottle, "My way lies in another -direction." - -"Ye'll no' happen to be ane o' Lag's men, are ye?" He did not await my -reply, but continued: "He's a bonnie deevil, Lag! He kens the richt -medicine for Covenanters: but I ken the richt medicine for Jock Tamson," -and putting the bottle to his lips he drank deep and long. Then he -staggered to the side of the road and sat down, and holding the bottle -towards me said: "Sit doon and gi'es yer crack." - -Now I had no wish to be delayed by this half-drunken countryman; but I -thought that he might be of service to me, so I seated myself and -pretended once again to take a deep draught from his bottle. He snatched -it from my lips. - -"Haud on," he said, "ye've got a maist uncanny drouth, and that bottle -maun last me till Setterday." - -"Unless you leave it alone," I said, "it will be empty ere you reach -home." - -"Weel, what if it is?" he hiccoughed. "The Lord made guid drink and I'm -no' the man to spurn the mercies o' the Creator." - -"Well," I said, "your drink is good, and I'm as dry as ashes. Can you -tell me where I can get a bottle." - -"Oh, weel I can, an' if ye're minded to gang and see Luckie Macmillan, -I'll gi'e ye a convoy. The guid woman'll be bedded sine, but she'll -rise tae see to ony frien' o' Jock Tamson's. Come on, lad," and he -raised himself unsteadily to his feet and, taking me by the arm, began -to retrace his steps in the direction from which he came. - -We followed the high road for perhaps a mile, and as we went he rambled -on in good-natured but somewhat incoherent talk, stopping every now and -then while he laid hold of my arm and tapped my chest with the fingers -of his free hand to emphasise some empty confidence. He had imparted to -me, as a great secret, some froth of gossip, when he exclaimed: - -"Weel: here we are at Luckie's loanin' and the guid-wife is no' in her -bed yet; I can see a licht in the window." - -We turned from the high road and went down the lane, at the bottom of -which I could discern the dark outline of a cottage. As we drew near I -was startled by the sound of a restless horse pawing the ground and, -quick in its wake, the jangle of a bridle chain. A few more steps and I -saw two horses tethered to the gatepost, and their harness was that of -the dragoons. I was walking into the lion's den! - -"So Luckie's got company, guid woman," hiccoughed my companion. "I hope -it's no' the gaugers." - -I seized on the suggestion in hot haste: - -"Wheesht, man," I hissed, "they are gaugers sure enough, and if you are -caught here with a bottle of Luckie's best, you'll be up before Provost -Coltran at the next Session in Wigtown." - -"Guid help us! an' me a God-fearin' man. Let's rin for't." - -As he spoke, the door of the cottage was thrown open and in the light -from it I saw one of the troopers. Placing a firm hand over my -companion's mouth I dragged him into the shadow of the hedge, and -pushing him before me wormed my way through to its other side. - -Here we lay, still and silent, while I, with ears alert, heard the -troopers vault into their saddles and with a cheery "Good night, -Luckie," clatter up the lane to the high road to continue their way to -Newton-Stewart. - -We lay hidden till the noise of their going died in the distance, then -we pushed our way back through the hedge and made for the cottage. Jock -beat an unsteady tattoo on the door. - -"Wha's knockin' at this time o' nicht?" asked a woman's voice from -behind the door. - -"Jock Tamson, Luckie, wi' a frien'." - -"Jock Tomson!--he's awa' hame to his bed an 'oor sin'." - -"Na, Luckie, it's me richt eneuch, and I've brocht a frien', a braw -laddie in the King's uniform, to see ye." - -The King's uniform seemed to act as a charm, for the door was at once -thrown open and we entered. - -With a fugitive's caution I lingered to see that the old woman closed -the door and barred it. Then, following the uncertain light of the -tallow candle which she carried, we made our way along the sanded floor -of the passage and passed through a low door into a wide kitchen. Peat -embers still glowed on the hearth, and when Luckie had lit two more -candles which stood in bottles on a long deal table I was able to make -some note of my surroundings. Our hostess was a woman far gone in -years. Her face was expressionless, as though set in a mould, but from -beneath the shadow of her heavy eyebrows gleamed a pair of piercing eyes -that age had not dimmed. She moved slowly with shuffling gait, -half-bowed as though pursuing something elusive which she could not -catch. I noticed, too, for danger had quickened my vision, that her -right hand and arm were never still. - -She stooped over the hearth and casting fresh peats upon it said: "And -what's yer pleesure, gentlemen?" - -"A bottle o' Blednoch, Luckie, a wheen soda scones and a whang o' -cheese; and dinna forget the butter--we're fair famished," answered -Jock, his words jostling each other. Our hostess brought a small table -and set it before us, and we sat down. Very speedily, for one so old, -Luckie brought our refreshment, and Thomson, seizing the black bottle, -poured himself out a stiff glass, which he drank at a gulp. I helped -myself to a moderate dram and set the bottle on the table between us. -Thomson seized it at once and replenished his glass, and then said as he -passed the bottle to the old woman: - -"Will ye no tak' a drap, Luckie, for the guid o' the hoose?" - -She shuffled to the dresser and came back with a glass which she filled. - -"A toast," said Thomson. "The King, God bless him," and we stood up, -and drank. The potent spirit burned my mouth like liquid fire, but my -companions seemed to relish it as they drank deeply. I had no desire to -dull my wits with strong drink, so, as I helped myself to a scone and a -piece of cheese, I asked Luckie if she could let me have a little water. - -"Watter!" cried Thomson. "Whit the deevil d'ye want wi' watter? Surely -you're no' gaun to rot your inside wi' sic' feckless trash." - -"No," I said, "I just want to let down the whisky." - -"Whit!" he shouted, "spile guid Blednoch wi' pump watter!--it's a -desecration, a fair abomination in the sicht o' the Lord. I thought -frae yer brogue ye were an Englishman. This proves it; nae stammick for -guid drink; nae heid for theology. Puir deevil!"--and he shook his head -pityingly. - -I laughed as I watched my insatiable companion once more empty his glass -and refill it. - -"An' whit are ye daein' on the road sae late the nicht, young man?" said -Luckie, suddenly. "Lag's men are usually bedded long afore noo. Are ye -after the deserter tae, like the twa dragoons that were here a bittock -syne?" - -I had made up my mind that my flight and identity would best be -concealed by an appearance of ingenuous candour, so I replied without -hesitation: - -"Yes, I am. He has not been here to-night, has he?" - -"Certes, no," exclaimed the old woman. "This is a law-abiding hoose and -I wad shelter neither Covenanter nor renegade King's man." - -My words seemed to disarm her of any suspicion she might have had about -me, and she busied herself stirring the peat fire. - -Its warmth and the whisky which he had consumed were making Jock drowsy. -He had not touched any of the food, and his chin had begun to sink on -his chest. Soon he slipped from his seat and lay huddled, a snoring -mass, on the flagged floor. Luckie made as though to lift him, but I -forbade her. - -"Let him be: he'll only be quarrelsome if you wake him, and he's quite -safe on the floor." - -"That's as may be," said Luckie, "but ye're no' gaun to stop a' nicht, -or ye'll never catch the deserter, and ye canna leave Jock Tamson to -sleep in my kitchen. I'm a dacint widda' woman, and nae scandal has -ever soiled my name; and I'll no' hae it said that ony man ever sleepit -in my hoose, and me by my lane, since I buried my ain man thirty years -sin'." - -"That's all right," I replied, "have no fear. If Jock is not awake when -I go, I'll carry him out and put him in the ditch by the roadside." - -The old woman laughed quietly. "Fegs, that's no' bad; he'll get the -fricht o' his life when he waukens up in the cauld o' the mornin' and -sees the stars abune him instead o' the bauks o' my kitchen." - -I had been doing justice to the good fare of the house, but a look at -the "wag-at-the-wa'" warned me that I must delay no longer. But there -was something I must discover. I took my pipe from my pocket and as I -filled it said: "I should think, Luckie, that you are well acquainted -with this countryside." - -"Naebody better," she replied. "I was born in Blednoch and I've spent -a' my days between there and Penninghame Kirk. No' that I've bothered -the kirk muckle," she added. - -"Then," I said, "suppose a deserter was minded to make for the hills on -the other side o' the Cree, where think you he would try to cross the -river?" - -"If he wisna a fule," she said, "he'd ford it juist ayont the Carse o' -Bar. Aince he's ower it's a straicht road to the heichts o' Millfore." - -"And where may the Carse o' Bar be?" I asked. "For unless I hurry, my -man may be over the water before I can reach it." - -"It's no' far," she said, "and ye canna miss it. Ony fule could see it -in the dark." - -"Well, I must be off," I said. "Grier o' Lag is no easy taskmaster and -I must lay this man by the heels. I'll haste me and lie in wait by the -Carse of Bar, and if my luck's in, I may catch him there. What do I owe -you, and may I have some of your good scones and a bit of cheese to keep -me going?" - -She brought me a great plateful of scones, which I stowed about my -person with considerable satisfaction; then I paid her what she asked, -and, picking up Jock, bore him towards the door. He made no resistance, -and his head fell limply over my arm as though he were a person dead, -though the noise of his breathing was evidence sufficient that he was -only very drunk. Luckie opened the door and stood by it with a candle -in her hand. I carried Jock down the lane and deposited him underneath -the hedge. Then I went back to the cottage to bid my hostess good -night. - -"If ye come through to the back door," she said. "I'll pit ye on the -straicht road for the Carse o' Bar." - -I followed her through the kitchen, and she opened a door at the rear of -the house and stood in its shadow to let me pass. - -"Gang richt doon the hill," she said, "and keep yon whin bush on yer -left haun; syne ye'll come to a bed o' bracken,--keep that on yer richt -and haud straicht on. By an' by ye'll strike the water edge. Haud up it -till ye come to a bend, and that's the place whaur the deserter will -maist likely try to cross it. Ony fule can ford the Cree; it tak's a -wise body to ken whaur. Guid nicht to ye." - -"Good night," I answered, as I set out, turning for a moment for a last -look at the bent old woman as she stood in the dancing shadows thrown by -the candle held in her shaking hand. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *IN THE LAP OF THE HILLS* - - -As I set out I saw that the moon was rapidly sinking. Much time had been -lost, and I must needs make haste. I hurried past the whin bush, and -by-and-by came to the bed of brackens. Just as I reached it the moon -sank, but there was still enough light to let me see dimly things near -at hand. I judged that the river must lie about a mile away, and to -walk that distance over unknown ground in the dark tests a man in a -hundred ways. I did not know at what moment some lurking figure might -spring upon me from the shelter of the brackens, and, clapping a hand on -my shoulder, arrest me in the King's name. I had no weapon of defence -save a stout heart and a pair of iron fists. Even a brave man, in -flight, is apt to read into every rustle of a leaf or into every one of -the natural sounds that come from the sleeping earth an eerie -significance, and more than once I halted and crouched down to listen -closely to some sound, which proved to be of no moment. - -Conscience is a stern judge who speaks most clearly in the silences of -the night when a man is alone, and as I groped my way onward the -relentless pursuing voice spoke in my ear like some sibilant and -clinging fury of which I could not rid myself. The avenger of blood was -on my heels: some ghostly warlock, some awesome fiend sent from the pit -to take me thither! The horror of the deed in which I had taken part in -the morning gripped me by the heart. I stumbled on distraught, and as I -went I remembered how once I had heard among the hills a shrill cry as -of a child in pain, and looking to see whence the cry had come I saw -dragging itself wearily along the hillside, with ears dropped back and -hind-limbs paralysed with fear, a young rabbit, and as I looked I saw -behind it a weasel trotting briskly, with nose up and gleaming eyes, in -the track of its victim. I knew enough of wood-craft to realise that -the chase had lasted long and that from the time the weasel began the -pursuit until the moment when I saw them, the issue had been certain; -and I knew that the rabbit knew. Such tricks of fancy does memory play -upon a man in sore straits. I saw, again, the end of the chase--the -flurry of fur as the weasel gripped the rabbit by the throat; I heard -its dying cry as the teeth of its pursuer closed in the veins of its -neck; and there in the dark, I was seized with sudden nausea. I drew a -long breath and tried to cry aloud, but my tongue clave to the roof of -my mouth; fear had robbed me of speech. Then a sudden access of -strength came to me and I began to run. Was it only the fevered -imaginings of a disordered brain, or was it fact, that to my racing feet -the racing feet of some pursuer echoed and echoed again? Suddenly my -foot struck a boulder. I was thrown headlong and lay bruised and -breathless on the ground--and as I lay the sound of footsteps that had -seemed so real to me was no more heard. - -I was bruised by my fall and my limbs were still shaking when I -struggled up, but I hurried on again, and by and by the tinkle of the -river as it rippled over its bed fell on my ear like delicate, -companionable music. When I reached its edge I sat down for a moment -and peered into the darkness towards the other side; but gaze as I might -I could not see across it. It looked dark and cold and uncertain, and -though I was a swimmer I had no desire to find myself flung suddenly out -of my depth. So, before I took off my shoes and stockings, I cut a long -wand from a willow near, and with this in my hand I began warily to -adventure the passage. I stood ankle deep in the water and felt for my -next step with my slender staff. It gave me no support, but it let me -know with each step the depth that lay before me. By-and-by I reached -the other side, and painfully--because of my naked feet--I traversed it -until I came to the green sward beyond. Here I sat down in the shelter -of a clump of bushes and put on my shoes and stockings. The cold water -had braced me, and I was my own man again. - -As I set out once more I calculated that the sun would rise in three -hours' time, and I knew that an hour after sunrise it would be dangerous -for me to continue my flight in the open. For, though the country-side -was but thinly peopled, some shepherd on the hills or some woman from -her cottage door might espy a strange figure trespassing upon their -native solitude. To be seen might prove my undoing, so I hurried on -while the darkness was still upon the earth. - -When day broke I was up among the hills. Now I began to walk -circumspectly, scanning the near and distant country before venturing -across any open space; and when the sun had been up for an hour, and the -last silver beads of dew were beginning to dry on the tips of the -heather, I set about finding a resting-place. It was an easy task, for -the heather and bracken grew luxuriantly. I crawled into the middle of -a clump of bracken, and drawing the leafy stems over me lay snugly hid. -I was foot-sore and hungry, but I helped myself to Luckie's good -provender, and almost as soon as I had finished my meal I was fast -asleep. - -When I awoke I was, for a moment, at a loss to understand my -surroundings. Then I remembered my flight, and all my senses were alive -again. I judged from the position of the sun that it must be late -afternoon. Caution made me wary, and I did not stir from my lair, for I -knew that questing troopers might already be on the adjacent hill-sides -looking for me, and their keen eyes would be quick to discern any -unusual movement in the heart of a bed of bracken, so I lay still and -waited. Then I dozed off again, and when I awoke once more, the stars -were beginning to appear. - -Secure beneath the defence of the dark, I quitted my resting-place. So -far, fortune had smiled upon me; I had baffled my pursuers, and during -the hours of the night the chase would be suspended. The thought lent -speed to my feet and flooded my heart with hope. Ere the break of morn -I should have covered many a mile. So I pressed on resolutely, and when -the moon rose I had already advanced far on my way. - -As I went I began to consider my future. My aim was to reach England. -Once across the border I should be safe from pursuit: but in reaching -that distant goal I must avoid the haunts of men, and until such time as -I could rid myself of my trooper's uniform and find another garb, my -journey would be surrounded with countless difficulties. I estimated -that with care my store of food would last three days. After that the -problem of procuring supplies would be as difficult as it would be -urgent. I dared not venture near any cottage: I dared not enter any -village or town, and the more I thought of my future the blacker it -became. Defiantly I choked down my fears and resolved that I should -live for the moment only. There was more of boldness than wisdom in the -decision, and when I had come to it I trudged on blithely with no -thought except to cover as many miles as possible before the day should -break. - -When that hour came I found myself standing by the side of a lone grey -loch laid in the lap of the hills. On each side the great sheet of water -was surrounded by a heather-clad ridge, from whose crest some ancient -cataclysm had torn huge boulders which lay strewn here and there on the -slopes that led down to the water edge. Remote from the haunts of man, -it seemed to my tired eyes a place of enchanting beauty; and I stood -there as though a spell were upon me and watched the sun rise, diffusing -as it came a myriad fairy tints which transformed the granite slabs to -silver, and lighted up the mist-clad hill-side with colours of pearl and -purple and gold. - -I watched a dove-grey cloud roll gently from the face of the loch and, -driven by some vagrant wind, wander ghost-like over the hill-side. The -moor-fowl were beginning to wake and I heard the cry of the cock-grouse -challenge the morn. Pushing my way through the dew-laden beds of -heather, I ascended to the crest of the slope which ran up from the -loch, and looked across the country. Before me rolled a panorama of -moor and hill, while in the far distance the morning sky bent down to -touch the earth. There was no human habitation in sight; no feather of -peat-smoke ascending into the air from a shepherd's cot; no sheep or -cattle or living thing; but the silence was broken by the wail of the -whaups, which, in that immensity of space, seemed charged with woe. I -descended from the hill-top and passed round the end of the loch to -reconnoitre from the ridge on the other side. My eyes were met by a -like expanse of moor and hills. Here, surely, I thought, is solitude -and safety. Here might any fugitive conceal himself till the fever of -the hue and cry should abate. For a time at least I should make this -peaceful mountain fastness my home. - -When I came down from the ridge I walked along the edge of the loch till -I came upon a little stream which broke merrily away from the loch-side -and rippled with tinkling chatter under the heather and across the -moorland till the brown ribbon of its course was lost in the distance. -Half-dreaming I walked along its bank. Suddenly in a little pool I saw -a trout dart to the cover of a stone. With the zest of boyhood, but the -wariness of maturer years, I groped with cautious fingers beneath the -stone and in a few seconds felt the slight movements of the little fish -as my hands closed slowly upon it. In a flash it was out on the -bank--yards away, and soon other four lay beside it. I had found an -unexpected means of replenishing my larder. With flint and steel and -tinder I speedily lit a handful of dry grass placed under the shelter of -a boulder, and adding some broken stems of old heather and bits of -withered bracken I soon made a pleasant fire over which I cooked my -trout on a flat stone. I have eaten few breakfasts so grateful since. - -The meal over, I took care to extinguish the fire. Then, in better cheer -than I had yet been since the moment of my desertion, looking about for -a resting-place I found a great granite boulder projecting from the -hill-side and underneath its free edge a space where a man might lie -comfortably and well hidden by the tall bracken which over-arched the -opening. Laying a thick bed of heather beneath the rock, I crawled in, -drawing back the brackens to their natural positions over a hiding-place -wonderfully snug and safe. - -I judged from the position of the sun that it was near six of the -morning when I crawled into my bed, and soon I was fast asleep. It was -high noon when I awoke and peered cautiously through the fronds of the -bracken on a solitude as absolute as it was in the early hours of the -morning. I felt sorely tempted to venture out for a little while; but -discretion counselled caution, and I lay down once more and was soon -fast asleep. When I awoke again I saw that the sun was setting. - -I rose and stretched my stiffened limbs. The loch lay in the twilight -smooth as a sheet of polished glass. I went down to its edge and, -undressing, plunged into its waters, still warm from the rays of the -summer sun. Greatly refreshed, I swam ashore, dressed, and ate some food -from my rapidly diminishing store. I had found in the burn-trout an -unexpected addition to my larder, but it was evident that very soon I -should be in sore straits. - -Suddenly, I heard a shrill sound cleave the air. Quickly I crawled under -the shelter of the nearest rock and listened. The sound was coming from -the heather slopes on the other side of the loch and I soon became aware -that it was from a flute played by a musician of skill. I was amazed -and awed. The gathering darkness, the loneliness of the hills, the -stillness of the loch, gave to the music a weird and haunting beauty. I -could catch no glimpse of the player, but now I knew that I was not -alone in this mountain solitude. The music died away only to come again -with fresh vigour as the player piped a jigging tune. It changed once -more, and out of the darkness and distance floated an old Scots -melody--an echo of hopeless sorrow from far off years. It ceased. - -I waited until the darkness was complete, and, taking a careful note of -the bearings of my hiding-place, I set out with silent footsteps to the -other side of the loch to see if I could discover, without myself being -seen, this hill-side maker of music. Slowly I rounded the end of the -loch, and stole furtively along its edge till I came to a point below -the place from which I judged the melody had come. There, crouching -low, and pausing frequently, I went up the slope. Suddenly I heard a -voice near me, and sank to the ground. No man in his senses speaks -aloud to himself! There must be two people at least on this hill-side, -and my solitude and safety were delusions! I cursed myself for a fool, -and then as the speaker raised his voice I knew that I was not listening -to men talking together, but to a man praying to his Maker--a -Covenanter--a fugitive like myself--hiding in these fastnesses. -Silently as I had come I stole away and left the moorland saint alone -with his God. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *THE FLUTE-PLAYER* - - -The moon was breaking through a wreath of clouds when I came to the end -of the loch again, and its light guided me to my hiding-place. As I had -lain asleep all day, I was in no need of rest, so I set out along the -hill-side to stretch my limbs and explore my surroundings further. All -was silent, and the face of the loch shone in the moonlight like a -silver shield. - -The unexpected happenings of the last hour filled my mind. I had been -told once and again that the Covenanters were a dour, stubborn pack of -kill-joys, with no interests outside the narrow confines of their -bigotry. A flute-playing Covenanter--and, withal, a master such as this -man had shown himself to be--was something I found it hard, to -understand. And more than once since that fatal day at Wigtown I had -thought of winsome Margaret Wilson, whose brave blue eyes were of a kind -to kindle love in a man's heart. She, the sweet maid, and this soulful -musician of the hills, made me think that after all the Covenanters must -be human beings with feelings and aspirations, loves and hopes like -other men, and were not merely lawless fanatics to be shot like wild -cats or drowned like sheep-worrying dogs. - -I wondered whether this Covenanter had been hiding on the other side of -the loch long before I came; or whether he had been driven by the -troopers from some other lair a few hours before and was but a passer-by -in the night. No man, in flight, resting for a time would have been so -unwary as this flute-player. He must have been there long enough to -know that his solitude was unlikely to be disturbed by any sudden -arrival of troopers, and, if so, he must have some means of supplying -himself with food. An idea seized me. If he, like myself, was a -fugitive in hiding I might be able to eke out my diminishing store by -procuring from him some of the food which I imagined must be brought to -him by friends. But then, how could I expect that one, whose enemies -wore the same coat as I did, would grant me this favour. Even if I told -him my story, would he believe me? - -However, I resolved that, when the morning broke, I would try to make -friends with this man: but--my uniform? From his hiding-place he would -doubtless observe my approach, and either conceal himself the closer or -escape me by flight. Turning the matter over in my mind, I continued my -walk along the loch-side, and suddenly, because I was not paying full -heed to the manner of my going, my feet sank under me and I was sucked -into a bog. A "bottomless" bog so common in these Scottish moors would -quickly have solved my difficulties. With no small effort I raised my -head above the ooze and slime, withdrew my right arm from the sodden -morass, out of which it came with a hideous squelch, and felt all round -for some firm tussock of grass or rushes. Luckily finding one, I pulled -upon it cautiously, and it held--then more firmly, and still it held. -Clinging to it I withdrew my left arm from the morass, and, laying hold -on another tussock, after a prolonged and exhausting effort I succeeded -in drawing myself up till I was able to rest my arms on a clump of -rushes that stood in the heart of the bog. Resting for a little to -recover myself, I at last drew myself completely out; and as I stood -with my feet planted firmly in the heart of the rushes, I saw a clump of -grass, and stepped upon it, and from it, with a quick leap, to the other -side. As I stood wet and mud-drenched, it suddenly flashed upon me that -this untoward event might turn to my advantage. The brown ooze of the -bog would effectually hide the scarlet of my coat. Even if the fugitive -on the other side of the loch should see my approach, he would not -recognise in this mud-stained wanderer an erstwhile spick-and-span -trooper of Lag's Horse. - -I made my way carefully to the water edge and washed the bitter ooze -from my face and hands. Then I took off my tunic--having first -carefully taken from its pockets the remains of my store of food, now -all sodden--and laid it on a boulder to dry. Then I paced up and down -briskly, till the exercise brought a grateful warmth to my limbs. - -I sat down and looked wonderingly over the broad surface of the loch. A -wind had sprung up, warm and not unkindly, which caught the surface of -the water and drove little plashing waves against the gravel edge. As I -listened to their chatter I suddenly heard footsteps close at hand. -Throwing myself flat on the ground I waited. Who was it? The -Covenanter ought to be at the other side of the loch. Was there another -refugee as well as myself on this side, or was it a pursuer who had at -last found me, and had I escaped death in the bog only to face it a few -days hence against a wall in Wigtown with a firing party before me? - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *A COVENANTER'S CHARITY* - - -The footsteps drew nearer and stopped. I had been seen. There was a -long pause, then a voice in level, steady tones said: "Are you a kent -body in this country-side?" - -I rose quickly to my feet and faced the speaker. I could see him as a -dark but indistinct figure standing some yards from me on the slope of -the brae, but I knew from the lack of austerity in his tones that he was -no trooper, and I thought that in all likelihood he would prove to be -the player of the flute. - -"Need a man answer such a question?" said I. "What right have you to ask -who I am?" - -"I have no right," he replied, as he drew nearer--"no title but -curiosity. Strangers here are few and far between. As for me, I am a -shepherd." - -"A strange time of night," said I, "for a shepherd to look for his -sheep." - -"Ay," answered the voice, "and my flock has been scattered by wolves." - -"I understand," I said. "You are a minister of the Kirk, a Covenanter, -a hill-man in hiding." - -He came quite close to me and said: "I'm no' denying that you speak the -truth. Who are you?" - -"Like you," I replied, "I am a fugitive--a man with a price on his -head." - -"A Covenanter?" - -"No; a deserter from Lag's Horse." - -"From Lag's Horse?" he exclaimed, repeating my words. "A deserter?" - -Uncertain what to say, I waited. Then he continued: - -"May I make so bold as to ask if your desertion is the fruit of -conviction of soul, or the outcome of some drunken spree?" - -I have not the Scottish faculty for analysing my motives, and I hardly -knew what to say. Was I a penitent, ashamed and sorry for the evil -things in which I had played a part, or did I desert merely to escape -punishment for my part in the drunken brawl in the tavern? I had not -yet made a serious attempt to assess the matter; and here, taken at -unawares in the stillness of the night among the silent hills, I was -conscious of the near presence of God before whose bar I was arraigned -by this quiet interlocutor. - -"I am wet to the skin and chilled to the bone, for only an hour ago I -foundered in a bog, but if you will walk with me," I said, "I will tell -you the story and you shall judge." - -"It is not for man to judge, for he cannot read the heart aright, but if -you will tell me your story I will know as much of you as you seem -already to know of me," he said, as he took me by the arm. "Like you," -he continued, "I am a fugitive; and if you are likely to stop for long -in this hiding-place, it were well that we should understand each -other." - -As we paced up and down, I told him the whole shameful tale. - -When I had finished he sat down on the hill-side and, burying his face -in his hands, was silent for a space. Then he rose, and laying a hand -upon my shoulder peered into my face. The darkness was yet too great -for us to see each other clearly, but his eyes were glistening. - -"It is not," he said, "for me to judge. God knows! but I am thinking -that your desertion was more than a whim, though I would not go the -length of saying that you have repented with tears for the evil you have -done. May God forgive you, and may grace be given you to turn ere it is -too late from the paths of the wicked." - -As I told him my story I had feared that when he heard it he would have -nothing more to do with me: but I had misjudged his charity. Suddenly -he held his hand out to me, saying: - -"Providence has cast us together, mayhap that your soul may be saved, -and mine kept from withering. I am ready to be your friend if you will -be mine." - -I took his outstretched hand. I had longed for his friendship for my -own selfish ends, and he, who had nothing to gain from my friendship, -offered me his freely. - -The night had worn thin as we talked, and now in the growing light I -could see my companion more clearly. He seemed a man well past middle -life; before long I was to learn that he was more than three score years -and ten, but neither at this moment nor later should I have imagined it. -He was straight as a ramrod, spare of body and pallid of face, save -where on his high cheek-bones the moorland wind and the rays of the -summer sun had burned him brown. The hair of his head was black, -streaked here and there by a few scanty threads of silver. His forehead -was broad and high, his nose was well-formed and somewhat aquiline, and -his brown eyes were full of light. It was to his eyes and to his mouth, -around which there seemed to lurk some wistful playfulness, that his -face owed its attraction. He was without doubt a handsome man--I have -rarely seen a handsomer. - -As I peered into his face and looked him up and down, somewhat rudely I -fear, he was studying me with care. My woebegone appearance seemed to -amuse him, for when his scrutiny was over he said: - -"Ye're no' ill-faured: but I'm thinking Lag would be ill-pleased if he -saw one of his dragoons in sic a mess." - -"I trust he won't," I said with fervour, and my companion laughed -heartily. - -He laid a hand upon my arm, and with a twinkle in his eye said: "The old -Book says: 'If thine enemy hunger, feed him.' Have you anything to -eat?" - -I showed him what I had and invited him to help himself, as I picked up -my tunic and slipped it on. - -"No, no," he replied, "I am better provided than you. The Lord that -sent the ravens to Elijah has spread for me a table in the wilderness -and my cup runneth over. Come with me and let us break our fast -together. They do say that to eat a man's salt thirls another to him as -a friend. I have no salt to offer you, but"--and he smiled--"I have -plenty of mutton ham, and I am thinking you will find that salt enough." - -The light was rapidly flooding the hill-side as we took our way round to -his side of the loch. - -"Bide here a minute," he said, as he left me beside a granite boulder. - -I guessed that, with native caution, he was as yet averse to let me see -his resting-place, or the place in which he stored his food. In my -heart of hearts the slight stung me, and then I realised that I had no -right to expect that a Covenanter should trust me absolutely, on the -instant. In a few moments he was back again, and I was amazed at the -quantity of food he brought with him. It was wrapped in a fair cloth of -linen, which he spread carefully on the hill-side, arranging the food -upon it. There were farles of oatcake, and scones, besides the remains -of a goodly leg of mutton. When the feast was spread he stood up and -taking off his bonnet began to pray aloud. I listened till he had -finished his lengthy prayer, refraining from laying hands upon any of -the toothsome food that lay before me. When he had ground out a long -"Amen," he opened his eyes and replaced his bonnet. Then he cut a -generous slice of mutton and passed it to me. - -"I never break my fast," he said, "without thanking God, and I am glad -to see that you are a well-mannered young man. I dare hardly have -expected so much from a trooper." - -"Ah," I answered, "I have had advantages denied to most of the -troopers." - -He nodded his head, and lapsing into the speech of the country-side, as -I had yet to learn was his wont whenever his feelings were stirred, he -said: - -"That reminds me of what once befell mair than thirty years sin' when I -was daunnerin' along the road from Kirkcudbright to Causewayend. It was -a summer day just like this, and on the road I foregathered wi' a -sailor-body that had come off a schooner in Kirkcudbright. We walked -along and cracked, and I found him, like every other sailor-man, to be -an interesting chiel. By and by we cam' to a roadside inn. I asked him -to join me in a bite and sup. The inn-keeper's lass brocht us scones -and cheese and a dram apiece, and when they were set afore us, I, as is -my custom, took off my bonnet and proceeded to thank the Lord for these -temporal mercies. When I opened ma een I found that my braw sailor lad -had gulped doon my dram as weel as his ain, while I was asking the -blessing. 'What dae ye mean by sic a ploy?' says I; but the edge was -ta'en off ma anger when the sailor-man, wiping his moo' wi' the back o' -his haun', said, 'Weel, sir, the guid Book says ye should watch as weel -as pray.'" - -At the memory of the trick played upon him my companion burst into -laughter, and I have rarely heard a happier laugh. - -He was a generous host, and pressed me to take my fill. - -"There is plenty for us both," he said. "Dinna be blate, my lad, help -yersel'." Then as he offered me another slice of mutton, he said: "I am -thinking that the ravens are kinder to me than they were to Elijah, for, -so far as I know, they never brocht him a mutton ham. But who ever -heard o' a braxy sheep in the wilds o' Mount Carmel!" and he laughed -again. - -When our meal was over he looked me up and down again. I could see that -he was distressed at the condition of my clothing, but I explained to -him that I considered my fall into the bog a blessing in disguise, since -it toned down the bright colour of my garments and would make them less -easily seen upon the moorland. - -"That's as may be, but ye're an awfu' sicht. However, I've no doubt -that when the glaur dries it winna look so bad." - -As he talked I was divesting myself of my uniform, and as I stood before -him in my shirt he looked me over again and said: "You might disguise -yourself by making a kilt out o' your coat, but twa sic' spindle shanks -o' legs would gi'e you awa' at once. I know well, since ye're an -Englishman, ye werena' brought up on the carritches, and I can see for -myself ye got no oatmeal when ye were a bairn." - -I laughed, as I tossed my last garment aside, and running to the edge of -the loch plunged into its depths. He watched me as I swam, and when I -came to the shore again I found him drying my outer garments over a fire -which he had kindled. - -"It'll be time for bed," he said, "in a few minutes. You take your ways -to your own hidie-hole and I will take my way to mine; and may God send -us sweet repose. No man can tell, but I am thinking there will be no -troopers up here the day. They combed this loch-side a fortnight sin', -and when they had gone I came and hid here. Maist likely they'll no' be -back here for a long time." - -I thanked him for his hospitality, and as I turned to go I said: "Where -shall I find you to-night, for I should like to have more of your -company?" - -"Well," he answered, "I always sleep on this side of the loch; and when -night falls and a' thing seems safe, it is mair than likely ye'll hear -me playing a bit tune on the flute. When ye hear that, if ye come round -to this side and just wait a wee, ye'll likely see me again. Good -morning! and God bless you!" - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *THE STORY OF ALEXANDER MAIN* - - -I made for my hiding-place, and, snugly covered up in my lair, I was -soon asleep. In the late afternoon I awoke. What it was that woke me I -know not, but as I lay half-conscious in the dreamy shallows that lie -around the sea of sleep, I heard something stir among the brackens not -far from me. I raised myself on an elbow, and separating the fronds -above me gazed in the direction from which the sound came. Less than a -score of paces away a winsome girl was tripping briskly along the -hill-side. Her head was crowned with masses of chestnut-brown hair -which glistened with a golden sheen where the sunlight caught it. Over -her shoulders was flung lightly a plaid of shepherd's tartan. Her gown -was of a dull reddish colour, and she walked lightly, with elastic step. -I was not near enough, nor dare I, lest I should be seen, crane my neck -beyond my hiding-place to see her features clearly, but I could tell -that she was fair to look upon. My eyes followed her wistfully as she -rapidly ascended the slope, but in a moment she was out of sight over -its crest. I wondered who she could be. This mountain fastness was a -place of strange surprises. I pondered long but could find no light, so -I settled myself to sleep again; but ere I slept there flitted through -my waking dreams the vision of a winsome maid with hair a glory of -sun-kissed brown. - -On waking, my first thought was of her, and anxiously and half-hopefully -I peeped into the gathering darkness to see if she had come back again; -but there was nothing to see except the beds of heather, purple in the -gathering twilight, and the grey shadows of the granite rocks scattered -along the hill-side. - -I judged that the time had come when I might with safety issue from my -hiding-place, so I ventured forth. Sitting down upon the hill-side I -helped myself to some of my rapidly diminishing food. As I did so, I -thought with gratitude of the hermit on the other side of the loch, who, -of his large charity, had made me free of his ample stores. - -And then the truth flashed upon me--the little bird which brought his -food was no repulsive, croaking raven, but a graceful -heather-lintie--the girl whom I had seen that afternoon. - -When I had finished eating, I went down to the edge of the loch and, -stooping, drank. Then I returned to my seat and waited. The stars were -coming out one by one, and the horn of the moon was just appearing like -the point of a silver sickle above a bank of clouds when I heard the -music of the flute. It pulsated with a haunting beauty, like some elfin -melody which the semi-darkness and the intervening water conspired to -render strangely sweet. Evidently the player was in a happy mood, for -his notes were instinct with joy, and, though they lacked that mystic -sadness which had so thrilled me a night ago, they cast a glamour over -me. When the music ceased I tarried for a space, for I had no desire to -break in upon the devotions of my friend; but by and by I made my way -round to the other side of the loch. - -I found the hermit awaiting me. He bade me "Good e'en" and asked if I -had had anything to eat. I told him that I had already satisfied my -hunger. - -"That is a pity," he said, "for the ravens have been kind to-day and -have brought me a little Galloway cheese forby twa or three girdles-fu' -o' guid, crisp oatcake; by the morn they'll no' be so tasty, so just try -a corner and a wee bit o' cheese along with me." - -Little loth, I assented, and soon I was enjoying some of his toothsome -store. I ate sparingly, for I had already blunted the edge of my hunger -and I had no wish to abuse his generosity. As I nibbled the crisp -oatcake I thought of the girl I had seen on the hill-side, and in a fit -of curiosity said: "I have been thinking that though the Lord sent the -ravens to feed Elijah, he has been sending somebody bonnier and blither -to feed you--in fact no raven, but a heather-lintie!" - -He looked at me quickly, and replied: "I am no' sayin' yea or nay; and -at any rate you have no call to exercise your mind with what doesna -concern you." - -The rebuke was a just one and I was sorry for my offence. - -When our meal was over, he took me by the arm. "What say you to a walk -by the light o' the moon?" he asked. "I'll guarantee you will fall into -no more bogs, for I know every foot of these hills as well as I know the -palm of my hand." - -"Your pleasure is mine," I said. So we set out, and as we went he -talked. - -"Last night," he said, "you told me your story; to-night, if you care to -listen, I will tell you mine. - -"I am an older man by far than you are, and I will never see the -three-score and ten again. As my days so has my strength been. I have -seen a feck of things and taken part in many a deed that will help to -make history. You may think I boast myself, but listen. My name is -Alexander Main, and, as you ken, I am a minister of the Kirk of -Scotland. The year 1638 saw me a student in the Glasgow College--that -is long syne, and they were stirring times. Ye may have heard of that -great gathering in the Greyfriars Kirk at Edinburgh on the last day of -February 1638, when we swore and put our names to the National Covenant. -It was a great day. The crowd filled kirk and yard. Well do I mind the -gallant Warriston reading the Covenant, much of which had come glowing -from his own pen--but most of all I mind the silence that fell upon us -when the reading was over. Then the good Earl of Sutherland stepped -forward and put his name to it, and man followed man, each eager to -pledge himself to the bond. Some of us, I mind well, wrote after their -names the words 'Till death,' and others signed it with their blood." - -"And what might this Covenant be?" I asked. - -"Ah," he said, "I had forgotten. Briefly the bond was this: 'to adhere -to and defend the true religion of Presbyterianism, and to labour to -recover the purity and liberty of the Gospel as it was established and -professed in the Kingdom of Scotland.' It was to put an end to all -endeavours to foist prelacy upon us and to signify our adherence to the -Presbyterian form of Church-government which King James himself had -sworn to uphold in this Kingdom of Scotland, that we put our names to -the bond. Not that we were against the King, for in the Covenant it was -written plain that we were ready with our lives to stand to the defence -of our dread sovereign, the King's Majesty. The wave of fervour spread -like a holy fire from that old kirkyard through the length and breadth -of Scotland, and the noblest blood in the land and the flower of its -intellect signed the Covenant. Later on there came a day when those who -stood for liberty of conscience in England as well as Scotland made a -compact. That was the Solemn League and Covenant, whereby we bound -ourselves to preserve a reformed religion in the Church of Scotland. -The memory of man is short, and it has almost been forgotten that the -solemn league was a joint Scottish and English affair, and that it was -ratified by the English Parliament. These things were the beginning, -but since then this puir kingdom has passed through the fire." - -He paused and sighed deeply, then picking up the thread of his words -again he told me the chequered history of the Covenanters for close on -fifty years. It was a story that thrilled me--a record of suffering, of -high endeavour, of grievous wrong. Of his own sufferings he made -little, though he had suffered sore, and I, who had never felt the call -to sacrifice myself for a principle, was humbled to the dust as I -listened. He spoke in accents tense with emotion, and sometimes his -voice rang with pride. I was too spell-bound to interrupt him, though -many questions were upon my lips. - -At last he ceased, as though the memories he was recalling had -overwhelmed him, then he resumed: - -"So, in some sort, my story is the story of puir auld Scotland, for the -past fifty years. It is a tragedy, and the pity is--a needless tragedy! -If the rulers of a land would study history and human nature, it would -save them from muckle wrong-doing and oppression. It has been tried -before and, I doubt not, it will be tried many a time again, but it will -never succeed--for no tyrant can destroy the soul of a people by brute -force. They call us rebels, and maybe so we are, but we were not rebels -in the beginning. Two kings signed the bond: the Parliament passed it. -We remained true to our pledged word; the kings forgot theirs, and they -call us the law-breakers. And some call us narrow-minded fanatics. -Some of us may be; for when the penalty of a man's faith is his death, -he may come to lay as much stress on the commas in his creed as on the -principles it declares. No man has the right to compromise on the -fundamentals. - -"Sometimes I wonder if I had my life to live over again whether I would -do as I have done. Maist likely I should, for all through I have let my -conscience guide me. I have no regrets, but only a gnawing sorrow that -sometimes torments me. I have been in dangers many, and I have never -lowered my flag, either to a fear or to a denial of my faith, and yet -the Lord has not counted me worthy to win the martyr's crown." His -voice broke, and he hesitated for a moment, then went on: "I have fought -a good fight; I have almost finished my course, but whether I have kept -the faith is no' for me to say. I have tried. - -"The night of Scotland's woe has been long and stormy; but the dawn of a -better day is not far off, and she will yet take her place in the -forefront of the nations as the land in which the battle for liberty of -conscience was fought and won. - -"Look ye," and he pointed to the east, where the darkness was beginning -to break as the sun swung up from his bed. - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *THE FIELD MEETING* - - -A week passed uneventfully. Each night I joined my friend and the glad -notes of his flute were still our signal: each morning we parted to -sleep through the daylight hours each in his own hiding-place. - -I was strangely attracted by this old man. He was a gentle spirit, -quick to take offence, often when none was meant, but equally quick to -forget. He had a quaint humour, flashes of which lightened our converse -as we walked together in the night, and he had all the confidence of a -little child in the abiding love of God. As I parted with him one -morning, he said: - -"I doubt you'll no' ken what day of the week this is." - -I was quick to confess my ignorance. - -"Well," he said, "it is Saturday, and ye'll no' hear me playing the -nicht. On such a nicht one is too near the threshold of the Sabbath day -lichtly to engage in sic a worldly amusement. However, if ye'll come -round to my side of the loch about the usual time, we'll tak' a bite o' -supper together--after that ye'd better leave me to my meditations in -view of the Lord's Day, for I am preaching the morn." - -"In which church, may I ask?" I said, forgetting for a moment where I -was. - -"In the kirk of the moorland," he answered, "which has no roof but God's -heaven, and no altar but the loving hearts of men and women!" - -A sudden desire sprang up in my heart. "Sir," I said, hesitatingly, "I -do not consider myself worthy, but I should count it a high honour if I -may come with you." - -He paused before he answered: "The House is the Lord's, He turns no man -from His door: come, an you wish it." Then he laughed, and looking me -up and down said: "Man, but you're an awfu' sicht if you are coming. Ye -wadna like to appear before Lag in sic unsoldierly trappings: daur ye -face God?" Then he laid a hand on my shoulder, and looking into my face -with his piercing eyes, said: "The Lord tak's nae pleasure in the looks -o' a man, and belike he pays little heed to claes or the beggar at the -rich man's gate wouldna have had much of a chance; it is the heart that -counts, my lad, it is the heart, and a contrite heart He will not -despise." Then he gripped me by the hand, and said: "Awa to your bed -and come an' look for me by and by, and syne we'll set out for the kirk. -It is a long road to travel and ye'll need a good rest before we start." - -So I left him and made my way back to my own side of the loch. There I -undressed and looked ruefully at my mud-bespattered garments. They -certainly were far from that soldierly spotlessness of which I had been -so proud when first I donned them. But the mud on them was quite dry, -so I made a heather brush, and brushed them well. Then I took them down -to the loch-side and washed out some of the more obstinate stains, then -laying them to dry among the brackens I sought my bed. - -When I awoke night had fallen, so, leaving my hiding place, I sought my -garments and put them on. - -I judged that it must be nearly ten o'clock as I went round the head of -the loch to seek my friend. I found him awaiting me at our -trysting-place and we ate our meal in silence. When we had finished, he -said: "Wait for me here; I will come again ere long," and disappeared -into the darkness. I sat in the starlit silence watching the moon's -fitful light move upon the face of the waters. Many thoughts passed -through my mind. I wondered what reception I, in a trooper's uniform, -would receive at the hands of the hill-men whom I was shortly to meet. -Would the guarantee of the minister be credential sufficient: then a -doubt assailed me. I knew that as a deserter I was under penalty of -death--but even a deserter, if captured, might still be pardoned; but to -have, as a further charge in the indictment against him, that of -consorting with proscribed hill-men and taking part in a Conventicle -would rob me of the last chance of pardon if I should ever fall into the -hands of my pursuers. For a moment I was tempted to withdraw from this -new adventure. Then I spurned myself for a coward. I owed my life to -the friendliness of this old man, who daily gave me so ungrudgingly of -his store, and I felt that it would be base and ungrateful to withdraw -now, since, after all, the invitation to accompany him was of my own -seeking. - -The moments passed slowly, and I judged that more than an hour had -elapsed since he left me. I began to grow uneasy. Had he lost me in -the dark, or had he judged me unworthy to accompany him, and gone off -alone? I rose to my feet, determined to make a search for him, when I -heard the rustle of his footsteps, and in a moment he was beside me. - -"Did you think I wasna comin' back?" he queried. "I have just been -wrestling with a point o' doctrine; but I've got the truth o't now. -Come!" and he set out along the hill-side. - -He walked slowly, absorbed in deep meditation. I followed close on his -heels, seeking to make sure of my footsteps by keeping as near him as -possible. He seemed in no mood to talk, and I held my tongue. - -When we had walked for two hours, he stopped suddenly and said: "We are -half-way there now. I think that we might take a rest," and he sat down -on a hummock on the hill-side. - -I sat down beside him, and more by way of breaking the silence than from -any special desire to talk--for I had little to say, I remarked: "What a -beautiful night!" - -He grunted, and in spite of the darkness I could see him shrug his -shoulders with displeasure. - -"Wheesht, man," he said. "This is nae time to speak about sic things. -Have ye forgotten it is the Sabbath day?" - -I was unprepared for such a rebuff, and a hot reply sprang to my lips, -but I felt unwilling to hurt his feelings, so I held my tongue. - -He sat with his knees drawn up towards his chin, his clasped hands -holding them, and his eyes fixed on the distance. - -I stretched myself lazily upon the hill-side and awaited his pleasure. - -We rested for a long time, and then, as the eastern sky began to break -into light, he rose to his feet and saying, "It is time to go on," he -set out again. I followed close behind him as before. He walked with -his hands clasped behind his back, his two thumbs revolving ceaselessly -round each other. - -Out of the ebb of night, day rose like a goddess. Before me was beauty -unspeakable. The moorland was covered by a thin vale of mist. Here and -there, where the sun was reflected from it, it shone like silver, and -where some mischievous hill-wind had torn a rent in it, a splash of -brown heath or a tussock of purple heather broke colouringly through. -The world was waking up from its slumber. A hare, startled, sprang -along the hill-side before us--its ears acock, its body zig-zagging as -though to evade some apprehended missile. The whaups called to each -other mournfully, and, high above us, unseen, a lark poured out its soul -in sparkling song. - -I was beginning to wonder when we should arrive at our destination, when -my companion turned suddenly to the left and walked downhill into the -valley. Here, for a time, we followed what had been the bed of an -ancient stream, long since dried up, until we came to a cleft between -the hills which gradually widened out into a kind of amphitheatre. -Almost for the first time since we had left our hiding-place, my -companion spoke. - -"This is the trysting-place," he said. "The folk will be here ere long. -I'll leave ye while I complete my preparations," and saying "Rest ye," -he walked on through the amphitheatre and disappeared. - -I stretched myself upon my back and drew my bonnet over my eyes. I know -not how long I lay thus, but suddenly I was conscious that someone was -standing beside me, and opening my eyes I saw the minister at my side. - -"They are beginning to come," he said, as he looked out through the -cleft by which we had entered the hollow. My gaze followed his, and I -saw at some distance a man of middle age, followed by two younger men, -coming in single file towards us. My companion left me and hurried to -meet them. I saw him approach the eldest with outstretched hand which -was taken and shaken vigorously; then he greeted the two younger men, -and the four stood, a little knot in the morning light, talking -earnestly. - -From glances that were cast from time to time in my direction, I knew -they were talking of me. The colloquy lasted for some time. My friend -was apparently vouching for my trustworthiness with many protestations, -for I could see him strike the palm of his left hand with his clenched -right fist. At last the minister and the elder man came towards me. -The two younger men separated, one climbing to the top of the ridge on -one side of the amphitheatre and the other ascending the slope upon its -other side. - -I surmised that these two younger men were to play the part of sentinels -to give timely warning, if need arose, of the coming of the dreaded -troopers. They had no weapons but shepherd's crooks. - -As the two elder men approached me, I rose, and as they drew nearer I -heard my friend still pleading for me. "I believe that, at heart, he is -no' a bad young man, but being English, his opportunities have been few, -and he is strangely lacking in a knowledge o' the fundamentals, but I am -hoping that he may yet prove to be a brand plucked from the burning." - -With difficulty I restrained a smile, but I took a step towards them -and, bowing to my friend's companion who stood straight-backed and -stalwart before me, I said: "My uniform is but a poor passport to your -trust, but the heart beneath it is not a false heart and none of your -people need fear ill from me." - -The old man offered me his hand. "Young man," he said, "I hae little -cause to trust your coat, but if your creedentials satisfy the -meenister, they're guid enough for Tammas Frazer." - -"That's richt, Thomas!" cried the minister, "that's richt. As the Buik -says: 'Charity suffereth long and is kind'!" - -We stood silent for an embarrassed moment, until the hill-man said: "And -noo, Meenister, ye'll gi'e us a word afore I set the kirk in order," and -lifting their bonnets the two men closed their eyes. - -I followed their example, and then the minister lifted up his voice and, -in tones of pathetic earnestness, besought the blessing of God upon all -the doings of the day; sought, too, for divine protection for all who at -the hazard of their lives should come to worship there that Sabbath -morning. - -When the prayer was over, Thomas turned to me, and said: "You are a -likely young man and a hefty; we had better leave the man o' God to his -meditations. Come and lend me a hand." - -For a moment I was at a loss to understand what he meant, but I followed -him, and when he picked up a small boulder I did likewise and together -we carried the stones to the sloping hillside and arranged them at short -intervals from each other. Altogether we gathered some thirty or forty -stones, which we set in semi-circular rows. Opposite to these, on the -other side of the amphitheatre, we built a little mound of boulders and -laid upon the top of it a great flat rock. This was to be the -preacher's pulpit, and I was struck with the care that Thomas devoted to -its building. When it was finished he stood upon it and tested it. -Satisfied, he descended from it, saying: "It'll dae fine. There's -naething like a guid foundation for a sermon," and in his austere eyes a -light flickered. - -By this time other worshippers had begun to gather and were thronging -round the minister in little clusters. From the looks cast in my -direction I knew that I was the object of more than one inquiry, and -while my recent companion went forward to greet some other of the -worshippers, I hung back a little shamefacedly. Seeing my hesitation the -minister beckoned me, and when I came near he placed a hand upon my -shoulder and said: - -"My friends, here is the prodigal. He has eaten of the husks of the -swine, but, I think, he has at last set his foot on the road to his -Father's house." - -It was a strange introduction, received in silence by the little group, -and with a mounting colour I looked at the people and they looked at me. -There was a glint of challenge in the eyes of some of the men and a hint -of suspicion in others. The older women looked at me with something I -took for pity; the younger ones pretended not to look at all. The -silence was embarrassing, but it was broken by the minister who said: - -"And now, my friends, it is time to begin our service. Will you take -your places?" and turning to me he said, "Young man, I think ye'd better -come and sit near the pulpit, where I can see that ye behave yersel'!" - -In silence, and with a demure sobriety as though they were crossing the -threshold of a holy place, they stepped across the dip in the -amphitheatre and seated themselves upon the stones laid ready for them. -I walked behind the minister towards his pulpit. A couple of paces from -it he stopped and raised his right hand high above his head. On the top -of the hill that faced us I saw one of the sentinels spring erect and -hold his hand aloft, and turning, we saw that the sentinel on the other -hill top had made a like signal. It was a sign that all was well, and -that the service might safely begin. - -The minister mounted his pulpit and I sat down a little below it. In a -voice which rang melodiously through the silence he said: "Let us -worship God by singing to His praise the 121st psalm." He read the -psalm from beginning to end and then the congregation, still sitting, -took up the refrain and sang slowly the confident words. It was a psalm -which to these hill-folk must have been charged with many memories. - -There was more of earnestness than of melody in the singing, but -suddenly I was aware of one voice that sounded clear and bell-like among -the jumble of raucous notes. My ears guided my eyes and I was able to -pick the singer out. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *FLOWER O' THE HEATHER* - - -She was a girl of some twenty years who sat on the slope opposite to me. -Her features were regular and fine and in strange contrast to the rugged -countenances that surrounded her. From underneath the kerchief that -snooded her hair a wanton lock of gold strayed over the whiteness of her -high forehead. I caught a glimpse of two pink ears set like wild roses -among the locks that clustered round them. She sat demurely, unaware of -my rapt scrutiny. Her lips were red as ripe cherries, and as she sang I -saw behind them the glint of white and regular teeth. Her eyes I could -not catch; they were lifted to the distant sky over the hill-tops; her -soul was in her singing. One hand rested in her lap, the other hung down -by her side, and almost touched the grass beside her rough seat. The -open book upon her knees was open for form's sake only. She was singing -from her heart and she knew the words without appeal to the printed -page. I took my eyes from her with difficulty and let them wander over -the little congregation of which she was a part, but I found no face -there which could hold them, and quickly they turned again to look upon -this winsome maid. - -She had lowered her eyes now, and as I glanced across at her I met their -level gaze. There was a glint of light in them such as I have seen upon -a moorland tarn when the sunbeams frolic there, and as I looked at her I -was aware that something within me was beating against my ribs like a -wild caged bird. - -When the psalm was ended the minister behind me said solemnly, "Let us -pray," and over against me I saw the heads of the congregation bend -reverently. Some sat with clasped hands, others buried their faces in -the hollow of their palms. My devotions were divided, and before the -preacher had completed his sentences of invocation I found myself -peeping through my separated fingers at the girl. Her eyes were closed, -her dainty hands were clasped delicately. I had never, till that moment, -known that the human hand may become as subtle an instrument for -expressing the feelings as the human eye. In her clasped hands I saw -the rapture of a splendid faith: I saw devotion that would not shrink -from death; I saw love and sacrifice. - -The preacher prayed on, embracing in his petitions the furthest corners -of the universe. His words fell on my ears, but I did not hear them, -for at that moment my whole world centred in this alluring daughter of -the Covenant. - -Once again I was conscious that my heart was thumping wildly, and I was -selfish enough to wonder whether my presence was disturbing her -devotions as much as hers was destroying mine. But she gave no sign. -The lustrous pools of her eyes were hidden from my gaze behind the -dropped lids. So long as she was unaware of it, I felt no hesitation in -letting my eyes dwell upon her, to drink in the beauty of her -soul-filled face. - -I was still gazing upon this vision when suddenly the prayer ended. I -can tell no more of the service. I only know that in that little band of -worshippers I was one of the most fervent--but I fear that I was -worshipping one of God's creatures rather than God Himself. - -After the benediction had been pronounced over the standing -congregation, I looked up at the sky and judged that well-nigh three -hours must have elapsed since we sang the opening psalm, and to me it -had passed in a flash. Never before had I known the minutes fly upon -such winged feet. - -I shook myself out of my dream and turned towards the minister. He had -dropped on his knees and was engaged in silent prayer. Unwilling to -disturb him, I turned once more toward the congregation which had -already arisen from its stony pews and was standing clustered in little -knots. I hesitated for a moment, and as I hung uncertain I felt an arm -slip through mine. It was the minister. - -"Come," he said, "you must get to know some of my flock. I could tell, -my lad, as ye sat at my feet during the service that you were strangely -moved." - -Good honest man! I had been strangely moved, but by other emotions than -those for which he gave me credit! - -As he talked, we had descended the slope and stood in the hollow. The -congregation gathered round us; many of the men, and some of the older -women, grasped the preacher warmly by the hand. There was no -effusiveness in these salutations, but a quiet earnestness that bespoke -their love for him. - -"Ye were michty in prayer the day," said one, while I heard another -exclaim: "Ye divided the word maist skilfully, sir. The twalfth heid -micht ha'e been expanded wi' advantage, but your fourteenth was -by-ordinar'. I never heard finer words o' grace, no even frae godly -Samuel Rutherford himself. God keep ye, sir." "Ay," said another. -"When ye gied oot yer sixth heid says I tae masel', 'Noo, how will he -handle that ane: but, sir, ye were maisterfu', an' I was mair than -satisfied." - -These words of praise were accepted by the minister with a modest -derogation: "I am but a frail mouthpiece," he said. "The message has -suffered through my poor imperfections." - -In the press around him I was suddenly conscious of _her_ presence. I -saw his face light up with a smile as he stretched his hand out to her: -"Mary, lass," he said, as he drew her towards him, "ye're a woman grown. -It seems but yesterday that I baptised you." - -My eyes were on her face, and I saw the colour mount beneath her healthy -brown as she smiled. I felt I would have given all of life that might -lie before me had that smile been for me. With ears alert I waited to -hear her speak. Softly, and in sweet accents, within whose music there -was a note of roguery, she answered: - -"If the wee ravens didna grow up, wha would bring food to Elijah?" - -The minister laughed. "It was a fine cheese, Mary, and your oatcakes -couldna be bettered in the shire. What say you, young man?" he said, -turning to me. - -The moment I had dreamed of had come, and the eyes of the girl were -turned expectantly upon me, and then, fool that I was, any readiness of -wit I had, oozed through the soles of my feet and left me standing in -the adorable presence, an inarticulate dolt. I mumbled I know not what, -but she laughed my confusion aside. - -"If there are twa mouths to fill," she said, "the ravens will ha'e to -fly into the wilderness a wee oftener. I maun tell mither." - -She looked at me, and then with a glint in her beautiful eyes that made -me think she had not been altogether unaware of my scrutiny during the -service, said: "For a trooper, ye behaved very weel," and then lest I -might imagine that I was more to her than the merest insect that hides -among the heather, she turned once more to the minister. - -I was too young then to know that, be she Covenanter's daughter or Court -lady, woman is ever the same, with the same arts to provoke, the same -witchery to allure, the same artfully artless skill to torture and to -heal the heart of man. She had turned away from me, but in doing so she -had drawn me closer to herself, and I was rivetted to the ground where I -stood, ready to stand there for ever--just to be within sound of her -voice, within arm's length of her hand. Suddenly she disentangled -herself from the little group and going to its outskirts placed her hand -upon the arm of a middle-aged bearded man and brought him to the -minister. There was something in the shape of the forehead and eyebrows -of the man that made me think he might be her father, and my thought was -confirmed when the minister, taking him by the hand, said: - -"Andrew, you have a daughter to be proud of. Her mither's ain bairn, and -a bonnie lass." - -Her father paid no attention to the compliment, and as though to bring -back the thoughts of the man of God from such a worldly object as a -pretty girl, said: - -"And when may we expect ye tae honour our hoose by comin' for the -catechisin'?" - -"God willing, I shall be at Daldowie on Friday next, and, Andrew, I'll -expect ye to be sounder in the proofs than ye were last time." - -"And now," he said, turning to me, "we must be going. We have a long -road before us. God keep you all. Good-bye," and without another word -he strode away. I followed him, and as I passed the girl she glanced at -me and her lips moved. I hesitated and stopped, and O wonder! she had -stretched out her hand to me. - -"Good-bye," she said. "Tak' care of the minister. Maybe you'll convoy -him to the catechisin'." - -"Trust me," I said. "No harm shall touch a hair of his head if I can -fend it off." - -"Thank you," she replied. "I think I can trust you, in spite o' your -coat," and she dropped my hand. - -That was all: but her words and the trust she was ready to place in me -had made my whole world glow. I hurried after the minister, walking on -air, and felt sorely tempted to burst into song, but I knew that, on -such a day, to have done so would have rendered me suspect of wanton -godlessness and I restrained myself; but it was only outwardly. My -heart was singing like a clutch of larks, and the rugged hill-side was -covered with springing flowers. Once before I had felt the spell of a -woman, but never till now had any daughter of Eve cast such a glamour -over me. Was it love? Was it love? And if it were--was it love on my -side alone? It must be, for how dare I think that a renegade trooper, -hall-marked by a uniform that to these simple folk meant blood and -death, could awaken in the sweet soul of that innocent girl feelings -such as she had stirred within my breast, I pictured her again: I saw -her sweet brown eyes, and I remembered the glory of her hair, which for -a moment I had seen in all its beauty when her kerchief had slipped -back. It was chestnut-brown, coiled in great masses, save just above -her brow, where in some mood of whim nature had set a golden curl like -an aureole. And as I fondly recalled her features one by one I found -myself thinking that behind the demure repose of her face there lurked -some elfin roguishness--something elusive that gave her a mysterious -charm. - -I walked on in a maze of dreams, but was called sharply back to earth by -the voice of the minister. - -"Where are you going, my lad? Are you making for the border, or where? -Our road lies up the brae face," and turning I discovered that, in my -dreams, instead of following the minister I was walking obliquely away -from him. I ran to rejoin him, but I had no excuse ready to explain my -error, nor did he ask for one. We resumed our walk together and in a -moment or two he said: - -"Well, what think you o' a Conventicle?" - -There was no mental reservation in my reply: "Never, sir, did I so enjoy -a religious service." - -"Enjoy?" he repeated, questioningly. "Enjoy? that is a worldly word to -use concerning such a privilege." - -I looked at him sharply, half suspecting that he had guessed the cause -of my appreciation of the field-meeting; but there was nothing in his -solemn countenance to make me think he suspected me of duplicity. - -"You English folk," he continued, "have queer ways of using your own -language. I can understand a hungry man enjoying a hearty meal; but -enjoying a privilege seems wrong. One accepts a privilege with a -thankful and humble heart." Then he stopped suddenly, stamping his foot -upon the ground. "Alexander Main," he said, "ye're wrong. You are -misjudging the young man; ye're growing old, and the sap in your heart -is drying up. Shame on you that you should ever doubt that a man may -rejoice at being privileged to enter the presence of God." Then he -stretched out his hand: "Forgive me, young man. We Scots have perhaps -lost our sense of joy in our sense of duty, but we are wrong, wrong, -wrong!" - -His wonted kindliness of heart was bubbling over. My joy had come from a -very human source and sorely was I tempted to explain myself: but I held -my peace. - -We took the path again and plodded along the hillside until we came to -the top of a long ridge. As we drew near it the minister signalled to -me to crouch down, and on his hands and knees he crawled up and peered -long and earnestly over the other side. I knew the reason of his -caution. If he stood erect on the brow-top his dark figure, sharp-cut -against the sky, might be seen by some patrol of troopers on the -moorland. His caution brought me back sharply from the land of dreams. -He and I were hunted men. - -Apparently his scrutiny satisfied him, for he turned round and, sitting -down, said: "We may rest here awhile." I sat beside him and together we -scanned the valley that lay below us. It seemed to be a vast solitude, -but as I looked I began to pick out here and there a moving figure, and -startled, I called his attention to them. He looked and, after a pause, -made answer: "They are only the moorland folk making their ways home. -See yonder, that is no trooper, but a woman. Poor, harried sheep! May -the Great Shepherd guide them all to the fold of home, and in His own -good time to the fold abune." I looked again, scanning the moorland -with sharpened eyes in the hope that afar I might catch a glimpse of her -whose life had touched mine so tenderly that day; but I could not -discern her. - -I was stirred by a strange desire to talk, and I began to put to my -companion questions about some of his flock, and by devious paths I led -him to the subject that was really in my heart. - -"Mary," he said, "what would you know about Mary?" and then he smiled. -"Oh, that is how the land lies, is it? Well, I'm no' surprised. She's -a bonnie lass, and as good as she is bonnie, and a likely lass to take a -young man's eye. But put her out of your mind. She's no' for you. The -dove maunna' mate wi' the corbie." - -"She must be a brave woman," I said, "for I understand that she brings -us our food." - -"Wha tell't ye that?" he exclaimed, turning upon me sharply and lapsing -into the fashion of speech which was ever his refuge when he was moved. - -"Well, sir," I answered, "you said as much, and I put two and two -together." - -"Did I?" he exclaimed. "Well, ye maun guess nae mair; dinna forget this -is the Sabbath day." - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *THE GREATER LOVE* - - -Idly I pulled a little sprig of thyme which grew beside me, and crushing -it between my fingers inhaled its perfume. - -My companion watched me, saying: "Wonderful! wonderful! what glories -there are in creation. Many a time I've lain awake at nights and -thought about it all. Flowers on the moor, far bonnier than anything -that ever man fashioned; birds in the air lilting sweeter melodies than -man can make; the colour spilled across the sky when the sun sets; the -mist on the hills. Glory everywhere; but nothing to the glory -yonder"--and he raised his eyes to the heavens. - -When we had rested for a time, my companion rose and we set out again. - -The sun was setting when we came within sight of our hiding places. - -"Come to my side of the loch," he said. "Ye'll want your supper before -ye make for your bed," and together we made for the place where we had -already enjoyed so many meals together. I went to the little stream to -see if haply I might discover a trout there, but he forbade me sternly. - -"Must I tell ye again that it is the Sabbath day? Ye maunna catch fish -the nicht." - -He left me for a moment, and sought his little store, and when he came -back, we took our meal in silence. When we had finished he said: "I am -wearied to-night; God send us sweet repose," and kneeling down he -commended us both and "all good hill-folk" to the protection of the -Almighty. He prayed too for his little congregation, and as he did so I -wondered if another prayer might at that hour be ascending like incense -from the lips of the girl who had begun to haunt my heart; and I -wondered if in her petitions there would be any thought of me. - -When his prayer was over the old man rose to his feet, and laying a hand -upon my shoulder while I bowed my uncovered head he lifted his face to -the sky and gave me his blessing. There was a catch in my voice as, -touched at heart and humbled, I bade him "Good night." - -I walked round the end of the loch and sought my hiding-place, but -though I was fatigued I could not fall asleep. The stars were -glittering afar, and I wondered if at that moment she, too, were looking -up at their beauty. I lived through once again all the incidents of the -day in which she had played a part. I heard her sweet voice singing, I -saw the light upon her hair, the glint in her eyes and, once again, I -felt the pressure of her hand. There in the darkness I lifted my own -right hand to my lips and kissed it--for had she not touched it? Then I -fell asleep, but even as I slept she walked, an angel, through my -dreams. - -When I awoke my first thought was of her: then, as I looked up at the -sky, I judged that the day was already some hours past the dawn. -Cautiously I separated the fronds of brackens and looked along the moor. -What I saw made me draw back in horror: then, with a beating heart, I -took courage and peeped carefully through once more. - -The troopers were upon us, and on my side of the loch there were some -twenty who, scattered about, on horseback, were quartering and -requartering the whole hill-side. I looked warily across to the other -side of the loch. There I could see none. I knew that my safety lay in -absolute stillness. A movement of one of the bracken stems beneath -which I lay might betray me--even my breathing might be heard, and I -knew the uncanny instinct with which a trooper's horse was sometimes -aware of the presence of a fugitive when his rider might be ignorant. -As I listened to the voices of the troopers, and heard the hoofs of -their horses, I felt a sudden love for all the timorous hunted creatures -of the earth. In imagination I saw a hare, with ears laid back, and -eyes dilate with fear, lying clapped in her form. - -In my extremity I thought of Mary, and wondered if she knew of my peril. -My lips were dry as sand, my hands were moist, and my heart was beating -loudly, so that I thought the sound of it must be heard by my pursuers. -Would it be a speedy death there on the moorland, or would I be taken to -Wigtown and given a trial? Life had never seemed sweeter than in that -morning hour, and now fate was about to dash the cup of happiness from -my lips. I dared not stir to look again through the brackens, but I -knew from the sound of the voices that some of the troopers were now -close to my hiding-place. With ears alert I listened. Surely that was -Agnew's voice. I heard the jangle of bridle chains, and the creak of -stirrup leathers: I could hear the heavy breathing of the horses--they -were closing in upon me on every side. One minute more and I should be -discovered, and then, death! And I, because I had learned to love, had -grown afraid to die. - -Suddenly, clear and shrill, the sound of a flute came from the far side -of the loch. What madness was this? Did not the old man know that the -troopers were upon us? In the very teeth of danger he was calmly -playing a tune that I had heard more than once in the moonlit hours of -the night. O fool! What frenzy had seized him? - -The sound reached the troopers. I heard a voice shout, "What the devil -is that?" and the tramp of the horses ceased. The player played on.... -There was a sharp word of command; the horses were spurred to the -gallop, and raced to the other side of the loch. As they passed my -hiding-place one of them almost brushed my feet with its hoofs. The -player played on.... There was no tremor in his notes; clear and shrill -they cleft the moorland air. I took courage and peered out. Look where -I might I could see no trooper on my side of the loch, but on the other -side I saw them rapidly converging to the place from which the music -came. The player ceased as suddenly as he had begun, and lying there in -my hiding-place I cursed him for his folly. Never before had I heard -his flute save in the hours of darkness. And then the truth flashed -upon me. It was not madness: it was sacrifice! He had seen my danger, -and to save me, with no thought of self, he had done this thing. - -Would they find him? I, with no skill in prayer, found myself praying -fervently that he might escape. Then something within me cried: "You can -save him--show yourself." It was the voice of Mary, and, startled, I -peered through the brackens to see if she could be near, but there was -no one to be seen on my side of the loch and nothing to be heard but the -trailing of the wind along the tops of the heather. "Save him!" cried -the voice again. I sprang to my feet and shouted, but the wind carried -my voice away over my shoulder. Then I heard loud cries on the other -side of the loch and I knew that the troopers had found the Minister.... -Could I save him now? ... Was any good purpose to be served by my -surrender, or did it mean simply that two lives would be taken in place -of one? Again I heard the voice: "Too late," it said, "too late," and -it was the voice of Mary, choked with tears. - -I threw myself down again, and cursed myself for a coward. I could not -see what was happening on the other side of the loch. For a time there -was the tumult of many voices, and then all was still. I knew what that -meant. Lag or Claver'se or whatever devil incarnate might be at the -head of the troop was putting my friend to the test. Would he take the -oath? I knew that to him allegiance to his God was far more precious -than fealty to an earthly king. I could see the whole scene: he, calm, -in the circle of his accusers, with the firing party charging their -weapons. I could hear the bullying voice of the commander trying to -break his spirit, and then I knew--for I had seen it--that he would be -given five minutes to make his peace with God. Little need for that! -... The crash of muskets tore the silence and I knew that Alexander -Main, hillman, and Saint, had won his crown of glory at the last. - -I felt the tears brim in my eyes, and trickle scalding down my cheeks. -Then I was seized with dread once more. Would the troopers be content -with this one victim, or would they come again to my side of the loch -and continue their search? I knew not; I could only wait for whatever -might happen. In a few minutes I should know. - -I could hear the sound of the troopers' voices and their laughter, and -peering through the brackens I saw the little cavalcade go back to the -edge of the loch where they gave their horses to drink. In a body they -marched to the end of the loch. If they swung round to the left and -came again to quarter my side of the hill, my fate was sealed. With -hands clenched I waited, watching. I was taut as a bow-string with -suspense. The string snapped: I was free!--for when they reached the -end of the loch, they set their horses to the ascent that led to the top -of the hill, and in half an hour the last of them had disappeared. And -there on my bed of heather beneath the brackens I lay and cried like a -child. - -I lay there till the sun went down; then in the gloaming I stole round -to the other side of the loch to look for my friend. I found him at -last. He was lying on his back, with eyes open, looking into the depth -of the sky. There was a smile upon his face, a smile of pride and -unspeakable joy. A great bloody gash, where the murderous bullets had -struck him, lay over his heart. Beside him, face downward, lay an open -book. I picked it up reverently. It was his Bible, and a splash of -blood lay upon the open page across these words: "They shall hunger no -more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor -any heat." Gently I closed the book, and sat down beside him. I had -lost a friend; a friend who had shown me the greater love; he was a -Covenanter, and I--God help me!--I had been a persecutor. My heart was -torn by shame and remorse: but in the dim light his quiet pale face was -smiling, as though he was satisfied. - -Suddenly a thought struck me. I must give him burial, and quick on the -heels of the thought came another: The dead need no covering but the -kindly earth; would it be sacrilege to strip him of his clothes? He had -no further need of them, while I was in sore straits to get rid of my -uniform. I knelt down and peered into his face. The smile there gave -me courage. In life he had been shrewd and kindly, and I knew that in -death he would understand. So, very gently, I began to strip him. As I -took his coat off something fell from the pocket. It was his flute. I -put it beside his Bible. I have kept both till this day. - -Then when I had stripped him, I cast about in my mind for some means to -give him burial. Not far away I knew there was a gash in the hill-side -where once some primeval tarn had been. Reverently I lifted his body -and bore it thither. Gently I laid it down, and standing with bowed -head under the starlit sky, I pronounced over that noble dust all I -could remember of the English burial service. Did ever Covenanter have -a stranger burial? I trow not. Then reverently I happed him over with -heather and brackens and turf which I tore from the hill-side, and -laboured on until the trench was filled and I had built a cairn of -stones over it. - -So I left him sleeping there, and, as I turned away, I was overwhelmed -by a sense of loss and loneliness. - -I gathered up the clothing which I had taken from his body, and bore it -to the side of the loch. There, from the coat, I washed the stains of -blood, and laid it on the sward to dry. - -Occupied as I had been, I was unconscious of the flight of time; but I -was reminded by a sudden access of hunger. A problem faced me, for I -had no food of my own. For days I had been depending on the charity of -my friend; and I did not know where his store lay hidden. In that -wilderness it was well secreted lest any questing bird or four-footed -creature of the moorlands might find it. A sudden apprehension seized -me, and, with its coming, my hunger disappeared. I hurried to the place -where we were wont to take our evening meal together, and then I walked -in the direction which he had usually taken when he went to fetch the -provender. I sought beneath likely tussocks of heather and under the -shadow of boulders and beneath the shelves of overhanging turf, where -some sheep, aforetime, had had a rubbing place. But nowhere could I -find a trace of his store. Baffled, I determined that I would seek my -hiding-place and lie down to sleep for the rest of the night. In the -morning, with the help of the light, perhaps my quest would be rewarded. -So I betook myself to my heather bed, and as I crawled under the -bracken--and laid myself down, I thought how, but for the divine charity -of my dead friend, I should at that hour have been sleeping the sleep of -death. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *PURSUED* - - -Morning came, clear and bright, and as I stepped out from my -hiding-place I was conscious that the air of the dawn had served to whet -my hunger. I hurried to the other side of the loch and renewed my -search. Crouching down I ferreted in every likely nook and corner, but -found nothing. Was it that there was nothing to find? Was the larder -already empty, or had the troopers discovered it after they had done -their deed of blood, and rifled it of its poor contents? Whatever the -case, my search, repeated over and over again during the course of the -morning--till I knew every blade of grass and bracken-frond on that side -of the loch--revealed nothing. While I searched, my hunger abated; when -I paused I was painfully conscious of it, and then, suddenly, I -remembered the little trickling stream and in a moment I was bending -over it seeking for trout. My search was rewarded and ere long I had -caught enough to make a meal. Hunger made me forget discretion, and I -lit a fire to cook them. - -While the stone on which I was to broil my meal was warming in the -flames, I went to the loch side and picked up the garments of my dead -friend. Hastily I divested myself of my uniform, and filling the -pockets, which I had emptied of my possessions, with large stones, I -swam into the middle of the loch and let the heavy burden drop into its -depths. Then I made for the shore, and ran in the sunlight till the air -had dried me, and then aglow and breathless I donned the clothing of the -dead preacher. I felt the flute in the pocket of his coat and drew it -out, looking at it with fond eyes, and placed it to my lips--but as I -was about to blow, I stopped. It would be sacrilege for unclean lips -like mine to call one note from this the plaything and the solace of the -dead saint, so I replaced it in my pocket. - -I cooked my fish, and, forgetful of the risk I ran, omitted to -extinguish my fire. I stretched my hands out to enjoy its warmth and -watched the silver grey spirals of smoke coil like ghostly things into -the blue atmosphere. - -I sat in a reverie, and after awhile I rose to make another search for -the undiscovered hiding-place of the old man's hoard. - -I had wandered afield, and had come to the brow of the hill. When I -rose from my crouching position to stretch myself, I saw a sight that -chilled me. Less than half a mile away was a company of troopers who -were riding at a gallop. I flung myself upon my face and prayed that my -dark figure against the horizon had escaped notice, and then the thought -flashed upon me that they were coming direct to the place where I was, -and the fire which I had left burning was the beacon that had attracted -them. Doubtless they had been continuing their search for me in another -quarter of these mountain fastnesses, and now through my own folly I had -shown them where to find me. - -Crouching low, I raced to the loch side. Then, remembering that the -loch was in the cup of the hills, and that until they reached the summit -of the slope they could not see me. I rose erect and raced with all my -speed to the end of the loch and on. Fear lent wings to my feet. To be -safe at all I must put many miles between my pursuers and myself before -I thought of hiding. The country was practically unknown to me, but I -remembered roughly the way we had taken when we went to the -hill-meeting, and I imagined that somewhere in that direction my -greatest safety would lie. - -Never stopping to look back, but with panting breath, hot-foot I ran, -leaping over boulders and crashing through the heather, until my limbs -almost refused to respond to my desires; then I flung myself down into a -deep bed of bracken and turned to scan the way I had come. Already I -had travelled far, and, when I looked back, piercing the distance with -eager eyes, I could see no trace of my pursuers. - -Though there was no sign of them, I dared not count on safety till I had -placed a much greater distance between us or until night should fall. -So, when I had recovered my breath, I left my shelter and hurried on. -As I went I recognised some of the landmarks I had passed two days -before, and by and by I came to the gorge in the hills where the service -had taken place. As I entered the little amphitheatre my eyes wandered -instinctively to the stone where Mary had sat, but, to my surprise, the -stones were no longer there in orderly array. I looked to where the -pulpit had been, but it was scattered. Then I knew that some of the -worshippers before they left that hallowed spot had, with crafty -foresight, scattered the stones that might have been a witness to some -band of troopers that a "field preaching" had taken place. Wearily I -ascended the slope on one side of the amphitheatre and crouching low -among the heather I scanned the surrounding country. The afternoon was -now far advanced, and the evening shadows were beginning to gather. -Look where I might I could see no sign of my pursuers, and, glad at -heart, I decided that here I should rest for an hour or two and then -continue my flight when the darkness fell. There was something holy -about the place, for she had worshipped here. - -My long run had exhausted me, so I crawled into a clump of bracken and -was soon asleep, my last waking thoughts being of Mary, and not of my -danger. - -When I woke the moon was high in the heavens. I was conscious of hunger -and thirst, but I had not the wherewithal to appease them: but I hoped -that on my way I might stumble upon some moorland rivulet, or at the -worst a pool of brackish water among the moss-hags. Hunger a man can -bear, but thirst is torture to a fugitive. - -Somewhere an owl hooted drearily and the eerie sound in that place of -desolation startled me, alive in every sense to anything unexpected. - -As I began my flight once more I was conscious that my limbs were stiff, -but in a few moments, as movement began to warm me, the stiffness -disappeared. On a trackless moor it is ever a hard thing for a man -unacquainted with the country-side to make much speed, and I had to go -warily lest I should stumble, as once before, into some treacherous bog. - -The wind had risen and was bringing with it an army of clouds that -swept, a dark host, across the sky. Suddenly the darkness was rent by a -flashing blade of light which shook like a sword of molten metal held by -some giant in the skies, and then, as though a thousand iron doors were -flung against their doorposts, the heavens crashed round me. The wild -peal of thunder rolled through the night air. Caught by every trembling -hill-top, it reverberated and reverberated again till it pulsed into -silence. My ears ached. The lightning and the thunder had brought me to -a standstill, when again the sky was torn by a blaze of fire. Hard on -its heels came another thunderclap and with it a deluge of rain. Every -drop was a missile, stinging my face like a whip-lash. Startled, I made -haste to seek cover from the storm, but I had left the hills behind me -and there was no friendly boulder near at hand. - -I turned to look to the hill-side, when, again, a shaft of lightning -like a mighty javelin hurtled earthward from the sky. The whole -hill-side was lit up by its blaze, and I saw its point strike a great -rock of granite that stood on the slope and cleave it in twain. The -darkness closed like a door and ere the following peal hammered upon my -ears I heard the crash of the shattered boulder as headlong it roared -down the hillside. - -The air was heavy with the smell of sulphur; the earth was sodden -beneath my feet. My clothes hung heavily upon me and at every step the -water oozed from my shoes. - -Remembering a trick of the moor men I dropped on my knees and tore up a -piece of turf and scooped away some of the underlying earth with my -hands. Quickly the water oozed into the bowl from the ground round about -it, and when I had given it a moment to settle, I bent and drank deeply. -Then I rose and hurried on and, in the hope of discovering some shelter -ere long, I broke into a run. It was a foolish thing to do, for save -when a lightning flash lit up the ground I could not see more than a -yard or two ahead. - -Suddenly, as though a red-hot knife had struck me, I felt a stab of pain -in my right ankle, and I fell upon my face. The fall winded me, and as -I lay while the pitiless rain beat upon me, I tried to realise what had -happened. I had trodden upon a stone which had betrayed my foot; my -foot had slipped on its edge, and I knew from the pain that I had done -myself an injury. - -I tried to gather myself up, but every effort sent a pang to my heart. -Slowly I raised myself upon my hands and knees, and then with a great -effort I lifted myself to my feet, but I found that I could not bear the -pressure of my injured foot upon the ground. I tried to raise it, but -the movement only redoubled my agony, and, bemoaning my fate, I lowered -myself gently to a sitting posture on the wet earth. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - *IN THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND* - - -It was too dark to see the injured part, but from the increasing -pressure on the edge of my shoe I knew my foot was swelling. Soon the -pain of the pressure became intolerable, and with an effort I leaned -over and undid the lace. This gave me some relief, but when I tried to -remove the shoe the pain compelled me to desist. But, taking courage, I -made trial once more and succeeded at last in getting it off. Then I -removed my sock. Very gently I passed a hand over the injured part. I -could feel that it was greatly swollen. My foot lay at an angle which -led me to think that one or other of the bones of my leg had been -broken. My heel dropped backwards, and the inner edge of my foot was -twisted outward. If I kept the limb at rest the pain was tolerable; if -I moved it the agony was more than I could support. The falling rain -upon it was like a cooling balm, and gave me relief, but as I sat -there--sodden, helpless--alone amid the desolation of that vast -moorland, I was overwhelmed by a sense of my misfortune. Twice already -had I escaped from the troopers' hands, and now, unless succour, which -seemed outside the range of hope, should come to me, I was doomed to a -lingering death. - -I prayed for the dawn to break, and then I realised that dawn could -bring me no hope, and I ceased to care whether it were light or dark. -But the dawn came nevertheless, and with it a wind that swept the -rain-clouds out of the sky. I tore up some tufts of heather and made a -soft couch upon which to rest my injured limb; then, wet though I was -and cold, I lay down and ere long had fallen asleep. I know not how -long I slept, but when I woke my head was on fire and I was aching in -every limb. My tongue was parched like a piece of leather and I was -tortured by a burning thirst, so that I was fain to pluck the grass and -heather that lay within my reach and suck from them the scanty drops of -moisture that still clung to them. To add to my distress, I was seized -with a violent shivering which shook my whole body and caused my injured -limb to send stabbing darts of pain all through my being. I laid a hand -upon my forehead and found that it was burning hot, and I knew that I -was in the grip of some deadly fever. I called for help in my -extremity, but my voice was weak as a child's and the only reply that -came to me was the cry of a startled whaup. Well, what did it matter if -I had to die? Surely it were better to be freed by a speedy death, than -to lie there a helpless log until I should die of starvation. - -I closed my eyes again and drifted into a dreamy state of partial -comfort, from which I was awakened by a violent pain in my right side. -My breathing had become difficult. Every movement of my chest was -torment, and, to add to my miseries, I began to cough. I opened my eyes -and looked into the depths of the sky as though to summon help out of -the infinite; but all I could see was a pair of carrion crows that were -circling above me, waiting, I had little doubt, for the moment when the -breath should leave my body and their foul feasting could begin. - -So this was to be the end of it--a week or two, and all that would be -left would be a heap of bones, bleaching in the wind and rain of that -vast moor. - -I closed my eyes again, and drifted once more into a pleasant state of -drowsiness, and suddenly I was my own man again, strong and sound in -limb as I had ever been: free from pain, and without a care in the -world. I was walking gaily along a road that stretched before me into -infinite distance. Birds were singing around me and in the sweet air of -the morning there was the scent of hedgerow flowers. Far off, near the -summit of the hill where the road seemed to end, a woman was waiting for -me. She was beckoning to me to make haste, and though I hurried -fleet-foot towards her, she remained as far away as ever. The woman was -Mary. Try as I might, I could not reach her. Then a miracle happened: -she came towards me. A radiant welcome shone in her face: her arms were -outstretched I called to her and held out eager hands towards her: but -she drifted past me, and was gone, and, heavy at heart, I fell back, a -sodden, tortured thing, on the cold wet moors. My eyes opened. The -carrion crows still circled above me: but not for long. - -Once more I was on a journey, moving, a formless mass, beneath a leaden -sky with no moon or sun or stars to guide me; myself a part of the -darkness that surrounded me. In this strange world in which I found -myself there were other formless shapes like my own, each drifting -noiselessly and without contact through infinite leagues of space. The -mass that was me was not me. It was separate from me, yet indissolubly -united to me. I was perplexed. Was I the mass or was the mass some -other being? I had no being of my own apart from the mass, and yet the -mass was not me. Where was I?--What was I?--Who was I? I had no pain, -no hands or feet, no torturing thirst, no fever-racked body. Was I -disembodied? If so, what was I now? In agony of mind, I, who had no -mind, struggled to puzzle the problem out; and then, suddenly, the grey -mass that had perplexed me rolled from my sight, and I found myself once -more lying upon the moor in pain, alone. The sky above me was sprinkled -with stars; night had come again: the day had brought me no succour. - -If I lay here any longer, surely the troopers would find me. I must up -and on. It seemed to me that a great hand came out of the sky and -blotted out my pain as someone might blot out an error upon a child's -slate. I was strong again. I sprang to my feet. My limb was sound once -more. I ran across the moor like a hind let loose and in the darkness I -stepped over a precipice and fell unendingly down. The minutes passed, -and I saw them gather themselves into little heaps of hours that stood -like cairns of stone on the top of the precipice. The hours piled -themselves into days and the days into weeks, till the top of the -precipice was covered with stones, and still I was falling through -unending space. Some time--I know not when--I must have come to the -bottom of the precipice. I felt no crash, but the heaped-up cairns of -the minutes and hours and days disappeared from my sight, and I ceased -to know anything. I cannot tell how long this deep oblivion lasted. -Once only did I wake from it partially. I felt a twinge of pain as -though someone had moved me, and then all was dark again. - - - - - *CHAPTER XV* - - *IN THE HAVEN OF DALDOWIE* - - -A man may go to the very gate of death without knowing that he has stood -within its shadow till he returns once more to the sunshine of life. I -know not how long I lay, an unconscious mass, at the foot of the dream -precipice of my delirium, but an hour came when I opened my eyes again. -I opened them slowly, for even to lift my lids was an effort, and I -looked above me to see if the carrion crows were still watching me. -Instead I saw a low thatched roof, and in amazement I let my eyes wander -to every side. I was lying on a soft mattress laid on a garret floor. -My head was pillowed on a snowy pillow of down. Beside my couch stood a -three-legged stool and on it there was a bowl of flowers. I stretched -out a weak hand to take one. I picked up a buttercup that flaunted its -proud gold before me, and I pressed it to my lips. I lay in a reverie -and tried to gather together all I could remember of the past. I -recollected my flight from the troopers, the thunderstorm and the rain, -and then I remembered my injured limb. I tried to move it and found -that it was firmly bound. I was too weak to raise myself and turn down -the bedclothes to examine it, but there was further food for thought in -the fact that my injury had been cared for. - -Where was I?--and who had brought me here and nursed me back to life -again? - -Perplexed I could find no light to guide me, and weary with fruitless -thoughts I fell asleep. - -When I woke up again my eyes rested upon a woman who was just beginning -to appear through a trap-door in the floor. She entered the garret, -bearing a cup whose contents gave off a generous odour. She came to my -bedside and, carefully removing the flowers from the stool, sat down -upon it, and looked at me. My wide-awake eyes met her astonished gaze. - -"Thank God," she said, "ye're better. Ye've been queer in the heid for -mair than a fortnicht, and me and Andra' had lang syne gi'en ye up." - -She dropped on her knees beside me and, slipping her left arm gently -under my pillow, raised me and put the cup to my lips. - -"Here," she said, "drink some o' this." - -I drank a long draught, and never have I tasted anything with savour so -exquisite. - -All too soon the cup was empty and the warmth of its contents sent a -glow through my wasted body. I was about to ask where I was and how I -had come there, when I remembered that I had another duty to perform. -So, in a voice that shook from weakness and emotion, I said: - -"I know not who you are, but you have saved my life, and I would thank -you." - -"Wheesht," she said. "You are far ower weak to talk yet. When you have -had a guid nicht's sleep and a wee drap mair nourishment, it will be -time enough. Haud yer wheesht the noo like a guid bairn and gang to -sleep," and she drew the coverlet up round my neck and tucked it about -me. Some old memory buried in the margin of my consciousness stirred -within me. Just so had my mother tucked me to sleep many a time and oft, -when I was a little lad, and the memory brought the tears to my eyes. I -said nothing, for the will of the woman was stronger than mine at the -moment, and I must needs obey it. I watched her place the bowl of -flowers upon the stool: then, after smoothing my pillow, she went to the -trap-door, passed through it and disappeared. - -For a time I lay looking up at the straw roof. My eyes followed the -black rafters that supported it, and I tried to count the knots in the -beams: but the light which trickled through the window had begun to -fade, and as I tried to count I fell asleep. - -When I woke again it was dark, but a faint beam from the moon made a -pool of silver on the coverlet that lay over me. I heard a voice in the -room beneath me. I listened eagerly, but could not distinguish any -words, and as I listened it dawned upon me that the voice was that of -someone reading aloud. Then there was a pause: and in the silence that -followed I heard a grating sound as though a chair were pushed a little, -over a sandstone floor, and again the voice spoke. Then I knew that, in -the kitchen beneath me the people under whose roof I rested were -worshipping their God. I, a trooper and deserter, had been succoured by -some of the moorland folk, and had found refuge in a Covenanter's -cottage! - -I lay and thought long of all that I owed to these hunted hill-folk. -Twice had I, one of their persecutors, been succoured from death through -their charity. - -Some time soon after dawn I was wakened by sounds in the room beneath -me. I heard a creak as though a hinge were moved, and the clank of a -chain, and I knew that the good wife had swung her porridge-pot over the -fire and was preparing breakfast for her family. The delicious aroma of -slow-cooked porridge began to assail my nostrils and I was conscious -that I was hungry. - -I wondered if by any chance I should be forgotten; then I banished the -uncharitable thought. By and by I heard the sound of footsteps in the -kitchen and then a confused murmur of voices. I knew that the family -had gathered to break their fast, and I waited with all the patience I -could command. The minutes passed slowly and every moment my hunger -grew more and more intolerable: but at last the time of waiting was -over. I heard footsteps ascending the ladder to my garret. The -trap-door was thrown open, the top of a head appeared, a hand reached up -and placed a bowl on the floor, and the head disappeared once more. -Then again I heard footsteps ascending the ladder, and this time the -woman came into the room bearing a second bowl. She picked up the one -she had laid upon the floor and came to my bedside. - -"Ye've sleepit weel?" she said, inquiry in her voice. "Ye're lookin' -somethin' like a man this mornin'. See, I ha'e brocht you your -breakfast." - -She laid her burden down, and clearing the bowl of flowers from the -stool, placed a hand adroitly behind my pillow and propped me up. For a -moment the room spun round me. Then she placed the bowl of porridge in -my lap and poured a stream of milk over it, saying: "Can ye feed -yersel', or maun I feed ye like a bairn?" She gave me a horn spoon, and -with a shaky hand I fed myself. She sat watching me, but did not speak -again till I had finished my meal. - -"That's better," she said. "You'll soon be yersel' again. It's the -prood woman I am. I never yet knew a man sae ill as you ha'e been pu' -through. Man, but for the grace o' God and our Mary, the craws on the -moor would ha'e picked yer banes white long ere noo." - -Startled, I looked at her. She had said "Mary." Could it be that this -Mary was the Mary of my dreams? I ventured to speak. - -"I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me. But I do not -know where I am nor how I came here. I remember nothing since I lay -upon the moor, waiting for death." - -"Weel," she said, "to make a long story short, ye're in the laft o' -Andrew Paterson's fairm-hoose at Daldowie. Mary fand ye lyin' on the -moor, in a kin' o' stupor. She got an awfu' fricht, puir lassie. First -she thocht ye micht be ane o' the hill-fowk, and then she thocht ye had -a kent face, and lookin' again, she minded that she had seen ye wi' the -meenister at the field-meeting, the Sabbath afore. She saw ye were gey -near deid, but she jaloused ye werena' quite, because ye kept muttering -tae yoursel'. So she raced hame like a hare and wadna' rest till she -had ta'en her faither oot to fin' ye. They carried ye here on the -tail-board o' a cairt, and that's three weeks sin'; and here ye lie and -here ye'll bide till ye're a weel man aince mair." - -As the full meaning of her words dawned upon me, I was uplifted with -joy. Mary had found me! She had known me! She had cared enough for me -to think that I was worth saving! Her big heart had pitied my -necessity, and to her I owed my life! A sudden access of strength ran -through my being. The blood coursed in my veins; I felt it pulse in my -temples. It must have brought a glow to my cheeks, for the woman said: - -"Ye're better--a lot better the day. The parritch has put a bit o' -colour in your cheeks." - -I found my tongue. "Will you," I said, "please thank your husband and -your daughter"--I had fain said Mary with my lips: I said it in my -heart--"for what they have done for me. Later, I hope to thank them -myself." - -"Oh, aye," she said, "ye'll be seein' them later on when ye're better. -But I'll tell them. Meantime, maybe the nicht, when his work's dune, the -guid-man'll be comin' up to see ye himsel'. He's got a wheen questions -he wants to ask ye. For instance, we're sairly troubled because you -were wearin' the meenister's claes when Mary found ye, and in ane o' -your pockets ye had the meenister's Bible. And though ane or twa o' the -hill-fowk hae been up to look for the guid man in his hiding-place, -naebody has seen him and we're mair than a wee troubled. We ken ye were -a trooper, and though the meenister vouched for ye himsel' at the -meeting, Andra says that ye canna make a blackfaced tup into a white ane -by clippin' its 'oo', and we hope ye haena dune the guid man a mischief. -To tell ye the truth, when we got ye here and found the meenister's -claes on ye, my guid-man was for puttin' ye oot on the moor again and -leavin' ye to dee. But Mary pleaded for ye, and I minded my aan lad, so -we hid ye here and nursed ye." - -She said no more, and before I could explain she had descended the -ladder and shut the trap-door. - -The day passed rapidly; I slept and woke and slept and woke again. The -good woman came to me more than once with food, but she did not talk to -me again nor would she let me talk to her. - -"The morn is the Sabbath day. I ha'e nae doot Andra' will come up to -see ye sometime, and ye can tell him your story then." That was her -good night to me, and when she had descended I heard again, as on the -previous evening, the sound of these devout folk at their evening -prayer. - -Then all was silent and I slept. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI* - - *ANDREW PATERSON, HILL-MAN* - - -The shrill crowing of a cock woke me, just as the first rays of the sun -were stealing through the skylight. I lay adrowse, half sleeping, half -awake, listening for the first sound of the house coming to life. The -cock sounded his bugle again. Somewhere a hen cackled, and then all was -still. - -My eyes wandered round the garret. A mouse had stolen out of some -cranny and was examining the room. He seemed unaware of my presence, -for he sat solemnly in the middle of the floor with his tail curved like -a sickle and proceeded to preen himself, till some unwitting movement of -mine startled him and he scampered to his hole. - -Slowly the minutes passed, then I heard movements in the kitchen beneath -me. I knew that the day might be a difficult one for me, for sometime -during its course I had to explain to the master of the house how I came -to be disguised in the garb of the minister. My tale was a plain enough -one, and I thought it would not be hard to clear myself of any suspicion -of having had a hand in his death; but I could not be sure. Kind though -my succourers had been, I knew that they were likely to be distrustful -of one who had once been a trooper. The minister had been their friend, -and it was but natural that they should feel his death keenly and be all -too ready to suspect me of complicity in bringing it about. I -determined to tell the tale simply, and I trusted that my words would -carry conviction. If not, what then? I knew the fanatic spirit with -which the hill-folk were sometimes charged. Would the master of the -house, in his wrath, lay hands upon me and wring the life from my body? -The evil, uncharitable thought was crushed down. They had shown me such -love in the hours of my weakness that they were hardly likely to -sacrifice me to their suspicions now. - -As I pondered, the trap-door was raised, and, bearing my breakfast, the -master of the house entered the garret. "Hoo are ye the day?" he asked. - -"Better, I thank you, much better;--I owe my life to you and yours;--I -shall never be able to repay you." - -He set the food upon the stool before he answered. "Ye're gey gleg wi' -your tongue. Naebody was talkin' aboot payin'. Haud your wheesht, and -sup your parritch. I jalouse ye need them. Later on I'll be comin' up -for a crack. There's a wheen things that are no' clear in my min'. The -thing lies here: hoo did ye come by the minister's claes and his Bible?" -and he looked at me with a steely glance, that, had I not been -guiltless, would have covered me with confusion. - -"I am ready," I said, "to tell you the whole story as soon as you are -ready to listen." - -"Weel," he answered, "I'm comin' back sune," and he went to the -trap-door and descended, closing it behind him. - -I made a hearty meal and was pleased to discover my strength was coming -back to me. When I had finished I must have dropped into a sleep, from -which I was wakened by hearing footsteps in the room once more. The man -had returned, and under his arm he was carrying a bundle of heather, -while in his hand there was a mass of wool. He knelt beside my bed and, -turning up the blankets, said: - -"Afore we begin to talk I think I'd better see aboot this leg o' yours." - -He undid the bandages, and looking down I saw that beneath them the -ankle had been carefully padded with wool and heather. I knew now the -purpose of the things he had brought with him, for he stripped off the -pad with which the ankle was surrounded and began to make a fresh one. -Apparently he had some knowledge of the healing art. He ran his fingers -gently over the joint and then bade me try to move the foot. I found -that movement was difficult, but that though it was painful it did not -provoke such suffering as that which I remembered having experienced -upon the moor. - -"It's daein' fine," he said. "It was a bad break, but by and by ye'll -be able to walk again, though I fear ye'll aye be a lamiter. But Jacob -himsel'--a better man than you--hirpled for the maist pairt o' his -life." - -As he talked he was binding my foot again, and when he had finished, it -felt most comfortable. - -"And noo," he said, "let me hear what ye ha'e to say for yersel'. The -facts are black against ye. We fand you on the moor in the meenister's -claes: ye had the guid man's Bible in your pocket: when last he was seen -you were in his company: and nocht has been heard o' him frae that day -to this. What say ye?" and he looked at me piercingly. - -Without more ado I told him how the brave old saint had given his life -that mine might be saved, and how I had buried his body in the silence -of the hills, taking his clothes to disguise myself and bringing away -his Bible as a precious possession. - -As I talked I watched the changing emotions chase each other across his -face. At first his eyes were watchful with suspicion, but as I -continued he seemed thrilled with a tensity of expectation, and when I -told him how the end had come with the rattle of muskets I saw his -strong, gnarled hands clench, and, through his tightened lips, he -muttered, "The black deevils," and then the tears stole down his -weather-beaten cheeks. - -When I had finished there was a silence which at last he broke: - -"A man o' God, a saint if ever there was ane. We'll miss him sairly here -I'm thinkin', but they will be glad to ha'e him on the other side." -Then he rose from the stool and gripping my right hand, crushed it in -his own. "I believe you, my lad, I believe you, and if Alexander Main -counted you worthy to die for, Andrew Paterson o' Daldowie may count you -worthy o' a share of his kail and saut. I maun gang and tell the wife; -her and Mary are anxious to ken the truth": and he made for the -trap-door and began to go down. But just before his head disappeared he -turned and called: "Maybe I'll come back the day to see ye again, but if -I dinna', the wife'll be up to look after ye, and if I'm spared I'll be -up masel' the morn. This is nae day to talk aboot the dambrod. I'll -speir ye aboot it some ither time." - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII* - - *AN ADOPTED SON* - - -It is needless to trace day by day the events of the next fortnight. -Each morning found me with increasing strength. The good wife of the -house was continually solicitous for my welfare, and had I been son of -hers she could not have bestowed more care upon me. She took a pride in -every sign of returning strength. Daily she brought me shreds of family -gossip; news of the crops; news of the cattle; told me, with housewifely -pride, how many chickens had come from her last sitting of eggs. - -More than once, in our talk, I tried to turn the conversation to Mary; -but never with much success. Shyness kept me from advances too direct. -Sometimes she would tell me of the hill-men; and once she told me, with -pride flashing in her eyes, of her son. - -"He died," she said, "at Drumclog. It was a short, sharp fecht, and the -dragoons reeled and fled before the Bonnets o' Blue. My laddie was sair -wounded, and died in the arms o' guid Maister Main. His last words were: -'Tell my mither no' to greet. It's been a graun' fecht, and oor side's -winnin'.'" There were no tears in her eyes as she told me the tale, but -when she had finished she laid a hand upon my head and gently stroked my -hair. "He was sic' anither as you, when he fell," and she turned and -left me. Of an evening the farmer would sometimes come up, bringing -with him a dambrod, and many a well-fought game we had together. He -played skilfully and usually won, which gave him considerable -satisfaction. - -"Ye canna' beat Daldowie on the dambrod," he would say, with a twinkle -in his eyes. "Scotland owes little enough to Mary Stuart, the Jezebel, -but she or some o' her following brocht this game wi' them, and that is -something they'll be able to say for themselves on the Judgment Day. -They'll mak' a puir enough show that day, or I'm mistaken, but the -dambrod will coont on their side." - -When we had played for a week, and Saturday night came, he brought up a -slate with a record of the score. - -"It's like this, ye see," he said. "We've played a score and half o' -games. I ha'e won a score and seven, and you won three--which ye -shouldna' ha'e done ava' if I had opened richt and no foozled some o' -the moves wi' my king. So ye're weel bate, and it's as weel for you -that I dinna' believe in playin' for money, or it is a ruined lad ye'd -be the nicht." - -There was a gleam of satisfaction in his grey eyes, and I could see that -to have beaten me so soundly had given him great pleasure. - -"We'll no play the nicht; it's gettin' ower near the Sabbath," he -continued, "but I'll bate ye even better next week." - -I should have been lacking in gratitude if I had not begun to develop a -warm affection for my friends. Simple folks, their joys were simple -ones, but they were both filled with the zest of life; and in spite of -the daily peril in which they lived, sunshine, rather than clouds, -seemed to overhang their dwelling. - -There came a day when, after examining my ankle with care, the old man -said: "I think we micht try to get ye on your legs," and he raised me in -his arms and set me on my feet. The garret spun round me, and the floor -rose like the billows of the sea and would have swept me down had it not -been for his strong arm. - -"Steady lad, steady," he said. "Ye'll fin' your feet in a wee. Just -shut your een for a minute and then open them again. I'll haud ye fast; -dinna' be feart!" - -I did as he bade me and found that the floor had become steady again; -then, supported by his arm, I essayed to walk. To my joy I discovered -that, though the effort cost me pain, I was able to walk from one end of -the room to the other. The old man was delighted. - -"Jean," he cried, "come awa' up to the laft. Bryden can walk," and I saw -the trap-door rise to admit her. - -She stood with her hands on her hips: "It bates a'," she said. "The -nicht ye cam' I never thocht to see you on your legs again, but ha'e a -care, Andra, the lad's weak yet; help him back intil his bed and I'll -fetch him a bowl o' sheep's-heid broth for his supper." - -And when I was comfortably settled once more, she was as good as her -word. - -Next day she brought me a strong ash stick, and with its help and the -aid of her arm I was able to walk round the loft in some comfort. - -Day by day my strength grew and I began to look forward to the hour when -I should be able to join my friends in the kitchen below, when I hoped -to see Mary face to face. It may have been nothing more than a -coincidence--though, as I listened eagerly, I flattered myself it might -be for joy that I was so far recovered--that on the night I first began -to walk again, I heard Mary singing a song. - -As the hour drew nearer when I should meet her, I began to be covered -with confusion. How would she receive me? - -At last the great day came. In the late afternoon Andrew brought me a -suit of clothes. - -"The wife sent ye them," he said. "She thocht they were nearer your -size than the meenister's," and he laid them on the stool beside my bed -and turned his back upon me: then brushing a sleeve across his eyes, he -said: "I'm thinkin' it cost Jean a lot to tak' them oot o' the drawer; -ye see they were Dauvit's." - -Had I needed any proof of the love they bore me, I had it now. I was to -enter the circle round their hearth clad in the garments of their dead -son. I had learned enough of the quiet reserve of these hill-folks to -know that any words of mine would have been unseemly, so I held my -peace, and with the help of the good man put the garments on. Then -leaning on my stick and aided by his strong arm I walked to the -trap-door. Slowly I made my way down the ladder, guided at every step by -Andrew who had preceded me, and by and by my feet touched the flagged -floor of the kitchen. The old woman hurried to my side, and between -them they guided me to a large rush-bottomed chair set in the ingle-nook -beside the fire. - -"Nae sae bad, nae sae bad," said the good wife. She looked at me when I -was seated and with a sudden "Eh, my!" she turned and shoo'd with her -apron a hen that had wandered into the kitchen. - -Eagerly I looked round, but there was no sign of Mary. The peat smoke -which circled in acrid coils round the room stung my eyes and blurred my -vision, but I was able to take note of the things around me. The kitchen -was sparsely furnished and scrupulously clean. Against one wall stood a -dresser with a row of china bowls, and above them a number of pewter -plates. A "wag-at-the-wa'" ticked in a corner near. A settle stood on -the other side of the peat fire from that on which I was seated, and a -table, with well-scoured top, occupied the middle of the floor. - -The good man having satisfied himself that I was all right, went out, -and his wife, taking a bowl from the dresser, filled it with water. I -watched her as she proceeded with her baking. As she busied herself she -talked briskly. - -"Ye ken," she said, "you ha'e been under this roof weel ower a month, -and yet ye've never tellt us a word aboot yersel', mair than we fand -oot. Hae ye got a mither o' your ain, and hoo did you, an Englishman, -fin' yer way to this pairt o' the country? Weel I ken that, ever since -Scotland gi'ed ye a king, Scotsmen ha'e been fond o' crossin' the -border, but I never heard tell o' an Englishman afore that left his ain -country to come North, unless," she added, with a twinkle in her eye, -"he cam' as a prisoner." - -It was an invitation to unbosom myself, of which I was ready enough to -avail me, and I told her some of my story. "So ye're College bred," she -said. "That accounts for your nice ceevility. - -"They tell me," she continued, "that England's a terrible rich country, -that the soil is far kindlier than it is up here and that farmer bodies -haena' sic' a struggle as we ha'e in Scotland." She did not wait for my -reply, but added: "I am thinkin' maybe that is why, as I ha'e heard, the -English ha'e na' muckle backbane, and are readier to listen to sic' -trash as the Divine Richt o' Kings." - -I tried to explain to her that it was the strain of monarchs whom we had -imported from Scotland who laid most stress upon this right, but, as I -talked, a shadow filled the doorway, and, looking up, I saw Mary. With -a struggle I raised myself to my feet. - -"Sit doon, sit doon," said the good-wife, "it's only oor Mary." - -"You forget," I answered, "it is to your daughter, who found me, that I -owe my life. By rights I should kneel at her feet." - -"Hear to him! If it hadna' been for Mary's mither and the wey she -looked efter ye and fed ye wi' chicken soup and sheep's-heid broth, -forby parritch and buttermilk and guid brose made by her ain hand, ye -wadna' be sittin' there!" - -"Wheesht, mither, wheesht," said Mary: and with a smile in her eyes that -made me think of the stars of the morning in a rose tinged sky, she held -out both her hands to me. I took them and bent to kiss them, but they -were hastily withdrawn, and looking up I saw a flush upon her cheeks, -but I did not read resentment in her eyes. - -"Ha'e ye fetched in the kye, Mary?" asked her mother. - -"Aye," she replied, "they're a' in their stalls." - -Indeed, one could hear the rattle of chains and the moving of hoofs on -the other side of the wall. - -"Weel, ye'd better start the milkin'. I'll be oot in a wee to help ye," -and without a word more Mary took her departure. My ears were all -alert, and, in a moment, I heard her slapping the flank of a cow. Then -her stool grated on the cobbles, and I caught the musical tinkle of the -milk as it was drawn into the pail; and to my delight Mary began to -sing. - -I listened eagerly. She was singing a love song! The old woman heard -her too, for she said: "Dae ye ken ocht aboot kye?" I hastened to tell -her that I knew nothing. "Weel," she said, "it's a queer thing, but ye -can aye get mair milk frae a coo if ye sing at the milkin'. If ye sing -a nice bricht tune ye'll get twa or three mair gills than if ye dinna -sing ava. Noo, that's Meg she's milkin', and Meg has got near as muckle -sense as a human being. On Sabbath, ye ken, it would be a terrible sin -to sing a sang to the coo when ye're milkin' her, so I've got to fa' -back on the psalms. But ye've got to be carefu'. For instance, if ye -sang the 'Auld Hundred' to Meg, ye wadna' get near sae muckle milk, -because it's solemn-like, than ye wad if ye sang her a psalm that runs -to the tune o' 'French.' Forby, I aince had a servant-lass that sang a -paraphrase when she was milkin' Meg, and the puir cratur' was that upset -that she was milked dry before the luggy was a quarter filled, and when -I went masel' to strip her, she put her fit in the pail--a thing I've -never kent her dae afore or since." - -I laughed. - -"Ay," she continued, "an' waur than that, the lass poured the luggy that -she had drawn frae Meg among the other milk, and the whole lot turned. -Sic' wastry I never kent afore, and ye may be sure that nae paraphrase -has ever been sung in my byre since. The guid man was that upset--no' -wi' the loss o' the milk--but at the thocht that a paraphrase had been -sung in his byre to his coo on the Sabbath day that on the Monday he -gi'ed the wench notice." - -"I should have thought," I said, "that Mary's voice would persuade the -milk from the most reluctant cow." - -"I dinna' ken aboot that," she answered: "She's no as guid a milker as -her mother, and though my voice is timmer noo I'll guarantee to get mair -milk at a milkin' than ever Mary'll fetch ben the hoose." - -I would fain have continued the conversation, but the baking was over, -and the good woman left to join her daughter. Mary still sang on and I -sat in rapture, my heart aglow. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII* - - *THE WISDOM OF A WOMAN* - - -I saw no more of Mary that day, for ere the milking was over Andrew -returned from the fields and after studying me for a moment said: "I -think it's time for your bed." Whereat he helped me carefully up the -ladder, and left me to disrobe myself. That night, when the moon came -out and filled my room with a glory that was not of this earth, I lay -and dreamed of Mary, and through the silence of my dream I could hear -once again the witching notes of her song. - -Day after day I was gently assisted down the ladder, and each day I -spent a longer time sitting by the peat fire. Most often my only -companion in the kitchen was the good wife, and between us an intimate -understanding began to spring up. I felt she liked to have me sitting -there, and more than once she would look wistfully at me, and I knew -from the sigh with which she turned again to her work that she was -thinking of her dead boy. - -Her face was attractive, though time had chiselled it deeply--and her -eyes were shrewd and kindly. In repose her features were overcast by a -mask of solemnity, but at each angle of her mouth a dimple lurked, and a -ready smile, which started there or in her eyes, was perpetually chasing -away all the sterner lines. - -Mary came and went, busy at times on duties about the steading, -sometimes on duties further afield, and more than once she set off laden -with a well-filled basket and I knew that she was taking succour to some -fugitive hill-man hidden on the moors. Always she treated me with -kindness--with those innumerable and inexpressible little kindnesses -that mean nothing to most people, but which to one in love are as drops -of nectar on a parched tongue. Sometimes she would bring me flowers -which she had gathered on the moor; and proud I was when on a day she -fastened a sprig of heather in my coat. - -Sometimes of a night the dambrod was brought out and the old man would -beat me soundly once again. - -But an evening came when he had no heart to play. He had been moody all -day long, and when I suggested a game he said with a groan: "No' the -nicht! no' the nicht! I ha'e mair serious things in mind." - -I was at a loss to understand his reluctance, for hitherto he had always -been eager for a game, but when I began to urge him to play, his wife -interrupted me saying: - -"Na, na, leave the man alane. If ye want to play, ye can play wi' -Mary." - -I needed no second invitation, nor did the suggestion seem unwelcome to -Mary, who brought the board and the men and set them upon the table. -Hers were the white men, mine the black: but after the first move or two -the grace of her hand as it poised above the board cast such a spell -over me that I began to play with little skill, and she was an easy -victor. We played several games, all of which she won: and the only -sound that disturbed our tourney was the tinkle of her laugh when she -cornered me, or the click of her mother's needles as she knitted in the -ingle-nook. But every now and then the old man groaned as though he were -in great distress, and looking at him I saw that his head was buried in -his hands. - -When our tourney was over Mary gathered up the men and restored them to -a drawer, and as she did so she turned to her mother and said: - -"Oh, mother, you ha'e never given the minister's Bible and his flute -back to the gentleman." - -"Nae mair I ha'e," said her mother. "Fetch them here," and Mary brought -them to her. She took the Bible and handed it to me. It opened at the -blood-stained page. Mary had come behind my chair; I was conscious that -she was leaning over me. I could feel her hair touch my face, and then -when she saw the stain a hot tear fell and struck my hand. I lifted my -face towards her, but she had turned away. Without a word I handed the -open book to her mother. - -"Eh, dear, the bluid o' a saint," she said, and she closed the book -reverently and gave it back to me. - -The silence was broken by the good man. "Ay, the bluid o' a saint," he -groaned--"ane o' the elect." - -And that night for the first time I was present at the "taking o' the -Book." Evening after evening as I had lain in the garret, I had heard -these good folk at their worship. To-night I was permitted to take part -in the rite, and though I have worshipped in the beautiful churches of -Oxford and the storied Cathedrals of my own native land, I was never -more conscious of the presence of God than in that little farm kitchen -on the Galloway moors. - -One afternoon as I sat watching the good wife at her baking, I asked her -how it was that her husband and she had succeeded in escaping the -attentions of the troopers. - -"Oh," she said, "we ha'ena' escaped. Lag often gi'es us a ca', but -there's a kin' o' understandin' between him and me. It's this way, ye -see; before she got married my mother was a sewing-maid to his mother, -and when my faither deid and she was left ill-provided, and wi' me to -think o', she went back to Mistress Grierson and tellt her her trouble. -Weel, Mrs. Grierson liked my mother and she took her back, and she said: -'Mrs. Kilpatrick,' says she, 'if you will come back, you can bring wee -Jean wi' ye. What a bairn picks will never be missed in a hoose like -this, and the lassie can play wi' my Robert. Ye see he has neither -brither nor sister o' his ain, and is like to be lonely, and your -lassie, bein' six or seeven years aulder than him, will be able to keep -him oot o' mischief.' - -"And so it cam' aboot, and for maybe eight years I was as guid as a -sister to him. But he was aye a thrawn wee deevil--kind-hearted at -times, but wi' an awfu' temper. Ye see his mother spoiled him. Even as -a laddie he was fond o' his ain way, and he was cruel then tae. I min' -weel hoo he set his dog on my white kittlin, but I let him ken aboot it, -because when the wee thing was safe in the kitchen again I took him by -the hair o' the held and pu'd oot a guid handfu'. My mither skelped me -weel, but it was naething to the skelpin' I gie'd him the first chance I -got. His mother never correkit him; it was 'puir Rob this, and puir Rob -that,' and if it hadna' been that every noo and then, when my mither's -patience was fair worn oot, she laid him ower her knee, I'm thinkin' Lag -would be a waur man the day than he gets the blame o' bein'. There's -guid in him; I'm sure o't, for even the de'il himsel' is no' as black as -he's painted: but his heid has been fair turned since the King sent for -him to London and knighted him wi' his ain sword. - -"I bided in his mother's hoose till I was maybe seventeen years auld, -and then my mither got mairrit again and left Dunscore to come and live -near Dairy. Weel, I had never seen Lag frae that day till maybe a year -sin', when the troopers began to ride through and through this -country-side. Ae day I was oot-bye at the kirn when I heard the soond -o' horses comin' up the loanin', and turnin', I saw Lag ridin' at the -heid o' a company o' armed men. There was a scowl on his face, and when -I saw him and minded the ill wark that I heard he had done in ither -pairts, I was gey feart. He shouted an order to his troop and they a' -drew rein. Then he cam' forrit tae me. 'Woman,' he said, 'Where's yer -man?' - -"'Fegs," says I, 'Rab Grier, that's no' a very ceevil way to address an -auld frien'. Woman indeed! I am Mistress Paterson that was Jean -Kilpatrick, that has played wi' ye mony a day in yer mither's hoose at -Dunscore.' 'Guid sakes,' he cried, vaultin' oot o' his saddle, 'Jean -Kilpatrick! This beats a'.' And he pu'd aff his ridin' gloves and held -oot his hand to me. Then he shouted for ane o' his troopers to come and -tak' his horse, and in he walks to the kitchen. Weel, we cracked and -cracked, and I minded him o' mony o' the ploys we had when we were weans -thegither. - -"Syne, Mary cam' in wi' a face as white as a sheet. She had seen the -troopers, and was awfu' feart: but I saw her comin' and I said: 'Mary -lass, tak' a bowl and fetch my auld frien' Sir Robert Grier a drink o' -buttermilk.' And that gie'd the lassie courage, for she took the bowl -and went oot-bye to the kirn, and in a minute she cam' back wi' the -buttermilk; so I set cakes and butter afore him and fed him weel, and as -he ate he said: 'Ay, Jean, ye're as guid a baker as your mither. D'ye -mind how you and me used to watch her at the bakin' in the old kitchen -at Dunscore, and how she used to gie us the wee bits she cut off when -she was trimming the cake, and let us put them on the girdle ourselves?' -And as he talked he got quite saft-like and the scowl went aff his face -a' thegither. - -"Then he began to tak' notice o' Mary. 'So this is your dochter,' he -said. He looked her up and doon: 'I see she favours her mither, but I'm -thinkin' she's better lookin' than you were, Jean. Come here, my pretty -doo!' he says, and as Mary went towards him I could see she was a' o' a -tremble. He rose frae his chair an' put his arm roon' her shoulder and -made as though to kiss her. Wed, I could see Mary shrinkin' frae his -touch, and the next minute she had gie'd him a lood skelp on the side o' -his face wi' her haun, and wi' her chin in the air, walked oot o' the -door. I looked at Lag. There was anger on his broo, but he pu'd -himsel' thegither and dropped back in his chair, sayin': 'Jean, ye've -brocht her up badly. That's puir hospitality to a guest.' 'Weel, Rob,' -says I, 'the lassie's no' to blame. It maun rin in her blood, for mony -a guid skelpin' my mither has gi'en ye,--I ha'e skelped ye masel', and -noo ye've been skelped by the third generation.' Whereat he let a roar -o' laughter oot o' his heid that shook the hams hangin' frae the baulks. -And that set his memory going, and he said, 'D'ye mind the day I set my -dog on your kitten, and you pu'd a handfu' o' hair oot o' my heid?' and -he took his hat off, saying, 'I am thinkin' that is the first place on -my pow that is going bald.' 'Ay,' says I, 'weel I mind it, and the -lickin' I got.' 'Yes,' says he, laughin', 'but ye paid me back double.' -And he roared wi' laughter again. - -"We were crackin' as crouse as twa auld cronies, when he said: 'And noo, -Jean, a word in yer lug. I had nae thocht when I cam' up here I was gaun -to meet an auld frien'. I cam' to ask you and your man, will ye tak' -the Test. But I am no' gaun to ask the question o' ye. For the sake o' -the auld days, this hoose and they that live in it are safe, so far as -Robert Grierson o' Lag is concerned. But that is between you and me. -Dinna be lettin' your man or your dochter, the wee besom, consort wi' -the hill-men. The times are stern, and the King maun be obeyed. But ye -can trust me that I will not do your hoose a mischief. Whaur's your -guid man?' 'He's oot on the hills wi' the sheep,' says I, 'but he will -be back before lang,' and I went to the door to look, and there he was -comin' doon the brae face. He had seen the troopers and I'm tellin' ye -he was gey scared. I waved to him to hurry, and he, thinkin' that I was -in danger, cam' rinning. 'Come awa ben the hoose,' says I. 'There's an -auld frien' o' mine come to see us,' and I brocht him in, and presented -him to Lag. - -"Lag was gey ceevil to him, and said naething aboot oaths or tests, but -talked aboot sheep and kye, and syne said: 'And noo I'll ha'e to be -awa'. I will tak' anither sup o' your buttermilk, Jean,' and then he -shook me by the haun' and would ha'e shaken Andra's tae, but Andra wadna -tak' a haun' that was stained wi' innocent blood. It was an affront to -Lag, but a man like that aye respects anither man wi' courage, and he -walked oot o' the door. He sprang into the saddle and the troop formed -up and clattered doon the loanin', and the last I saw o' Lag he had -turned his heid and was wavin' his haun as he gaed roond the corner at -the brae-fit." - -"And what of Mary," I said. "What was she doing in the meantime?" - -Her mother laughed. "We looked high and low for her and at last we -found her in a hidie-hole in the haystack, greetin' like a wean. She -had made up her mind, puir lassie, that Lag would shoot baith her -faither and me, because she had boxed his lugs." - -"And have you had no trouble since?" I asked, for I knew that the -promise given by Lag would be binding on none but himself, and should a -troop Captain like Winram or Claver'se come to Daldowie, disaster might -fall on the household. - -"Oh, ay," she said, "we've seen Lag mair than aince since then. He was -here twa or three weeks sin' when you were lyin' up in the laft, and he -asked aboot you. He speired whether we had seen ocht o' a young man in -a trooper's uniform wanderin' aboot the moors. Ye were up in the laft -sleepin' as cosy as a mowdie, but I telt him I'd seen nae young man in -ony trooper's uniform. I wasna fule enough to tell him that I'd seen a -trooper in the meenister's claes. 'Weel,' he said, 'should ye see sic -an ane, dinna forget there's a price upon his heid. He is a deserter, -and Rab Grier mak's short work o' deserters.' - -"So, ye see, so far as Lag's concerned, Daldowie's safe enough. But -Andra, puir stubborn buddy, is no' sure o' the richts o't. He is a -queer man, Andra, and like lots mair o' the hill-men he wad sooner wear -the martyr's crown than his ain guid bannet. But I'm no' made that way. -I find the world no' a bad place ava, and I'm content to wait in it till -it pleases the Almichty to send for me: and I'm no' forcin' His haun by -rinnin' masel' into danger when a bowl o' buttermilk and a farle o' -oatcake serves wi' a jocose word to mak' a frien' o' ane that micht be a -bitter enemy. That was a wise word o' Solomon's--maybe he learned it -frae ane o' his wives--'Every wise woman buildeth her house: but the -foolish plucketh it down with her hands.' Even Andra daur'na say that -Jean Paterson, his wife, is a fule." - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX* - - *THE MAKING OF A DAISY CHAIN* - - -A day came when at last I was considered strong enough to venture -out-of-doors, and on that day, to my joy, I had Mary for a companion. -Lending me the support of her arm, she guided me to a grassy hillock -beside a little stream that ran down the face of the brae. Many a time -I had dreamed of this moment when I should be alone with her--but now -that it was come I found myself bereft of words. Apparently, she did not -notice my silence but talked merrily as she sat down beside me. Yet, -though my tongue was holden so that I could not speak, the scales had -fallen from my vision and Mary looked more beautiful than ever. I -looked into her eyes and for the first time saw the secret of their -loveliness. They were brown as a moorland stream--but a moorland stream -may be a thing of gloom, and in her eyes there was nothing but glory. I -saw the secret. The rich, deep brown was flecked with little points of -lighter hue, as though some golden shaft of sunlight had been caught and -held prisoner there, and when she smiled the sleeping sunshine woke and -danced like a lambent flame. - -Daisies were springing all round us, and as she talked she began to -weave a chain. The play of her nimble fingers as she threaded the -star-like flowers captivated me. I offered my clumsy aid, and she -laughed merrily at my efforts; but every now and then our hands touched, -and I was well content. - -When the Chain was completed I doubled it, and said: "Now, Mary, the -crown is ready for the Queen." - -She bent her head towards me playfully and I placed the daisies on her -glistening hair, nor could I resist the temptation of taking that dear -head of hers between my hands, making as my excuse the need to set the -garland fair. - -"Ay," she said, "I am thinkin' it is no' the first time that you ha'e -done this. Tell me aboot the English lassies. Are they bonnie?" - -"I know very little about them," I replied, and she, with twinkling -eyes, returned: - -"Ye dinna expect me to believe that, dae ye?" - -With mock solemnity I laid my hand upon my heart and swore I spoke the -truth, but she only laughed. - -"Tell me," she said, "are they bonnie? I've heard tell they are." - -"Well, Mary," I answered, "there may be bonnie lassies in England, but -I've seen far bonnier ones in Scotland." - -She plucked a daisy and held its yellow heart against her chin. "Oh -ay," she said, "I've heard that the Wigtown lassies are gey weel-faured. -Nae doot, when ye were a sodger there, ye had a sweetheart." - -"No," I said, "I had no sweetheart in Wigtown, although I saw a very -bonnie lass there." - -"I knew it, I knew it," she cried. "And maybe ye helped her to make a -daisy chain?" - -"No, Mary," I said, "I never had a chance. I saw her only for an hour." - -"But ye loved her?" and she looked at me quickly. - -"No," I answered, "I had no right to love her. If I had loved her I -should have tried to save her. She's dead now, but I do not think I can -ever forget her." - -"Oh," she said, "then you canna forget her. You're never likely to love -anither lassie? But ye speak in riddles. Wha was she? Tell me." - -It was a hard thing to do, but there was nothing for it. So I told her -the story of Margaret Wilson. She listened breathlessly with mounting -colour. Her eyes dilated and her lips parted as she sat with awe and -pity gathering in her face. - -When I had finished she turned from me in silence and looked into the -distance. Then she sprang to her feet and faced me, with glowing eyes. - -"And you were there! You!" she cried. "You helped the murderers! O -God! I wish I had left you on the moor to die!" - -This was my condemnation: this my punishment; that this sweet girl -should turn from me in horror, hating me. I bent my head in shame. - -She stood above me, and when I dared to lift my eyes I saw that her -hands, which she had clasped, were trembling. - -"Mary," I murmured, and at my voice she started as though my lips -polluted her name, "Mary--you cannot know the agony I have suffered for -what I did, nor how remorse has bitten into my heart torturing me night -and day. It was for that I became a deserter." - -"You deserted, and put yoursel' in danger o' death because you were -sorry," she said slowly, as though weighing each word. - -"Yes," I answered, "that is why I deserted," and I looked into her eyes, -from which the anger had faded. - -"I'm sorry I was so hasty. I didna mean to be cruel. Forget what I -said. I meant it at the meenute, but I dinna mean it noo," and she held -out both her hands impulsively. I clasped them, and drew her down -beside me again, and she did not resist. For a moment or two she sat in -silence pulling at the blades of grass around her. Then she laid a hand -upon my arm, and said quietly: - -"Tell me aboot her again. Was she really very bonnie?" - -"Yes," I replied, "very bonnie." - -"The bonniest lassie you ever saw?" - -"Yes, the bonniest lassie I had ever seen till then." - -"Oh," she exclaimed, "then you've seen a bonnier? And where did ye see -her?" - -A woman versed in the wiles of her sex would not have thrown the glove -down so artlessly. Unwittingly she had challenged me to declare my -love--and I was sorely tempted to do so: but I hesitated. A riper moment -would come, so I answered simply: - -"Yes, I have seen a bonnier lassie among the hills." - -"Oh," she exclaimed, and looked at me questioningly, "and what was she -daein' there?" - -I laid a hand upon hers as I replied: "Now, little Mistress Curiosity, -do not ask too much." - -She drew her hand away quickly, and brushed it with the other as though -to rid it of some defilement. I fear the taunting name had given her -umbrage. - -"I think you are a licht-o'-love," she said. - -"Mary!" I exclaimed, offended in my turn. "What right have you to say -such a thing?" - -"Weel," she answered, "what else would you ha'e me think. Ye lo'ed -Margaret Wilson: ye tell me ye've seen a bonnier lass amang the hills, -and when I found you on the moors you were repeatin' a lassie's name -ower an' ower again--and her name wasna Margaret." - -"I was repeating the name of a lassie?" I exclaimed dubiously. - -"Ay, ye were that," she made answer, "or ye wadna be here the day. It -was that made me tak' peety on you. I was sorry for the lassie, whaever -she micht be, and I thocht if I had a lad o' my ain I should like him to -be croonin' ower my name, as you were daein' hers. So I ran hame an' -fetched faither, an' we cairried ye to Daldowie." - -"And what was the name of the lassie?" I asked, looking at her eagerly. - -"Oh I ye kept sayin'--Mary--Mary--Mary--in a kind o' lament." - -My heart bounded: there was riot in my veins. "It was your name, -Mary--yours--and none other. There is no other Mary in my life." - -She looked at me in amazement--her eyes alight. "Surely ye dinna expect -me to believe that? You'd only seen me aince--and hardly spoken to me. -It couldna be me ye meant." - -I made both her hands captive. "Mary, it was. I swear it." - -She drew her hands sharply away: "Then you had nae richt tae tak' sic' a -liberty. Ye hardly kent me,"--and she sprang up. "I maun fetch the -kye," she cried as she hastened off. - -I watched her drive them in; then she came for me and led me carefully -back to the house. It seemed to me that there was some message tingling -from her heart to mine through the arm with which she supported me--but -she spoke no word. - -As we drew near the door, her mother came out to meet us and catching -sight of the forgotten chaplet, exclaimed: "Mary, whatever are ye daein' -wi' a string o' daisies in your hair? Ye look like a play-actress." - -Laughingly Mary removed the wreath. "It was only a bairn's ploy," she -said; then to my great cheer, she slipped the flowers into her bosom. - -"Come awa' in," said Jean: and she assisted me to my place by the fire. - -An adventurous hen with a brood of chickens--little fluffy balls of gold -and snow--had followed us, and with noisy duckings from the mother, the -little creatures pecked and picked from the floor. Jean clapped her -hands at them: "Shoo! ye wee Covenanters!" she cried. - -I laughed, as I said, "Why do you call them Covenanters?" - -"Weel," she replied, "I often think that chickens and the hill-men ha'e -muckle in common. Ye see maist Covenanters tak' life awfu' seriously. -They ha'e few pleasures frae the minute they come into the world. A -kitten will lie in the sun playin' wi' a bit o' 'oo', and a wee bit -puppy will chase its tail for half an hour on end: but wha ever saw a -chicken playin'? They dinna ken the way. It's scrape, scrape, pick, -pick, frae the day they crack the shell till the day their necks are -wrung. And your Covenanter's muckle the same. He's so borne doon wi' -the wecht o' life that he has nae time for its joys. They're guid men, -I'm no' denyin', but I sometimes think they've got queer notions of God. -They fear God, and some o' them are feart o' Him. There's a -difference--a big difference. I aye like to think o' the Almichty as a -kind-hearted Father: but to hear some even o' the best o' the hill-men -talk o' Him, ye micht weel think He was a roarin' fury chasin' weans oot -frae amang the young corn wi' a big stick. But there are others. Now -godly Samuel Rutherford and your frien' Alexander Main were brimfu' o' -the joy o' life. They kent the secret; and it warmed their hearts and -made them what they were. I like to think o' the love of God spread -ower the whole earth like a May mist on the moors--something that is -warm, that has the dew in it and that comes wi' refreshment to puir and -lowly things. - -"I was brocht up on the Catechism--strong meat and halesome--but it -seems to me that noo and then we lose our sense o' the richts o' things. -Now there's Andra; he believes that the Catechism hauds a' the wisdom o' -man aboot God; and it is a wise book; but to my way o' thinkin', God is -far bigger than the Catechism, and some o' us haena learned that yet. Ye -canna shut God in a man-made book that ye can buy for tippence." - -I laughed as I said: "Mistress Paterson, you interest me greatly, but I -fear that some of the things you say to me would shock the good men of -the flock." - -She laughed heartily as she replied: "Fine I ken that. Ye maunna' say a -word o' this to Andra, for if he heard tell o' what I ha'e been sayin', -he would be prayin' for me like a lost sheep every nicht when he tak's -the Book, and it would be a sair affront for the guid-wife o' the hoose -to be prayed for alood by her ain man, afore strangers." - -I laughed. "You may trust me," I said, and she continued: - -"I ha'e my ain ways o' thinkin'. I've aye had them and in my younger -days I ha'e nae doot I was a sair trial to Andra. He had juist to get -used to it, however, and noo he lets me alane and maybe I am a better -woman for that. At ony rate, I am quite prepared to dee for the Cause -if the Lord wills, but I'm no' gaun to look for my death as Andra is -sometimes ready to dae in ane o' his uplifted moods, by daein' onything -silly. Ye've seen him sit by the fireside sometimes, wi' his heid in -his haun's, groanin'. He is a guid man, as naebody kens better than I -dae: but every noo and then he gets terrible upset aboot himself. Maist -days he is quite sure that he is ane o' the elect. But every noo and -then, if he tak's haggis to his supper, he's in a black mood next day -and is quite sure that he is ane o' the castaways. Mony a time I ha'e -heard him wrestlin' wi' the spirit, wi' mony groans, and when I ha'e -gane to him he has been moanin'--'I'm no' sure. Am I ane o' the elect -or am I no'?' I ken weel it's no his conscience but only the haggis -that's tormentin' him. So I juist gi'e him a dish o' herb tea, and next -day he is that uplifted that he thinks he's fit to be ta'en like Elijah -in a chariot straicht to heaven." - -Her face melted in a smile, and for the first time I saw that the -winsomeness of Mary's smile was a gift from her mother: then she -continued: - -"You're very ceevil. You aye ca' me Mistress Paterson, and I suppose -that's only richt, but it's a wee bit stiff. It makes me think o' the -meenister at a catechisin'. My name's Janet, but naebody ever ca's me -that but Andra--and only when he's no' weel pleased wi' me. I'm Jean to -them I like, and to them that like me, an' ye can ca' me Jean if it -pleases ye." - - - - - *CHAPTER XX* - - *LOVE THE ALL-COMPELLING* - - -As the days passed I began to be able to go further and further afield. -I needed no support save the good ash stick which Andrew had given to -me, but for love's sweet sake I dissembled if Mary was at hand to help -me. - -A day came when I gave serious thought to my future. I was unwilling to -tear myself away from Daldowie, for the spell of love bound me, but I -felt that I could not continue to trespass indefinitely upon the -hospitality of my friends. - -And there was another matter of grave moment. Apparently, from what Jean -had told me, Lag was in the habit of visiting Daldowie from time to -time. So far, he had learned nothing of my presence there; but a day -might come when I should be discovered, and that would expose my friends -to deadly peril. I dared not think of that possibility, and yet it was -real enough. I turned these things over in my mind, but always -hesitated on the brink of decision, because I could not live without -Mary. - -We were thrown much together. Sometimes I would accompany her when she -went about her duties on the farm; and many a pleasant hour we spent -together on the green hill-side. Almost daily I discovered some new and -beautiful trait in her character. To know her was to love her. No words -can paint her. Vivid, alluring, she was like a mountain stream--at one -time rippling over the shallows of life alive with sunny laughter, or -again, falling into quiet reflective pools, lit by some inner -light--remote, mysterious. Her haunting variety perplexed me while it -charmed me. - -Sometimes I was tempted to throw ardent arms about her and pour my love -into her ears in a torrent of fervid words. That is the way of the bold -lover, but I feared that to declare my love in such cavalier fashion -might defeat its end. None but a woman with some rude fibres in her -being can care to be treated in such fashion--and I imagined that Mary's -soul was delicate and fragile as a butterfly's wing, and would be -bruised by such mishandling. - -My love for her grew daily, but I hesitated to declare it till I should -know whether it was returned. And Mary gave me no clue. If on a day she -had lifted me to the heights of bliss by some special winsomeness, she -would dash my hope to the earth again by avoiding me for a time so that -I was thrown back on my thoughts for companionship. And they gave me -little solace. Over and over again I remembered the warning of the dear -old saint of the hills: "She's no' for you. The dove maunna mate wi' -the corbie." - -At nights I lay awake distraught. Was her kindness to me, her winning -sweetness, no more than the simple out-pouring of a woman's heart for a -man she pitied? I had no need of pity: I hated it: my heart hungered -for love. I had yet to learn that there is always pity in a woman's -love. - -At last I brought my fevered mind to a resolute decision. I would -speak. For the sake of those who had succoured me I must leave -Daldowie, but before I went I must try to find out the secret in Mary's -heart. - -The hour came unsought, and took me almost unaware. - -We had wandered further afield than was our wont, and on a mellow autumn -afternoon we sat by the side of a burn. We had been chatting gaily, -when, suddenly, silence fell between us like a sword. - -I looked at Mary. Her eyes were fixed on distance, and my gaze fell -from the sweet purity of her face to the rich redness of the bunch of -rowan berries set in the white of her bodice. - -"Mary," I began, "I have something to say to you." She turned and -looked at me quickly, but did not speak. - -I drew an anxious breath and continued: "I am going away." - -Her pointed little chin rose quickly, and she spoke rapidly: "You're -gaun away. Whatever for?" - -"It is not my will," I said, "but need that urges me. Your mother, your -father, and, more than all, you have been kind to me--you found me in -sore straits and succoured me. My presence at Daldowie means danger to -you all, and for your sakes I must go." - -Pallor swept over her face: the red berries at her breast moved -tremulously. - -"Danger," she said--"the hill-folk think little o' danger: that needna' -drive ye away. Is there nae ither reason?" - -Before I could speak she continued: "I doot there's some English lassie -waiting for ye ayont the Border," and turning her face away from me she -whispered, "It maun e'en be as ye will." - -"Mary," I said, "you wrong me. If you could read my heart you would -know what I suffer. I hate to go. I am leaving friendship and love -behind me----" - -I paused, but she did not speak. "Before God," I said, "I shall never -forget Daldowie, and--you." - -Her hands were folded in her lap--and I took them gently in mine. - -"Our lives have touched each other so delicately, that I shall never -forget you. Dearest, I love you." - -She uttered a little startled cry and drew her hands away. "Love you -with all the fire of my heart," I said, "and if I succeed in escaping -across the border I shall dream always of the day when I may come back -and ask you to be my wife. Mary--tell me--have you a little corner in -your heart for me?--You have had the whole of mine since first you spoke -to me." - -Her face was a damask rose: her lips curved in a smile, and a dimple -danced alluringly on her left cheek: her eyes were lit as though a lamp -were hidden in their depths, but all she said was,--"I daur say I can -promise ye that." - -I drew her towards me and took her, gently resisting, into my arms. "O -Mary mine," I whispered. Her hand stole up and gently stroked my hair, -and as she nestled to me I could feel a wild bird fluttering in her -breast. "I love you, Mary," and bending over her dear face I kissed her -where the dimple still lingered. - -"Sweetheart," she murmured, as her arms closed about my neck, and her -lips touched mine. - -The old earth ceased to be: heaven was about us, and above us a high -lark sang:--my love was in my arms. - -A little tremor, as when a leaf is stirred, stole over her. I held her -close, and bent to look at her. Twin tears glistened on her eyelids. -"Flower o' the Heather," I whispered, "little sweetheart--what ails -you?" - -She took a long breath--broken like a sigh. - -"I am feared," she said. - -"Afraid? dearest, of what?" - -Her lips were raised to my ear. - -"Afraid o' love," she whispered: "for when you kissed me a wee bird flew -into my heart and whispered that nae woman ever loved without sorrow." - -"Dearest," I said. But she stopped me, and continued:--"But I wouldna -lose the love for a' the sorrow that may lie in its heart--for it's the -sorrow that makes the love worth while." - -"My own Mary," I whispered, "in my arms no sorrow shall ever touch you. -I will protect you!" - -"My love, my love," she murmured brokenly, "ye canna thwart God." - -So still she lay that I could hear the beating of my heart. I looked at -her sweet face half hidden against my coat. There was upon it a beauty -that I had never seen before. Reverence that was half awe swept over -me, and I bowed my head, for I had seen into the holy place of a woman's -soul. - -Suddenly she let her arms fall from my neck, and freeing herself gently -from my embrace she seated herself by my side. - -"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I ha'e spoilt your happy moments wi' my -tears. But they're no tears o' sorrow: they're juist the joy bubbling -up frae a heart ower fu'. I can let ye go noo--since I ken ye love me. -Love can aye surrender, selfishness aye clings." - -"Are you sending me away, Mary?" - -"Oh no! No! No! It's because I love you I wad ha'e you go. You're in -danger here, and I ken--oh, I ken ye'll come back." - -"And now," I answered proudly, "I do not wish to go. I cannot go." - -"But you're in danger here. If they find you they'll kill you." - -"Beloved," I whispered, "to leave you now would be worse than death." - -She buried her head on my shoulder, and sat silent. The door had swung -back and shown us the kingdom of love with its laughing meadows and -enchanted streams. But amid all that beauty each of us had caught a -glimpse of the shadow that lay across our lives. - -Suddenly she lifted her face and gazed at me with troubled, wistful -eyes. "I ken ye ought to go: but an ye winna it's no for me to send -you. My heart cries for you, and," she added slowly, "I've got a notion. -About this time o' year my faither aye hires a man. Ye could ha'e the -place for the askin'. Ye're strong enough noo to help him, and naebody -would ever jalouse that the hired man at Daldowie was Trooper Bryden o' -Lag's Horse." - -Her ready wit had found the way out. - -"Dear little witch," I cried, and kissed her fragrant hair--"You have -brought light into the darkness. I shall offer myself to your father, -and by faithful service show my gratitude: but more than that I shall -ask him for you." - -Her eyes shone. "Speir at him for the place," she said, "and let the -second question bide till ye've spoken to mither. Faither loves me--I -ken weel: but he's dour and sometimes contrairy, and winna understand. -But mither's heart is young yet. She'll help us." - -"O winsome little wiseacre," I whispered, and held my open arms out to -her. - -She sprang up. "I maun leave you," she said. "I want to be alane--to -tell the flowers and the birds my secret, but maist o' a' to tell it -ower and ower again to masel'. I'll see ye by and by--and maybe ere -then ye'll ha'e talked to mither." - -She turned and walked lightly away, crooning a song. I watched her -longingly as she went, palpitating with life and love, an angel of -beauty, the sun on her hair. - -For long I sat in a delightful reverie, then I rose and made my way -slowly to the house. - -Mary loved me!--the moor winds sang for me. They knew our secret. - -I found Jean at her spinning-wheel, alone in the kitchen. The moment -seemed opportune, so, without any preface, I opened my heart to her. - -"You must have seen," I said, "that Mary and I are very warm friends. -Indeed we are more than friends, for we love each other, and I would -make her my wife; but she will not promise without your consent and her -father's. Dare we hope for it?" - -She stopped her spinning and took a long breath. "So that's the way -o't," she said. "I thocht as muckle, and I'm no' ill-pleased, for I -like ye weel. But I dinna ken aboot her faither. He's a queer man, -Andra. If ye speir at him he'll want to ken if ye are ane o' the elect, -and by your answer ye'll stand or fa'. - -"Weel dae I mind his ongoin's when he speired me. A Scotsman's aye -practical even in his love-making: but Andra was waur than practical, he -was theological. But he couldna help it--that's aye been his weakness. -As a maitter o' fact maist Scotsmen are as fu' o' sentiment as an egg is -fu' o' meat. But ye've to crack their shell afore ye fin' that oot. -An' they'll watch ye dinna. For they're feared that if ye fin' they're -saft i' the hert ye micht think they were saft i' the heid as weel. -Weel, as I was sayin', he had been courtin' me for maybe a twalmonth. -No that he ever talked love--but he would drap into my step-faither's -hoose o' a nicht maybe twice a week, and crack aboot horses and craps, -and sheep, and kye, tae the auld man, and gi'e me a 'Guid E'en' in the -bye-goin'. But aince I catched him keekin' at me through his fingers -when we were on our knees at the worship--and though I was keekin' at -him mysel' I never let on. But I thocht tae mysel' he was beginnin' to -tak' notice o' ane o' the blessings o' the Lord--and so it turned oot, -for maybe a month later he brocht me a bonnie blue ribbon frae Dairy; -and he cam' to me in the stack-yaird and offered it tae me, kind o' -sheepish-like. It was a bonnie ribbon, and I was awfu' pleased; and -first I tied it roon my neck, and then I fastened it among my hair. And -he looked on, gey pleased-like himsel': and then a kind o' cloud cam' -ower his face and he said, 'Eh, Jean, ye maunna set your affections on -the gauds o' this earth.' I was that angry that I nearly gi'ed him back -the ribbon; but it was ower bonnie. - -"Weel, a week or twa went by, and ae nicht in the gloamin' I met him on -the road--accidental like. He was gey quate for a time, then he laid a -haun' on my airm and said, very solemn: 'Jean, I love ye: are ye ane o' -the elect?' My heart gi'ed a big loup, for I guessed what was comin', -and juist to gain time I answered, 'I'm no' sure, Andra,' says I, 'but I -hope sae.' 'Oh, but ye maun be sure; ye maun be sure. Hope is no' -enough,'--and he turned on his heel and went down the road again. Weel, -I went back tae the hoose a wee bit sorry, for I liked him weel; and it -seemed tae me I had frichtened him awa. But that nicht in my bed I -thocht things ower, and said tae mysel'--'Jean, my lass, it's a serious -step gettin' married, but it's a lot mair serious remainin' single, and -guid young men are scarce, and you are a tocherless lass. What are ye -gaun tae dae?' So I worked oot a plan in my heid. After maybe a week, -Andra cam' back for a crack wi' my step-faither, and seein' him comin' -up the road I went oot tae meet him. He was a wee blate at the first, -but I helped him oot wi't. 'Andra,' says I, 'dae ye mind what ye said -the last nicht ye were here?' 'I do, Jean,' says he. 'Weel,' says I, -'I've been thinkin' very hard since then. Ye believe, I hope, in -fore-ordination?' 'Certainly,' says he, 'Predestination is a cardinal -doctrine.' 'I ken,' I said, 'and it was fore-ordained that you should -tell me that you lo'e me. You were fore-ordained tae lo'e me: I was -fore-ordained tae lo'e you--and I like ye weel: and if ye let my puir -human uncertainty as tae my election stand in the way, ye are fleein' in -the face o' Providence wha fore-ordained that we should love each -other.' He was a bit ta'en aback, I could see; for he stood quate for a -while. Then he turned and said, "I daurna dae that: I daurna. Jean, -will ye tak' me?' 'It was fore-ordained that ye should ask me that -question,' I answered, 'and it was fore-ordained that I should say "Ay." -I'll be a guid wife tae ye, Andra.' And I ha'e been, though even yet -he's no' sure if I'm ane o' the elect or no. - -"Whiles he thinks I am. I mind the morning after Dauvit was born--I was -ane o' the elect then. He sat by the bedside, takin' keeks every noo -and then at the wee lamb sleepin' in the fold o' my airm, and repeatin' -lang screeds oot o' the Song o' Solomon, wi' the love-licht in his e'e, -till the howdie turned him oot, sayin' it was no' seemly for an elder o' -the kirk tae be using sic holy words tae a mere woman. A mere woman -forsooth! and me a mither! She was a barren stock hersel', ye see. - -"But I'm haverin' awa--and no' answerin' your question. Let things bide -a wee as they are. Andra thinks a lot o' ye; but he has got tae ken ye -better afore he'll judge ye tae be a fit husband for Mary. I'll tell ye -when the time is ripe tae speir at him. Meantime the lassie winna rin -awa frae ye; and if ye'll tak' the advice o' an auld woman, there's -twice as muckle joy in the courtin' days as there is in the level years -o' wedded life; sae mak' the maist o' them, and the Lord bless ye -baith." - -My little sweetheart had been right. Her mother understood. - -Later I sought her, and found her alone in the gloaming--the lover's -hour. - -"And what does mither say?" she asked. - -Briefly I told her. She laughed happily:-- - -"I kent it wad be a' richt." - -As she stood before me--her face upturned, her eyes eager, I slipped an -arm about her, and would have drawn her to me, but she drew back. - -"Dinna spoil it," she said--"maybe the morn"--and she smiled. "I want -to keep the wonder o' your first kiss till then: it's a kind o' -sacrament." - -She laid her hands upon my shoulders, and her words tumbled over each -other. - -"Love is magical. Since you kissed me I have wakened frae sleep: every -meenute has had rose-tipped wings: the silence sings for me, and the -moor wind plays a melody on the harp o' my hert. Can ye no' hear it?" - -I would have answered as a lover should, but she continued: "No, no! Ye -canna hear it. I'm sure there maun hae been a woman wi' the shepherds -on the plains o' Palestine the nicht they heard the angels sing. Nae -man ever heard the angels sing till a woman telled him they were -singing. Men are deaf craturs." - -"Mary," I cried, "I am not deaf. I hear the angels singing whenever you -speak"--and I seized her hands. - -"Dinna talk havers," she answered, and raced off; but at the corner of -the house she turned and, poised on tip-toe, shadowy among the shadows, -she blew me a kiss with either hand. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI* - - *THE HIRED MAN* - - -There was nothing for me to do but lay to heart the advice of my friend -Jean. Mary's suggestion that I should offer my services to her father -took root in my mind, and next day I broached the matter to him. I -began by assuring him of my sense of indebtedness to him and his good -wife for all that they had done for me. Money I told him could not -repay him; whereat he shrugged his shoulders and made a noise in his -throat as though the very mention of such a thing hurt him. - -Then I told him that one of two alternatives lay before me--either to -leave Daldowie and endeavour to make my way across the border, or to -stay on at the farm and try to repay by service the heavy debt under -which I lay. He heard all I had to say in silence, but when I had -finished he spoke: - -"There's a lot o' places no' as guid as Daldowie. I couldna hear o' ye -leavin' us yet. Ye see, Jean--that's the wife--has ta'en an awfu' fancy -tae ye; and as for masel', I like a man aboot the hoose. A man like me -gets tired wi' naething but womenfolk cackling roon' him. I think wi' a -bit o' experience ye'd mak' no' a bad fairmer. When winter comes wi' -the snaw there's a lot o' heavy work to be done feedin' the nowt, forby -lookin' after the sheep. Last winter I lost half a score in a -snaw-drift, and that is mair than a man like me can afford in sic tryin' -times. I was ettlin' to hire a man in the back end o' the year; but if -you like to stop you can tak' his place. I think I could learn ye a -lot: and in the lang winter nichts me and you'll be able to ha'e some -guid sets to on the dambrod. But a word in your lug. If ye're stoppin' -on here ye'd better drap that English tongue o' yours, and learn to talk -like a civilised body. It'll be safer. I've noticed that when a -Scotsman loses his ain tongue, an' talks like an Englishman, he loses a -bit o' his Scots backbane. Maybe in your case the thing will work the -ither wey"--and he struck me heartily on the shoulder. - -So the bargain was made, and I entered into the service of Andrew -Paterson of Daldowie and of Jean his wife. I was already the devoted -bond-slave of Mary. - -Andrew announced our pact that evening as we sat round the fire. -"Jean," he said, "I've hired a man." - -Her knitting needles clicked a little faster: "And where did ye get -him?" she asked. "I ha'e seen naebody aboot the steadin' the day, and -the hirin' fair is no' till October." - -Out of the corner of my eyes I saw a smile on Mary's face. - -"Wha dae ye think?" said Andra. "Bryden here has speired for the job, -and as he seems to ha'e the makin' o' a fairmer in him, I agreed to gi'e -him a try." - -Jean laid her knitting in her lap. "Andra, are ye sure ye're daein' -richt?" - -Involuntarily I started. Was Jean about to turn against me? But there -was wisdom in her question, for she knew her husband better than I did. -There was irritation in his voice: - -"Of course I'm daein' richt, woman. It's like ye to question the wisdom -o' your man. He never does onything richt." He swung himself round on -the settle and crossed his knees angrily. - -"But," returned Jean, "do ye no' see the risk ye're runnin'? Lag's -ridin' through the countryside, and what dae ye think he'll say if he -finds that a deserter is serving-man at Daldowie?" - -"I ha'e thocht o' a' that, Jean," he replied. "He'll juist hae to keep -oot o' sicht when your godless frien' Lag is aboot." - -His wife seemed about to raise further objections, but he silenced her: -"Haud yer tongue, Jean, and gang on wi' yer knittin'. My min's made up, -and I am no' gaun to be turned frae my ain course by a naggin' woman. -Let's hear nae mair o't." And then raising his voice he ended: "I'll be -maister in ma ain hoose, I tell ye." - -This little passage of arms, planned by the shrewd wit of Jean, served -but to establish her husband in his purpose. The good wife picked up -her knitting again, and for a time there was no sound but the click of -her needles. Then, of a sudden, Andrew turned to Mary who, in the -semi-darkness, had stretched out her hand and touched mine gently and -said: "Mary, licht the cruise and bring the Book." - -In this fashion I became a willing servant at Daldowie. The days passed -pleasantly. Andrew took a pride in his farm. "A Paterson," he would -say, "has farmed here since Flodden. Man, that was an awfu' thrashin' -you English gi'ed us yonder; but we've paid ye back tenfold. We sent -the Stuarts tae ye,"--and he would laugh heartily. The original little -parcel of land had, I learned, been a gift made to an Andrew Paterson -after that fateful combat, and each succeeding generation of his -descendants had with incessant toil sought to bring under cultivation a -few more acres of the unfruitful moor, until now Daldowie was a heritage -of which any man might be proud. The love of his land was a passion in -Andrew's blood. - -My desire to make myself of use impressed him, and he taught me much -agricultural lore. I found, as I had long suspected, that under his -dour exterior there was much native shrewdness, and not a little pawky -humour. But of that gift he had not such a rich endowment as his wife. -In his silent way, he cherished a great affection for her, and though he -had never, in my hearing, expressed himself in any terms of endearment, -I knew that in his heart of hearts he regarded her as a queen among -women. Sometimes he would talk to me of the trials of the hill-men. Of -the justice of their cause he was absolutely convinced, and now and then -his devotion to it seemed to me to border on fanaticism. He could find -no good word to say for the powers that were arraigned against the men -of the Covenant, and once, in a burst of anger, he said: - -"I ken I can trust the wife, but this colloguin' wi' Lag is a disgrace -to my hoose, and nae guid can come o't. She thinks that wi' him for a -frien' she's protectin' them she likes best, but I'm thinkin' the -Almichty canna be pleased, for what says the Book: 'Him that honoureth -Me will I honour,' and ye canna honour the Lord by feedin' ane o' His -worst enemies on guid farles o' oatcake--wi' butter forby. Hooever, ye -ken her weel enough to understaun' how thrawn she is, and ony word frae -me would only mak' her thrawner. Ye're no' mairrit yoursel', and I doot -ye ken nocht o' the ways o' women, but that's ane o' them." - -I had enough mother-wit to hold my tongue. - -Autumn ebbed--and the purple moor turned to bronze. - -Winter descended upon the land and the moor was shrouded in snow; but -ere the snow fell, the sheep had been gathered into the lower fold and -none were lost. Each short, dark day was followed by the delight of a -long and cosy evening by the fireside, what time the baffled wind howled -over the well-thatched roof. Andrew and I would engage in doughty -combats on the dambrod, while Mary and her mother plied their needles -busily: and sometimes, to my great delight, when Andrew was not in the -mood for such worldly amusement, Mary would take his place at the game. -He is a poor lover who cannot, amid the moves of the black and white -men, make silent but most eloquent love, and many a tender message -leaped across the checkered board from my eyes to Mary's, and from -Mary's to mine. Once on an evening when we had been playing together -while her father slept in the ingle-nook, and Jean busied herself with -her knitting, Mary brushed the men aside and resting her elbows on the -table poised her chin on her finger-tips. My eyes followed the perfect -line of her white arms from her dimpled elbows, half-hidden in a froth -of lace, to her slender hands that supported the exquisite oval of her -face. - -"Let's talk," she said. - -"Yes, talk," I answered. "I shall love to listen, and as you talk I'll -drink your beauty in." - -She wrinkled her nose into the semblance of a frown, and then laughed. - -"For a book-learned man ye're awfu' blate." - -"Ah, sweetheart," I answered, "no man can learn the language of love -from books. That comes from life." - -"No," she said, laughingly; "no' frae life, but frae love. I'm far far -wiser than you"--and she held her hands apart as though to indicate the -breadth of her wisdom--"and I learned it a' frae love. For when you -knocked at the door o' my he'rt an' it flew open to let you in, a' the -wisdom that love cairries in its bosom entered tae. So I'm wiser than -you--far wiser." She leaned towards me. "But I'm yer ain wee Mary -still--am I no? Let me hear ye say it. Love is like that. It makes us -awfu' wise, but it leaves us awfu' foolish. Kiss me again." - -Book-learning teaches no man how to answer such a challenge--but love -does, and I need not set it down. - -Sometimes Mary would read aloud old ballads of love and high -adventure--while Andrew and I sat listening, and Jean, as she knitted, -listened too. As she read, she had a winsome trick of smoothing back -into its place a little lock of hair that would persist in straying over -her left ear. That vagrant curl fascinated me. Evening by evening I -watched to see it break loose for the joy of seeing her pretty hand -restore it to order. I called it the Covenanting curl, and when she -asked me why, I stole a kiss, and said, "Because it is a rebel," whereat -she slapped me playfully on the cheek, and whispered, "If ye are a -trooper ye should make it a prisoner," which I was fain to do, but she -resisted me. - -Jean took a kindly though silent interest in our love-making, but if -Andrew knew, or guessed what was afoot, he made no sign. His fits of -depression grew more frequent; but whether they were due to uncertainty -as to his own spiritual state or to sorrow and anger at the continued -harrying of the hill-folk I was not able to tell, and Jean did not -enlighten me, though in all likelihood she knew. - -So the happy winter passed, and spring came again rich in promise. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXII* - - *"THE LEAST OF THESE, MY BRETHREN"* - - -April was upon us--half laughter, half tears--when rumour came to us -that the persecutions of the hill-men were becoming daily more and more -bitter; but of the troopers we ourselves saw nothing. From what we -heard we gathered that their main activities were in a part of the -country further west, and we learned that Lag and his dragoons were -quartered once again in Wigtown. One morning, when Mary went to the -byre to milk the cows, we heard her cry in alarm, and in a moment she -came rushing into the house, saying, "Oh, mither, there's a man asleep -in Meg's stall." - -Her father and I hurried out, and entered the cow-shed abreast. -Stretched on a heap of straw beside the astonished Meg lay a young man -clad in black. There was such a look of weariness upon his face that it -seemed a shame to waken him; but Andrew, whispering to me, "It is ane o' -the hill-men," took him by the shoulder and shook him not unkindly. The -youth sat bolt upright--fear in his startled eyes. He stared at Andrew -and then at me, and in a high-pitched voice exclaimed: - -"The Lord is on my side. I will not fear what men can do unto me." - -"I thocht sae," said Andrew, "ye're ane o' oorsels: but what are ye -daein' in my byre?" - -To this the only reply was another quotation from the scriptures: "The -Lord hath chastened me sore, but He hath not given me over unto death." - -"Puir laddie," said Andrew, "come awa ben the hoose and ha'e your -parritch." - -Again the youth spoke: "This is the Lord's doing: it is marvellous in -our eyes." - -Andrew took him by the arm and led him into the kitchen. He was placed -in a chair by the fire and sat looking wistfully and half-frightenedly -around him. His face was thin and white save that on one cheek a -scarlet spot flamed like a rose, while over his high, pale forehead -swept a lock of dark hair. As he held his hands out to catch the warmth -of the glowing peat, I saw that they were almost transparent; but what -caught my gaze and held it rivetted was the state of his thumbs. Both -of them were black and bruised as though they had been subjected to -great pressure, and I knew that the boy had recently been put to the -torture of the thumbscrews. - -Mary and her mother vied with each other in attentions to him. A bowl -of warm milk was offered to him, and with trembling hands he raised it -to his lips. As he did so I saw the perspiration break upon his -forehead. While she busied herself with the preparation of the morning -meal, Andrew questioned him, but his answers were so cloaked in the -language of the scriptures that it was hard to decipher his meaning. - -When he had finished his porridge, which he ate eagerly as though -well-nigh famished, Jean took him in hand. - -"Now, young man," she said, "tell us yer story. Wha are ye, and whence -cam' ye?" - -A fit of violent coughing interfered with his speech, but the seizure -passed, a bright light gleamed in his sunken eyes, and he said: "In the -way wherein I walked they have privily laid a snare for me. I looked on -my right hand and beheld, but there was no man that would know me. -Refuge failed me. No man cared for my soul. They have spread a net by -the wayside; they have set gins for me. Let the wicked fall into their -own nets, whilst that I withal escape." - -Jean sighed, and turned to Andrew with a look of bewilderment. "The -bairn's daft," she said, "beside himsel' wi' hunger and pain. He's had -the thumbkins on; look at his puir haun's." - -The youth continued in a high-pitched monotone: "Surely Thou wilt slay -the wicked, O God. Depart from me, therefore, ye bloody men. Deliver -me, O Lord, from mine enemies. I flee unto Thee to hide me." - -"Clean doited, puir laddie, clean doited," said Jean. "I'm thinkin', -Andra, ye'd better convoy him up to the laft and let him sleep in -Bryden's bed. Maybe when he has had a rest, he'll come to his senses." - -Andrew put his arm gently through that of the youth and raised him to -his feet. "Come your ways to bed, my lad; when ye've had a sleep ye'll -be better," and he led him toward the ladder. - -As he ascended he still rambled on: "They have gaped upon me with their -mouth. They have smitten me upon the cheek reproachfully. Are not my -days few? Cease then, and let me alone, that I may take comfort a -little," and with Andrew urging him on, he disappeared into the upper -room. - -In a few moments Andrew descended the ladder and returned to the -kitchen. "I've got him safely bedded," he said. - -"Ay, puir laddie," answered Jean, as she busied herself clearing away -the dishes. "I wonder wha he can be? Maist likely he has escaped frae -the dragoons. If they set the hounds on his track, they'll be here -afore the day is weel begun." - -The thought hardly needed expression. It was present in the minds of -each of us; and gathering round the fire we took counsel together. That -the lad was in sore need we agreed; but how best to help him was the -difficulty. Should the dragoons come to the house we knew that their -search would be a thorough one, for though Lag's compact with Jean still -held so far as the safety of herself, her daughter, and her husband was -concerned, we knew that it would be of no avail in the case of this -fugitive. And, further, there was the question of my own presence there, -hitherto undiscovered. - -The kindly wisdom of a woman's mind was expressed by Jean: "At ony rate -there is naething to be done in the meantime but wait and let the lad -rest. Maybe after he has had a sleep he will no' be quite so doited, -and be mair able to tell us something aboot himsel'." - -"Ye're richt, woman," said Andrew. "Meantime, I'll awa' doon the road, -and see if there's ony troopers aboot. And you, Bryden, had better gang -up to the high field and coont the sheep. Ye'd best be oot o' the road -if the troopers should come aboot." - -It was partly from solicitude for her welfare and partly for love's -sweet sake that I said to Jean, "And what of Mary? May she come with -me?" - -"Ay!" said her mother, "she micht as weel; but if naething happens, ye'd -best come doon within sicht o' Daldowie at dinner-time. If the road is -clear, ye'll see a blanket hanging oot in the stack-yard." - -Little loth, Mary and I took our departure. As we went we talked of the -stranger, but very soon our thoughts glided into other channels; and ere -we had reached the high field, the great drab world with all its -miseries had been forgotten and we were living in our own kingdom of -love. - -We found a sheltered nook and sat us down. - -"Why do you love me?" said Mary suddenly, crossing her pretty ankles and -smoothing her gown meditatively over her knees. - -"Because you are the fairest and the sweetest lassie in the whole wide -world "--and I kissed her. - -"That's awfu' nice--but I doot it's no true. There maun be far bonnier -lassies than me. At the best I'm only a wild rose. An' I'd rather you -loved me for my soul than for the beauty ye see in me. That will a' -wither by and by, and maybe your love will wither then tae. But if ye -love me for my soul it will blossom and grow worthier in the sunshine o' -your love, and a love like that can never dee." - -"And why, my little philosopher," I asked, challenging her, "do you love -me? I am all unworthy." - -"No, no!" she cried--her eyes gleaming. "I love you, -because--because"--she halted, and ticked the words off upon her -fingers: "Because you are brave, and big, and awfu' kind, and no -ill-looking, and because your blue-grey trusty een kindle a fire in my -hert. No, no! That's a' wrong. I love you because--juist because you -are you. A puir reason maybe--but a woman's best." - -So the morning hours slipped by, and when noon was near at hand we began -to saunter down the hill-side. - -When we came in sight of the farm we looked eagerly to the stack-yard, -and there saw displayed the token of safety, so we hurried down. - -When we reached the house we found the fugitive seated by the fire. His -sleep had soothed his tired brain, and Jean had been able to discover -something of his history. - -Two days before, he had been seized by the dragoons and brought before -Claver'se: and with a view to extracting information from him, Claver'se -had put him to the test of the thumbscrews. He had refused to speak, -and the torture had been continued till God, more compassionate than -man, had delivered him from his sufferings by a merciful -unconsciousness. As Jean told us his tale he listened, and every now -and then interrupted her. - -"For dogs have compassed me. The assembly of the wicked have enclosed -me. But He hath not despised nor abhorred the supplication of the -afflicted. And now," he said, "I must go. Even as I slept the Lord -appeared to me in a vision and said 'Arise, get thee hence.' I will -lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh mine aid." - -Jean pressed him to remain. - -"No," he said, "I must be gone." - -"But you are no' fit to gang, lad," said Jean firmly but kindly. "Ye -dinna ken the moors ava. Ye'll be wanderin' into a bog or deein' amang -the heather like a braxy sheep." - -"Listen," he said, raising his hand, the while his eyes shone, "Listen! -Dinna ye hear the voice bidding me go forth?" and he hurried to the -door; but he paused on the threshold, and raising his eyes to the -roof-tree, said, "Be Thou not far from me, O Lord." - -"He's clean daft, Andra," said Jean; "if he'll no' stay ye'd better tak' -him awa' and hide him in a kent place. Tell him to stop there and we'll -maybe be able to look after him. Meantime," she said, seizing some -farles of oatcake and a large piece of cheese, "put this in yer pocket -and awa' after him. Maybe the fresh air will bring some sense to his -puir heid. An' here, tak' this plaid for him," and she lifted a plaid -from a hook behind the door. "He's got plenty o' the fire o' releegion -in his hert, but it winna keep his feet warm, and the nichts are cauld. -And, Andra, tak' care o' yersel', and dinna be runnin' ony risks. It's -a' very weel to dee for the Cause, but it would be a peety if a -level-heided man like you were to lose your life in tryin' to save a -puir daft wean. Haste ye, man, or he'll be in Ayrshire afore ye catch -him." - -Andrew sprang after him, turning when some steps from the door to say, -"I'll be back before nicht. God keep ye a'." - -We stood, a little group of three, just outside the threshold watching -the pursuit, and before they twain had passed out of sight Andrew had -caught the young man and taken him by the arm, as though to quiet him. - -"Losh peety me," said Jean, as she turned to go indoors, "what a puir -bairn. I wonder wha his mither is?" - -The afternoon dragged wearily on. From time to time I made my way to -the foot of the loaning and, hidden by a thorn bush, anxiously scanned -the country-side. There were no troopers to be seen. - -In the kitchen Mary and her mother were busily engaged with household -tasks, and I sat on the settle watching them. We did not speak much, -for heavy dread had laid its hand upon us all. The hours moved on -leaden feet. - -On gossamer wings an amber-banded bee buzzed in, teasing the passive air -with its drone as it whirred out again. The "wag-at-the-wa'" ticked -monotonously. On the hill-side the whaups were calling, and nearer at -hand one heard the lowing of the cows. A speckled hen brooding in the -sand before the door, spread her wings and, ruffling her -breast-feathers, threw up a cloud of tawny dust. Somewhere in the -stack-yard a cock crew, and with clamour of quacking a column of ducks -waddled past the doorway to the burn-side. When her baking was over, -Jean, wiping the meal from her hands, went out into the open. Mary came -and sat on the settle beside me, and as I took her hand it felt -strangely cold. I sought to cheer her. - -After a few minutes Jean returned. "There's naething to be seen ava," -she said. "There's nae sign o' the troopers, nor o' Andra. I wish he -were safe at hame." - -I hastened to assure her that there was nothing to be feared for Andrew. -Witless though the demented lad might be, in build and strength he was -no match for Andrew, should he be seized with frenzy and endeavour to -attack his guide. - -"I suppose ye're richt. As a rule I ha'e mair common-sense, but I'm -anxious." - -Mary joined her counsel to mine. "He'll be a' richt, mither," she said: -"it's no' yet six o'clock," and rising, she went out to call the cows. -Her sweet voice thrilled the silent air: "Hurley, hurley." - -When she had gone I made my way to the foot of the loaning again and -from the shelter of the thorn-bush studied the landscape. - -It lay, an undulating picture of beauty, in the mellow light of the -early evening--purple and golden and green. No dragoons were in sight. - -When I reached the house again I found that Jean was no longer there. -Thinking that she had gone to search for Andrew, I hastened to look for -her, and by and by discovered her standing upon the top of a hillock on -the edge of the moor. As I drew near she exclaimed: "Whatever can be -keepin' him?" Together we stood and scanned the distance. Far as the -eye could reach we could discern no human being. I tried, with -comforting words, to still the turmoil of Jean's heart. - -"I'm an auld fule," she said, "but when ye've had a man o' yer ain for -mair than thirty year, it mak's ye gey anxious if ye think he is in -danger. Ye see, my mither had 'the sicht,' and sometimes I think I've -got it tae. But come awa' back to the hoose: the milkin' will be ower -and it maun be near supper-time." - -We returned, and found Mary preparing the evening meal. We gathered -round the table, and though each of us tried to talk the meal was almost -a silent one. The "wag-at-the-wa'" ticked off the relentless minutes; -the sun sank to his rest; the night came, and still there was no sign of -Andrew. - -The slow-footed moments dogged each other by and still he did not come. -When the hands of the clock marked the hour of ten, I rose and went to -the door. The night was still; the stars looked down on the thatched -roof of Daldowie, heedless of the dread that brooded over it. I -strained my ears to catch any sound of approaching footsteps, but all -was silent as the grave. I rejoined Jean and Mary beside the fire. -They were gazing anxiously into its embers. Mary lifted her eyes with a -question flashing from them. I shook my head, and she turned her gaze -once more on the glowing hearth. - -"Whatever can be keepin' the man?" said Jean, looking up suddenly. -"It's nearly ten oors sin' he left us. Mary," she said, turning to her -daughter and speaking firmly, "ye'd better awa' to your bed. Your -faither'll be vexed if he sees ye sittin' up for him; but afore ye gang, -bring me the Book." Adjusting her horn-rimmed spectacles she said, -"We'll juist ha'e the readin'," and opening the Book she read the 46th -Psalm. When she had finished she took her spectacles off and wiped them -with her apron. "I feel better noo," she said. "I ha'e been a silly, -faithless woman. Whatever would Andra think o' me, his wife, if he kent -the way I ha'e been cairryin' op this day. He'll be back a' richt afore -lang. Gang your ways tae bed, Mary." - -Mary took the Book from her mother and bore it to its accustomed place -on the dresser. Then she came back and standing behind her mother -placed a hand upon each cheek and tilting the careworn face upward, -kissed her upon the forehead. With a demure "Good night" to me, she was -about to go, but I sprang up and, clasping her to me, kissed her. Her -cheeks were pale and cold, but the ardour of my lips brought a glow to -them ere I let her escape. - -Her mother and I sat by the fire so wrapt in thought that we did not -observe how it was beginning to fail; but at last I noticed it and -picking up fresh peats laid them upon the embers. - -"Losh," said Jean, starting from her seat, "what a fricht ye gi'ed me. -I thocht I was a' by my lane, and I was thinkin' o' the auld days when -first I cam' to Daldowie as its mistress. Happy days they were, and -when the bairns cam'--happier still! Ah me!" She lapsed into silence -again, and when next she moved she turned to the clock. "Dear, dear," -she said, reading its signal through the gathering darkness; "it's -half-ane on the nock and he's no' back yet. I'm thinkin' he maun ha'e -ta'en shelter in some hidie-hole himsel', fearfu' lest he should lose -his way in the nicht. Gang awa' up to the laft and lay ye doon: your -e'en are heavy wi' sleep. I'll be a' richt here by my lane. And mind -ye this, if, when Andra comes back in the mornin', he has no' a guid -excuse for ha'ein kept me up waitin' for him, I'll gi'e him the rough -edge o' my tongue. Mark my words, I will that!" - -At the risk of offending her, I refused to obey her. "No," I said, "that -would not be seemly. I'll keep watch with you. While you sleep I shall -keep awake, and when I sleep you shall keep vigil." - -"Weel," she said, "you sleep first. I'll waken ye when I feel like gaun -to sleep mysel'." - -I closed my eyes, and though I fought against sleep, the drowsy warmth -overcame me. - -When I woke, I felt stiff and cold. The grey light was already -beginning to filter in through the windows and beneath the door. The -cock was welcoming the sunrise. I looked at the clock. It was -half-past four, and Jean was sitting with her elbows upon her knees and -her face buried in her hands. She raised her head and looked at me. - -"Why did you not wake me?" I asked. - -"I couldna ha'e slept in ony case," she answered shortly. "Listen! Is -that him comin'?" - -Together we listened, but no sound broke the stillness, till once again -the cock crew shrilly. I went to the door and threw it open. The -morning air smote on my face, and the long draughts which I breathed -woke my half slumbering brain. Jean came and stood beside me, and -together we looked towards the moor; but there was no sign of Andrew. - -"The morning has come now," I said, "and if he had to take shelter for -the night, he will soon be afoot again and ere long we shall be -welcoming him home." - -"I hope sae," she said. "Meantime, I had better get the parritch ready. -When he does come hame he'll be gey near famished, and we'll be nane the -waur o' something to eat oorsel's." - -We turned to the door again, and as we did so I heard footsteps, and, -looking in, saw Mary. Her face was grey with weariness, and dark rings -encircled her beautiful eyes. Her quick wit read our faces and ere I -could speak she exclaimed, her voice trembling: - -"Is he no' back yet? Whatever can ha'e happened to him? I maun go and -find him," and hastening to the door she gazed eagerly out. - -"No," said her mother, "he's no' back yet; but I'm thinkin' he canna be -lang noo." - -"Are ye sure, mither, are ye sure, or are ye juist guessin'?" she cried. -"Oh, where can he be?" - -"Mary," said her mother sternly, "it's time to milk the kye. Gang awa -tae your duty, and if he's no' hame by the time the parritch is ready, -ye can gang an' look for him; but meantime, control yersel'." - -"Oh, mither," she sobbed, "it's faither. He may ha'e slipped and broken -his leg, or he may ha'e fallen into a bog. Mither, mither!" and she -clasped her hands nervously, "we maun dae something. We canna' bide -like this, an' no' ken." - -I sought to comfort her with gentle words. - -Of that loathly dread which lay most heavily upon our hearts, not one of -us spoke. Mary, her heart on fire, had spoken for us all, but -her-mother did not allow her anxiety to shake her firm common-sense. - -"A' that ye say may be true, lassie," she said, "but ye'll no' be as -weel able to look for your faither if ye gang withoot your parritch. -Get the kye milket, and when ye've had your breakfast, if Andra is no' -back, ye'd better gang and look for him." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIII* - - *THE SEARCH* - - -During the morning meal we discussed what was to be done. None of us -knew to which hiding-place Andrew had taken the fugitive. There were, -however, two possibilities; he might have taken him to a remote corner -of the moor which Mary knew, whither, on occasion, she had aforetime -borne food to some hidden fugitive. I had never been to this -hiding-place, but I knew the way to the hill-top where my own retreat -had been. In the end, we decided that Jean should remain at Daldowie, -while Mary made her way across the moor to the one hiding-place and I -went to the other. Jean would fain have joined in the search, but we -made her see the wisdom of remaining at the farm. - -"I suppose you're richt," she said, "but it's dreary wark sittin' idle." - -I seized my stick, Mary threw her plaid over her shoulders, and together -we were about to set out, when Jean spoke suddenly. - -"Can ye cry like a whaup?" she asked, addressing herself to me. - -"Yes," said Mary, "I had forgotten; that is the sign--three whaup calls -and a pause while you can count ten, then twa whaup calls and a pause -again, then three whaup calls aince mair. That," she said, "is a signal -that we settled on long ago," and pursing her mouth she gave a whaup -call so clear and true that it might have come from the throat of a -bird. - -"Yes," I said, "I can cry like a whaup. But when am I to use the -signal?" - -"You had best try it every now and then; for somewhere on the way it may -reach the ears of Andra. He'll ken it an' answer ye in the same way, -and ye'll ken you've found him." - -Mary took her mother in her arms and kissed her. If she had been given -to tears I know that her eyes would have brimmed over then; but the -brave old woman bore herself stoutly. - -"Ye'll tak' care o' yoursels, bairns," she said, "and even if ye -shouldna find Andra, be sure to come back afore nicht. If you dinna -meet him on the hills, you'll likely find him at his ain fireside when -ye get back again." - -So we set out. For a time our paths led in the same direction and when -we came to the edge of the moor Mary sent her whaup calls sailing -through the morning air. We waited, but there was no reply; then we -walked on together. She was very quiet, and anything I could find to -say seemed strangely empty: but I slipped my arm through hers and she -returned its pressure gently, so that I knew she could hear my heart -speak. All too soon we came to the place where we must separate. - -"That," she said, "is where I found you," and she pointed to a green -patch among the heather. - -"Come," I said, and we left the path for a moment and stood together -there. In the hush of the morning, with no witness but the larks above -us, I took her in my arms and kissed her passionately. "Here," I said, -"life and love came to me: and happiness beyond all telling,"--and I -kissed her again. - -She nestled to me for a moment, then shyly drew herself away. "Has it -meant a' that to you?" she whispered. "Then what has it meant to me? It -has brocht love into my life, beloved, and love is of God." - -I folded her in my arms again, and held her. A little tremor shook her -as I bent and kissed her on the brow and eyes and lips. "Flower of the -Heather, God keep you," I said. On my little finger was a silver ring. -It bore the crest of my house. I drew it off, and taking Mary's hand in -mine I slipped it upon her finger and kissed it as it rested there. "For -love's sweet sake," I said. - -She gazed at her finger and then looked at me archly, her wonted -playfulness awaking. "I wonder what faither will say? He'll read me a -sermon, nae doot, on setting my affections on the things o' this world; -but I winna care. A' I want is to find him; and if he likes he can -preach at me till the crack o' doom." - -I smiled at her upturned face. "And when we find him, Mary, as find him -we will, I will ask him to let me marry you." - -A light flashed in her eyes that all morning had been strained and sad. -"Let's find him quick," she said. "Noo we maun awa. That is your road, -and this is mine. Good-bye, and God bless you," and she lifted her face -to me. - -I would fain have prolonged the happy moment, but reason prompted me to -be strong, so I bent and kissed her fondly, little dreaming of all the -sorrow that the future held. At the end she showed herself to be more -resolute than I was, for it was she who tore herself away. I watched as -she sped lightly over the tussocks of heather like a young fawn, then I -turned and took the path she had indicated to me, a path which I had -blindly followed amidst storm and lightning once before. Ere I had gone -far I turned to follow her with my eyes, and as I watched she turned to -look for me. I waved my hand to her, and she waved back to me. The -sunlight fell on that dear head of hers and, even across the distance, I -could see the brown of her hair and the witching coil of gold set like -an aureole above her forehead. - -I plodded forward steadily, looking to right and left and from time to -time uttering the whaup call. But there was no answer; nor did I -anywhere see sign of Andrew. When I turned again to look for Mary she -had passed out of sight and, though I scanned the distance eagerly, I -could catch no glimpse of her. - -My path had begun to lead me up the hills and as I went I was conscious -that the strength of my injured limb was not all that I had thought. On -the level it served me well enough, but on the slopes the strain began -to tell. I was not to be beaten, however, by mere physical pain and -struggled on with all the spirit I could command, though my progress was -hindered seriously. It was close to noon when I came to the place of -the hill-meeting where I had first seen Mary face to face. I clambered -down into the hollow. It was a place of hallowed memories. In the hope -that Andrew might be near, I uttered the whaup call: but there was no -reply. I sat down, and took from my pocket some of the food with which -Jean had provided me, and as I ate I pondered. I was not yet half way to -my destination and the portion of the road that lay before me was harder -far than that along which I had come. I judged that in my crippled -state it would be evening before I could reach the loch-side, and to -return to Daldowie again that day would be impossible. I dared not go -back without having completed my search. To fail of accomplishing my -part of the quest would be disloyalty to the friends to whom I owed my -life. - -My absence for a night would doubtless cause them anxiety, and as I -thought of Mary's pain I was sore tempted to abandon my search and turn -back to Daldowie at once. But I remembered my debt to Andrew and -determined that at all costs I should see this matter through to the -end. - -Possibly Andrew was lying somewhere in my path with a broken limb such -as I myself had sustained, and if I abandoned the search, his death -would be upon my head. When I considered what Mary would think of me in -such a case, shame smote me; so, without more ado, I set out again and -battled on until, as the sun began to climb down the western sky, I -found myself within sight of the loch. - -Always the twilight hour is the hour of memories, and as I made what -haste I could towards the great sheet of water they crowded in upon me. -There, on the right, was the hiding-place which had afforded me shelter -for so many nights: there on a memorable day I had caught sight of Mary, -remote yet bewitching: there, on the other side, was the place where -Alexander Main lay sleeping. Then I remembered the mission upon which I -had come and uttered the whaup call. The sound was flung back by some -echoing rock, but there was no response from any human throat. Again I -uttered it, but no answer came; Andrew was not here. I made my way -round the end of the loch and sought the little cairn of stones beneath -which rested the body of my friend. Taking my bonnet off, I bent -reverently above the little mound. He had given his life for me. Had I -yet shown myself worthy of such sacrifice? I plucked a handful of early -heather, purple in the dying light, and laid it among the grey stones of -the cairn. Purple is the colour of kings. Then I stole away, and once -more uttered the whaup call; but there was no answer, save that some -mere-fowl rose from the surface of the lake and on flittering, splashing -wings, furrowing the water, fled from my presence. - -I sought the place where I had hidden aforetime and where but for my -friend I should have been captured by the dragoons. It was undisturbed. -No one, apparently, had made use of it since I had been there. In my -weary state and with my aching limb, it was useless to try to return to -Daldowie in the darkness. Haply Andrew was already safe, with Mary and -Jean, by his own fireside. I pictured them sitting there; I saw them at -the taking of the Book; I heard Mary's voice leading the singing, and I -knew that to-night they would be singing a psalm of thanksgiving. I -heard again, as I had so often heard when lying in the garret above the -kitchen, the scrape of the chairs upon the flagged floor as the -worshippers knelt to commit themselves to the care of the Eternal -Father: and I knew that somewhere in his petitions Andrew would remember -me; and his petition would rise on the soft wings of Mary's faith and -soar above the high battlements of heaven, straight to the ear of God. - -I wondered whether my absence would distress them. Mary, I knew, would -be on the rack of anxiety. Her mother, no doubt, would be anxious too: -but their anxiety would be tempered by the wise counsel of Andrew who -would point out to them, no doubt with emphasis, and possibly with some -tart comment on the witlessness of women, that it was not to be expected -that I, a lamiter, could accomplish such a long journey in the space -between daylight and sunsetting. I could hear him say: "I could ha'e -tellt ye afore he started. The lad's a' richt; but it's a lang road, -and would tax even me, an' auld as I am I'm a better man than Bryden ony -day." - -As I pondered these things the darkness fell, lit by a myriad -scintillant stars which mirrored themselves in the depths of the lake so -that as I sat there I seemed to be in the centre of a great hollow -sphere, whose roof and floor were studded with innumerable diamonds. -For a time I sat feasting my eyes on this enchanting spectacle; then I -crawled into my hiding-place and pillowing my head on a sheaf of dead -bracken leaves I composed myself to sleep. I slept heavily and when I -awoke the hour of dawn was long past. Some old instinct made me push -aside the overhanging fronds with a wary hand and peep out cautiously; -but there was nothing to be seen except the great rolling hillside. As -of old, the laughing waters of the loch called to me, and soon I was -revelling in their refreshing coolness. - -When I had clambered out I scampered along the edge of the loch till I -was dry, then putting on my clothing I sat down and breakfasted. I had -not much food left; hardly enough to blunt my appetite, but I hoped that -I should be able to make good speed on the homeward journey, and that in -a few hours I should once again rejoin the expectant household at -Daldowie. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIV* - - *BAFFLED* - - -My meal over I went to the loch-side, and dropping on my hands and knees -took a long draught of the cool water. Then, raising myself, I uttered -the whaup call, but I did not expect any answer and I received none. I -looked across the loch to the little cairn that stood sentinel above the -sainted dead, and then I turned and made for home and Mary. - -I climbed up the slope to my left and scanned the moor. For miles and -miles it spread before me, but far as the eye could reach there was no -one to be seen. Then the spell of the solitude fell upon me, and I began -to understand how, in the dawn of the world, the dim-seeing soul of man -had stretched out aching hands in the lone places of the earth if haply -it might find God. - -The mood passed, and I prepared to haste me on my journey. Taking my -bearings carefully, I decided to make straight for Daldowie. The ache -in my injured limb had abated and I found that I could make fair speed. -My heart was light; I was going back to Mary, and I should find Andrew -safe. The larks above me were storming the heavens with their song; my -heart was singing too; and soon my lips were singing as well. I sang a -love-song--one of Mary's songs--and as I sang I smiled to think that I -was practising the art of what Andrew had called "speaking like a -ceevilised body." - -Midday came, as the sun above me proclaimed, and I judged that already I -was half-way home, when suddenly, in the distance, I saw some moving -figures. The wariness of a hill-man flung me at once upon my face, and -peering through a tuft of sheltering heather, I looked anxiously towards -them. - -They were mounted men, and I saw that they were troopers. I counted -them anxiously. They were searching the moor in open order and I was -able to make out a dozen of them. They were between me and Daldowie. -Had they seen me? Were they coming in my direction? Breathless I -watched. I knew that if they had seen me, they would put spurs to their -horses and come galloping towards me. They made no sign--I had not been -noticed. I was lying in the open with nothing to hide me but the tuft -of heather through which I peered. There was not enough cover there to -hide a moor fowl, but close at hand was a bush of broom, and worming -myself towards it, I crawled under it and lay hidden. - -To the unskilled eye, the distance across the rolling face of a moor is -hard to measure, but I judged the dragoons were at least a mile from me. - -As I watched I saw them gather together in a cluster. Had they found -Andrew, or might it be the poor demented lad whom Andrew had risked his -life to hide, or was it some other hunted hill-man? My ears were taut -with expectation as I waited for the rattle of muskets; but I was wrong. -I saw the troopers fling themselves from the saddles and in a moment a -little column of smoke began to steal into the air, and I knew that they -had off-saddled to make their mid-day meal. That gave me a respite, and -I thought hurriedly what I had best do. Should I endeavour to worm my -way further afield until I might with safety rise to my feet and race -back to my old hiding-place beside the loch? - -Almost I felt persuaded to do so, then I remembered that this would -place a greater distance between myself and Mary, and she herself might -be in danger. A chilling fear seized me. What was it I had heard of -Lag? Was it not that he and his dragoons had gone further west, and -were quartered again at Wigtown? If that were so, then possibly the -dragoons before me were Winram's men, and the promise of protection -given by Lag to the good folk of Daldowie would no longer hold. The -horror of it! What could I do? My fears had taken such hold on me that -my strength ebbed, and I was as water poured out upon the ground. It was -not fear for myself that unmanned me, but a torturing anxiety for Mary's -safety. The hour of their midday meal seemed endless. So long as they -rested I was safe, and yet, with a strange perversity, I longed for the -moment when once again they should mount their horses and continue their -quest. Anxiously I looked up at the sun. Already he was past the -meridian and I breathed a sigh of relief. In his haste lay my safety, -for the close of day would bring the search to an end, for a time at -least, and then I could return to my loved one. - -At last I saw the troopers climb into their saddles. Was it fancy, or -did my eyes deceive me? They seemed to have altered the direction of -their search. Spreading out across the moor, trampling every bit of -heather under foot, they searched eagerly, but their backs were towards -me. I breathed again, for if they did not change their course once -more, I should remain undiscovered. - -The moments went by on leaden feet, but the sun marched steadily on -through the sky. Still the troopers quartered and requartered the same -tract of moor, and still, to all seeming, their quest was fruitless. I -found myself wondering what they were looking for. Was it a quest at a -venture, or were they searching for the boy who, two days ago, had found -shelter at Daldowie? Two days ago! Was that all? It seemed far -longer. What was Mary doing now? It was drawing near the time of the -milking. Perhaps at this very moment she was out on the hill-side -bringing in the cows. Dear little Mary: I could hear her call them -home: see her tripping winsomely along the hill-side. My heart cried -out to her. - -The sound of a whistle cut the air and the dragoons turned their horses. -It was the signal for their home-going, and a strange voice which I did -not know for mine, though it issued from my lips, said "Thank God." - -I watched till the last scarlet coat had disappeared before I ventured -to bestir myself and it was not until nearly an hour had elapsed that I -ventured to resume my journey. With all wariness, I hurried through the -gathering dusk. Ere long I came to the place where the black remnants -of the dragoons' fire still lay like an ugly splash upon the moor. I -passed it by and hurried on. Only a few short miles now separated me -from Daldowie. Before me lay a little hill. Bravely I breasted it, -full of hope that once over it I should be within eye-range of home, but -when I reached its summit I saw a sight that once again made me fling -myself flat on my face. Some two miles away a fire was burning, and -clearcut against its light I could see the dark shadows of men and -horses. Danger still confronted me. For some reason the troopers were -bivouacking upon the moor, right upon the path which I must follow if I -would reach Daldowie, There was nothing for it but to steal down the -hill-side and seek a resting-place. As I stole away, I bethought myself -that in all likelihood they were camping there in order to continue -their search on the morrow. With this in mind, it seemed to me that my -chief hope of safety lay in hiding myself somewhere on that portion of -the waste which they had examined with such care already. So I made for -the place where their fire had been, and, using it as a landmark, I -struck off at a right angle. A mile away, where the trampled heather -proclaimed that it had been well searched, I found a resting-place and -lay down to sleep. - -Soon after dawn I was awake again. I turned over and peered out -cautiously. Nowhere could I see any trace of the troopers, but the -morning was yet young, and I judged that it was too early for them to be -far afield. I had little doubt that ere long they would come again and -I dared not stir from my place lest I should be seen. The morning hours -dragged wearily by. The moor was still, save for a trailing wind, and -all was silent but for the song of the lark, the cry of the peewit and -the melancholy wail of the whaup. - -At last the sun reached the meridian, and I ventured forth from my -hiding-place. Stealthily I crept along until I reached the crest of the -hill, from which I had descried the bivouac of the dragoons. I -stretched myself flat upon its summit, and looked anxiously down. The -bivouac fire was quenched; there was no sign of horse or trooper. I -looked to every point of the compass, but all was vacant moor. Whither -the troopers had gone I could not tell, nor did I care so long as they -had gone from the path that led me to my Mary. - -So, with heart uplifted, I proceeded on my way, slowly at first and -cautiously, but gradually gaining speed. By and by I came to the place -where they had bivouacked and found close at hand a rush-grown deep pool -of water. On hands and knees I lapped the cool liquid, and then I laved -my face and hands and felt refreshed and clean. In less than an hour -now, Mary would be in my arms. The thought lent new strength to my -limbs. Almost I ventured to burst into song again, but I knew that -would be madness. So, though my heart was singing a madrigal, my lips -kept silence. - -At last I came within sight of the hill where the sheep were pastured. -I looked at it lovingly. It was the first thing to welcome me home; but -as I looked I saw no sheep upon it. But what of that? Probably during -the three days of my absence, Andrew had taken them to some other -hill-side. I hastened on. Before me lay the green slope from which many -a time I had helped Mary to gather in the cows. I scanned it eagerly, -half expecting to see her, sweet as a flower, but she was not there. -Mayhap at this moment she was busy at the milking. In fancy I heard her -singing at her task. Only a few more steps and I should see the kindly -thatched roof of that little moorland farm that sheltered her I loved. -O Mary mine! - - - - - *CHAPTER XXV* - - *THE SHATTERING OF DREAMS* - - -Love smote me and I ran. In a moment I was within sight of the house. -Then horror struck me; the house was gone, and there was but a pointed -gable wall, blackened by smoke, and beside it a great dark mass which -still smouldered in the afternoon sunlight. - -I stood for a moment turned to stone, then dashed forward. The air was -acrid with the smell of burning straw. What devil's work had been afoot -while I was on the moors? Had Lag been false to his promise, or had -Winram done this thing? What had happened to Mary, to her mother, to -Andrew? Where could they be? Were they alive or dead? As these -questions flamed in my tortured mind I walked rapidly round the still -smouldering ruins of the house. If murder had been done, surely there -would be some sign. Eagerly I looked on every side; then I peered into -the heart of the ruins. Horror of horrors! God in heaven!--what did I -see? Half buried among the grey-black ashes was a charred and grinning -skull. The lower jaw had dropped away and the socket where the eyes had -been gaped hideously. I sprang upon the smouldering mass. My feet sank -into the thick ashes, which burned me, but I cared not. There was -mystery here, and horror! I stirred the ashes with my stick, and -beneath them found a charred skeleton, so burned that no vestige of -clothing or of flesh was left upon it. As I stood aghast, the wind -descended from the hills and lifted a great cloud of black dust into the -air. It swirled about me and blew into my eyes so that, for a moment, I -was blinded. Then the wind passed, and with smarting eyes I saw two -other skeletons. - -Mary!--the heart of my heart, the light of my life, my loved one--Mary -was dead! Tears blinded me. I tried to call her name--my voice was -broken with sobbing: my whole body trembled. I stooped and reverently -separated the ashes with my hands. What though they burned me, I cared -not. Was not Mary dead? Nothing else mattered. - -The fire had done its work thoroughly. There was no vestige of clothing -or flesh left upon the bones; but on one of the skulls, which was surely -that of Mary's mother, there was a hole drilled clean, and I knew then -that the cruelty of the persecutors had been tempered with mercy. I -knew what had happened: Andrew and Jean and Mary--sweet Mary--had been -shot in cold blood, and then their bodies had been cast into the blazing -furnace of their old home. So this was the King's Justice! Oh, the -cruelty insensate, vile and devilish. I continued blindly to rake among -the ashes. Then as they dropped through my fingers something remained -in my hand. I looked. It was a ring, half melted by the flames; the -ring I had given to Mary. I pressed it to my trembling lips. My sobs -choked me: my heart was breaking. - -Half mad with grief I stepped from among the ashes on to the scorched -grass. A fit of hopeless desolation seized me. All the dreams which, -but a week ago, I had so fondly cherished had vanished into nothingness. -Had I anything to live for now? Would it not be better to go out into -the hills and seek some company of fiendish dragoons and declare myself -to be a Covenanter--and die as my friends had done? If there were -anything in the faith of Alexander Main and of Andrew and Jean and Mary, -that would mean reunion with her whom I loved. But what was the good? -There was no heaven. It was all an empty lie. There was no -God!--nothing but devils--and the earth was Hell. - -The mood of anger passed, and there came a storm of grief such as I have -never known. Physical pain I knew of old, but this torture of the -spirit was infinitely more cruel than any bodily suffering I had ever -experienced. I threw myself down on the ground and for a long space lay -with my face buried in my hands. I tried to think that as I lay there -Mary's spirit was beside me. I spoke to her in little whispers of love -and stretched out aching arms to enfold her; but no answering whisper -came out of the void, and my arms closed about the empty air. I lay long -in my agony. - -Then I bethought myself of my state. Here I had found life and hope and -love; and now hope and love had been rudely stolen from me, and only the -ashes of life remained. Let me up and away and forget! But could I -ever forget? Would I ever wish to forget the spell of Mary's voice, the -roguish witchery of her eyes, the sweet tenderness of her lips? So long -as life should last, I should remember. - -I lifted my face to the sky. A myriad stars sparkled there, like the -dust of diamonds, and one star shone brighter than all the rest. I -called it Mary's star. It was a childish fancy; but it gave me comfort, -and of comfort I had sore need. Then I began to consider what I had -best do. I should remain no longer in this tortured and persecuted -country. It would avail me nothing to remain. Mary was dead: Scotland -was nothing to me now. - -I rose to my feet. I was chilled to the bone and grief had sapped my -strength. My ears caught the sound of trickling water. I was parched -with thirst. I made my way to the water-pipe where many a time I had -helped Mary to fill her pail, and bending down I let the cool jet splash -into my mouth, and washed my hands and face. - -I had grown calmer now and was able to think more clearly and to fix my -mind upon my purposes. At daybreak I should set out. In a few days I -should be over the Border. And if, on my way, I met a company of -dragoons, the worst they could do would be the best for me and I should -be content to die. - -Slowly I made my way to the stack-yard. Here I scooped out a -resting-place in one of the stacks, and covering myself up with the warm -hay I tried to sleep. But with my spirit on the rack of agony sleep was -denied me so, after a time, I climbed out of my hiding-place and kept -vigil beside the ashes of my beloved. As I sat with the tears stealing -down my cheeks memory after memory came back to me. I recalled the -sweet sound of Mary's voice--her dainty winsomeness. I thought of -Jean--the warm-hearted, shrewd, and ever kindly: and of Andrew--dour, -upright, generous. These were my friends--no man ever had better: and -Mary was my beloved. And now I was bereft and desolate. Just there--I -could see the place in the dark--she had stood, a dainty shadow poised -on tip-toe, and had blown me a kiss with either hand. And now I was -alone, with none but the silent stars to see my anguish. What was it -Mary had said?--"I wouldna lose the love for the sorrow that may lie in -its heart." I had tasted the chalice of love--now I was drinking the -bitter cup of sorrow to the dregs. - -When morning broke I made ready for my journey. I turned to go, then -torn by love stood in tears beside the dear dust of her whom I had lost. -Then, as though an iron gate had fallen between my past and me, I strode -down the loaning. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVI* - - *HECTOR THE PACKMAN* - - -When the rude hand of calamity has blotted the light from a man's life -all things change. The sun shone over me--but I resented his -brightness. The birds, sang cheerfully--but there was dirge in my -heart. Now and then a wayfarer passed me--but he seemed to belong to -another world than mine. I had nothing in common with him. My soul was -among the blackened ruins of Daldowie, where Mary, the light of my eyes, -and Jean and Andrew my loyal friends slept, united in death as they had -been in life. I envied their peace. - -Sometimes as I walked I stumbled--tears blinding me. My life was a -barren waste--my heart a desolation. Nothing mattered--Mary was dead. -So, in a maze of torturing thoughts I journeyed till, some four days -after leaving Daldowie--I have no memory of the precise time--I gathered -from a passer-by that I was only seven miles from Dumfries. Before me, -huddled together on the left side of the road, was a cluster of -cottages. From their roofs steel-blue clouds of smoke were rising. The -atmosphere was one of quiet peace, and with my eyes set upon the brown -road before me I plodded wearily on. The highway was bordered on each -side by a low hedge, when suddenly that on my right hand came to an end -and gave place to a green tongue of grassy lawn, which divided the road -upon which I was walking from another that swept away to the right. When -I came abreast of this grassy promontory, I saw that it was occupied by -a man. He sat under the shade of a beech tree; a pipe was between his -lips and in his left hand he held a little leather-covered book. An -open pack lay beside him. The sound of my footsteps caught his ear and -he turned towards me and looked at me with a pair of cold grey eyes. - -"A very good day to you," he said, and I halted to return his -salutation. "I wonder if you can help me," he continued. "Ha'e you the -Latin?" The unexpected nature of the question startled me, awaking me -from my torpor, and I asked him to repeat himself. "It's this wey," he -said: "this wee bookie is the work o' a Latin poet ca'd Horace, a quaint -chiel, but ane o' my familiars. Now I was juist passin' a pleasant -half-'oor wi' him, and I ha'e come across a line or twa that I canna get -the hang o' ava. But if ye ha'ena the Latin, ye'll no' be able to help -me." - -"Maybe I can help," I answered, and walking towards him I seated myself -by his side. - -"It's this bit," he said, laying his forefinger on the place. I took -the little volume, and, after pausing for a moment to pick up some -knowledge of the context, I suggested a rendering. - -"Dod, man," he said, "ye've got it. That mak's sense, and is nae doot -what Horace had in his heid. Let's hear a bit mair o't." I proceeded to -translate a little more when he stopped me saying, "No, no, let's ha'e -the Latin first; and then I'll be better able to follow ye." - -With memories of Balliol swelling within me, I proceeded to do as he -bade me. I read to the end of the ode and was about to translate it -when he broke in: - -"I see," he said, "you're an Oxford man; sic' pronunciation never fell -frae the lips o' ane o' Geordie Buchanan's school." - -I felt my disguise drop from me before the piercing intuition of this -strange wayfarer and for a moment I was at a loss how to protect myself. -"Possibly," I said, "my pronunciation may be of the Oxford school, but, -be that as it may, you surprise me. One hardly expects to come across a -packman who reads the classics." - -"No," he said, "there is only ae Hector the packman, and that's me. -Ever since I took to the road I have aye carried a volume o' Horace in -my pack. Mony a time I ha'e found comfort in his philosophy. I am only -a packman, but I ha'e ambitions. Can ye guess the greatest o' them?" - -"To own a shop in Dumfries," I said. - -A look of distress crossed his face. - -"Na, na," he said. "Something far better." He bent towards his open -pack and rummaged among its contents, and as he did so I observed--what -hitherto had escaped my notice--that he had a wooden leg. His right knee -was bent at an angle and his foot was doubled up behind his thigh, as -though his knee-joint had been fixed in that position by disease or -injury; and the bend of his knee was fixed in the bucket of a wooden -stump. "Here they are," he said, and he held up a bundle of small -paper-covered books tied together with a tape. "Here they are. Now can -ye no' see the degradation it is for a man like me to hawk sic trash -aboot the country." - -I took the bundle and, looking at the title-page of the uppermost book, -read _The Lovers' Dream-Book, being a True and Reliable Interpretation -of Dreams by Joseph the Seer_. I looked at the second. It was _The -Farmer's Almanac_, and the third was _The Wife of Wigtown_. - -"They're what we ca' chap-books," he said. "I sell them at a penny the -piece, but they're awfu' rubbish. Now my ambition is to improve the -taste in letters o' the country folk. For mony a year it has been my -hope and intention to lay mysel' on and produce a _magnum opus_. Now -hoo dae ye think this would look on a title page?--'Selections from Odes -of Horace done into braid Scots by Hector the Packman,' or 'The Wisdom -of Virgil on Bees and Bee-keeping by the same author.' Man, I'm -thinkin', for a work like that, I micht get a doctorate frae ane o' the -Universities. Ay, I maun lay masel' on when next winter comes." He -rummaged once more among the contents of his pack, and picked out a pot, -the mouth of which was covered with a piece of parchment. "You'll ha'e -heard tell o' my magical salve; an infallible cure for boils or blains -in man or beast--it cures as it draws: a soothing balm for burnt -fingers: and a cream that confers upon a lassie's cheek the tender -saftness o' the rose." He removed the parchment and exhibited the -ointment. With his forefinger he transferred a piece of the unguent to -the back of his left hand and rubbed it in. In a moment he held his hand -up to me--"Did ye ever see onything like that? Every particle o' it is -gone. Think o' the benefit that sic' a salve maun confer upon the human -epiderm. I sent the King a pot last year up to London, but I'm thinkin' -it has miscarried, for I ha'e never heard frae him yet. Man, there's a -widda woman in Locharbriggs: she's maybe thirty-five, but to look at her -you would say she was a lassie o' eighteen. What has done it? Hector's -magical salve! Her complexion is by-ordinar. Nae doot she was bonnie -afore, but my salve has painted the lily." - -How long he might have rambled on I know not. Our conversation was -suddenly interrupted by the clatter of horses approaching at a trot. To -our right I could see dimly the waters of a loch behind a fringe of -trees. The sound came from the road which bordered the water. In a -moment there swept round the corner of the loch and bore down upon us a -little company of grey-coated troopers mounted on grey horses. - -So this is the end, I thought, and braced myself for the ordeal well -content. At the head of the cavalcade rode a man with a long beard that -reached below his belt. I noticed that he wore no boots, but that his -feet, thrust through his stirrups, were covered with coarse grey -stockings. As he drew abreast of us, the packman, with wonderful -alacrity, sprang up and, bonnet in hand, advanced to the edge of the -road. - -"A very good day to you, Sir Thomas, a very good day," he said. - -The horseman drew rein. "Well, Hector," he said, "turning up again like -a bad penny! What news have you?" - -"Nane but the best, sir, nane but the best. I'm juist makin' for hame -frae the Rhinns o' Gallowa', and a' through the country-side there is -but ae opinion--that the iron hand o' Lag is crushing the heart oot o' -the Whigs." - -"That is good news, Hector, but juist what I expected. Rebels -understand only one argument, and that is the strong hand. It is the -only thing I put faith in, as mony a Whig kens to his cost." - -"Ye're richt, ye're richt, they ken ye weel. May I mak' sae bold as to -offer you a truss o' Virginia weed, Sir Thomas," and returning to his -pack he picked up a little bundle of tobacco and offered it to the -horseman, who took it and slipped it into his pocket. - -"A welcome gift, Hector, and I thank you for it. I hope it has paid -duty?" - -"Sir," said the packman deprecatingly, "and me a King's man!" - -The rider smiled, and turning his fierce eyes upon me, said, "Who is -your companion, Hector?" - -The fateful moment had come, and at that instant my life hung on the -thread of a spider's web. But my heart was glad within me. I should -find my Mary on the other side. The packman turned towards me: "Oh, -Joseph," he said, "he's a gangrel body like masel'. I ha'e been takin' -him roond the country wi' me to teach him the packman's job, so that -when I retire to devote masel' to the writin' o' books I can hand ower -the pack to him." - -The quick lie took my breath away. - -"Umph!" grunted the horseman, "and what's he readin' there?" Suddenly I -remembered that I still held the packman's Horace in my hand. "I hope -he's a King's man and that he is no' sittin' there wi' some Covenantin' -book in his kneive? Let me have a look at that book, young fellow." - -I rose and, approaching him, held out the little leather-bound volume. -As I did so I noticed his sharp-cut, flinty features, and a pair of -thick and surly lips half-hidden by the masses of hair on his face. He -turned the book over and found its title page. - -"Oh, I see, somebody's opera! Weel, he canna' be a Covenanter if he -reads operas." - -"Na," said Hector, "he's a King's man, and nae Whig. But I maunna delay -ye, Sir Thomas, I hope ye'll enjoy the Virginia weed. Guid day to ye, -sir." - -"Good day, Hector." The horseman urged his horse with his knees, and -the company, breaking into a trot, swept past and turned on to the main -road which led towards the village. - -As the last of the troopers swung round the corner, the packman donned -his bonnet, and sitting down spat after the departing cavalcade. -"Bloody Dalzell," he said, "the Russian Bear--a human deevil. Damn him!" - -The sudden change in the packman's demeanour astonished me. I looked at -him searchingly, but he had begun to arrange the contents of his bundle -before binding it up. - -"Why did you tell Sir Thomas such a string of lies about me?" I said. - -He chuckled softly and looked at me, his left eyelid drooping, his right -eye alertly wide. "I had ta'en a fancy to ye," he said, "and I was loth -to run the risk o' partin' wi' a scholar when a lee micht keep him. Hoo -dae I ken that ye're no a Covenanter? I was takin' nae chances. I -nearly laughed in his face when Sir Thomas, the ignorant sumph, thocht -ye were readin' a book o' operas. That's a guid ane! Mony a laugh I'll -ha'e in the lang winter nichts when I remember it. I'm no' askin' ye -wha or what ye are. You ha'e the Latin and I jalouse ye're an -Englishman: but till it pleases ye to tell me something aboot yersel', I -ken nae mair." - -As he talked he was pulling his coarse linen covering over his pack. He -buckled the broad strap which held it together, and continued: "I -suppose ye're makin' for Dumfries. So am I, but I'm no' travellin' the -direct road. I'm haudin' awa' roon' by the loch to New Abbey. I aye -like to visit the Abbey. They ca' it the Abbey o' Dulce Cor--a bonnie -name and it commemorates a bonnie romance." - -My interest was awakened, and I asked him to tell me more. - -"Ay," he said, "it's a bonnie tale, and guid to remember. I wonder if -the widda at Locharbriggs would dae as much for me as Devorgilla did for -her man. Nae doot ye ha'e heard o' her. I am credibly informed that -she built a college at Oxford, and dootless ye ken she built the brig at -Dumfries. But she did better than that, for when her man deid she -carried his heart aboot wi' her in a' her travels in a silver casket. -She built the Abbey o' Dulce Cor to his memory and she lies there -hersel', wi' the heart o' her husband in her bonnie white arms. As the -poet has it: - - "In Dulce Cop Abbey she taketh her rest, - With the heart of her husband embalmed on her breast." - - -A memory of Mary flamed like a rose in my heart. I choked down my tears -and said: - -"I have often heard of Devorgilla. If I may, I would gladly accompany -you and visit her tomb." - -"I'll be gled o' your company," he said. "It's no' every day I ha'e the -chance o' a crack wi' a scholar. Come on,"--and slinging a stick through -the strap round his pack, he swung it on to his shoulder and we set out. - -As I walked beside him I studied him. He was tall and thin, and walked -with a stoop, his head thrust forward, his neck a column of ruddy -bronze. - -"Ye're walking lame," he said, "but you are no' sae handicapped as me. -This tree-leg o' mine is a terrible affliction. How cam' ye by your -lame leg?" - -"I was a soldier once," I said. The answer seemed to satisfy him, -though I was conscious that, as I spoke, the colour mounted to my -cheeks. - -The road upon which we found ourselves wound gently, under the cover of -far-stretching trees, by the side of a beautiful loch. On the other -side of the road the ground rose steeply up to the summit of a -heather-clad hill. Suddenly through a break in the green trees we had a -vision of the loch. Its waters lay blue and sparkling in the sunlight. -Far off we could see undulating pastures, and beyond them a belt of -trees in early foliage. As we stood feasting our eyes the packman -exclaimed: - -"Noo there's a pictur' that Virgil micht ha'e done justice to. It's a -bit ootside the range o' Horace, but I'm thinkin' Virgil wi' his e'e for -a bonnie bit could ha'e written it up weel." - -"It's a bonnie place the world," he continued, "fu' o' queer things, but -to my thinkin' the queerest o' them a' is man, though maybe woman is -queerer. Now there's the widda at Locharbriggs; onybody would think that -a woman would be proud to be wife to Hector the packman--a scholar and -the discoverer o' a magical salve, wha' some day may ha'e a handle to -his name, forby maybe a title frae the King himsel'; but will ye believe -me, though I ha'e speired at her four times, I ha'e got nae further -forrit wi' her than a promise that she'll think aboot it." - -I expressed sympathy and due surprise, and my answer pleased him, for he -said: "Man, I'm glad I met ye. Ye're a lad o' sense, and wi' some -pairts as weel, for ye ha'e the Latin." - -For a time we walked in silence. - -Soon we had left the pleasant loch behind us and the road wound in the -distance before us. To our left the land was low lying, with here and -there a clump of trees. To our right a lower range of hills stretched -away to end in a great blue mass that dominated our horizon. - -"That's Criffel," he said, pointing to the hill, "and juist at its foot -nestles the Abbey o' the Sweet Heart. I ha'e little doot that doon in -the village I'll sell a chap-book or twa. Sic trash they are. I maun -lay masel' on and get that book o' mine begun." - -He was talking on, good-humouredly, when suddenly a shrill cry for help -came from a clump of trees on our left. Startled I rushed forward. I -reached the edge of the copse and peered in, but could see nothing. The -cry came again, with an added note of agony; and, heedless of danger, I -rushed into the wood in the direction from which it proceeded. The -packman had apparently stayed behind me, for he was no longer by my -side. Making what speed I could among the clustering trees, I hurried -on. Suddenly I heard footsteps racing behind me. I turned. Close -behind me was the fast-running figure of a man. At a first glance I -thought it was the packman, but as he rushed past me I saw that this was -a beardless man sound in both legs. I could not imagine where he came -from, and yet his clothing was strangely like that of my recent -companion. I followed the rushing figure and saw that in his hand was a -stout stick. Then through between the tree-trunks I saw the cause of -the alarm. In an open space in the heart of the wood were four troopers -in grey uniform, and I knew that I was about to burst upon some scene of -devilry. A few steps more, and I saw a girl tied to a tree. About her -stood the troopers. Two of them were holding one of her arms with her -hand outstretched: the other two were busy lighting a long match. From -the agonising scream I had heard, I knew that the torture had already -been once applied. I could see the little spurt of flame as the match -flared up, and as I dashed forward my ears were alert to hear her cry of -pain. But deliverance was at hand. Into the open space leaped the man -who had passed me. His stick swung in the air. Strongly and surely it -fell on the temple of the nearest soldier, who dropped like an ox, -bringing down a comrade in his fall. - -Startled, the others sprang aside, but they were too slow. Twice, with -lightning speed, the stick rose and twice it fell, and two more troopers -went down. I quickened my pace. The trooper who had been knocked down -by the fall of the first soldier sprang to his feet, and flung himself -upon the man. Taken from behind he was at a disadvantage and the -soldier, lifting him with a mighty effort, hurled him to the ground. -Ere he could draw his pistol, I was upon him. My clenched fist caught -him full on the chin, and he crashed on his back and lay breathing -stertorously. - -"A bonnie blow, lad! I couldna ha'e done it better mysel'," cried the -stranger. - -While I turned to the terrified girl and severed the cords that bound -her to the tree, the stranger was kneeling beside the soldiers. - -"They're no deid, nane o' them, worse luck! and it will be a wee while -before the three o' them that felt the wecht o' my cudgel will come tae, -but the fourth would be nane the waur o' a langer sleep," and swinging -his stick he struck the recumbent figure a sickening thud upon the side -of the head. "That's the proper medicine to keep him quate." - -I had been so absorbed in his doings that I had turned my back upon the -girl, and when I looked for her again she was nowhere to be seen. When -my companion saw that she had gone, he shook his head gravely, saying: - -"What was I tellin' ye? Arena women the queerest things on God's -earth?" - -I looked at him in astonishment; it was Hector after all! - -"Good heavens, it's you!" I exclaimed. - -"Ay," he replied with a smile, half-closing his left eye: "But haud your -wheesht. As the Latin has it: '_Non omnes dormiunt qui clausos habent -oculos._' A trooper can sleep wi' an e'e open. Tak tent, but lend me a -haun'." - -From one of his pockets he produced a roll of tarred twine. Quickly -cutting lengths from it, he tied the feet of the unconscious men, whom -we dragged and laid starwise, on their backs, round one of the -tree-trunks. He pulled the arms of each above their heads and brought -them round the tree as far as possible, tying a cord firmly round their -wrists, and carrying it round the bole. The skill he displayed amazed -me. Long after they should regain consciousness they would have to -struggle hard before they would be able to free themselves. I felt some -satisfaction as I thought of their plight. When he had finished his -work he surveyed each severely, laying his hand upon their hearts. - -"No, there is no' ane o' them deid. They'll a' come tae by and by. But -I'm thinkin' they'll be sair muddled. Come awa', lad." - -"Let us look for the girl first," I suggested. - -"Na, na," said he. "By this time the lassie, wha nae doot can rin like -a hare, is half road to Kirkbean. Now if it had been the widda--but -that's a different story." - -Together we made our way to the edge of the copse. Just inside it I -discovered the discarded pack, and beside it the wooden leg and long -grey beard. - -As my companion adjusted the wooden stump to his knee, he said: "Ay, sic -ploys are terribly sair on a rheumatic knee." Then he proceeded to put -on his beard, producing from one of his pockets a little phial of -adhesive stuff with which he smeared his face. I watched, with an -ill-concealed smile. "Noo," he said, "did ye ever see onything cleaner -or bonnier? I'm a man o' peace, but when I'm roused I'm a deevil. -Juist ae clout apiece, and they fell like pole-axed stirks--the three o' -them. Bonnie clouts, were they no'?" - -I assured him that I had never seen foes so formidable vanquished so -rapidly and completely. - -"Ye're a lad o' sense," he said; "that wasna' a bad clout ye hit the -last o' them yersel'; but he needed a wee tap frae my stick to feenish -him. I like a clean job. Come on," and swinging his pack on to his -shoulder he led the way to the road. - -The afternoon was drawing to a close when the village of New Abbey -appeared in sight. Criffel now stood before us, a great mountain, -heather clad and beautiful, like a sentinel above the little township. -By the side of the stream, which divided our path from the village, we -stopped, and Hector putting down his pack and taking off his coat -proceeded to wash his face and hands. Nothing loth I followed suit. - -As he was about to hoist his pack on to his shoulder again, he picked up -his stick, and handing it to me said: "Feel the wecht o' that." I took -it and found it strangely heavy. "It's loaded, ye see," he said--"three -and a half ounces o' guid lead let into the heid o't. Juist three and a -half ounces--fower is ower muckle; three would be ower little--and ye -saw for yersel' what it can dae. A trusty frien', I can tell ye. -Naebody kens it's loaded but me and you and the Almichty, forby a wheen -sodgers that ha'e felt the wecht o't. I ca' it 'Trusty.' Come on," -and, slipping the weighted head of the stick through the strap, he swung -the pack on to his shoulders and we made for the village. - -When we came to the inn the packman led the way through a flagged -passage into a garden at the back. There, underneath a pear-tree, stood -a green-painted bench with a table before it. Laying his pack upon the -end of the bench, he sat down and pushed his bonnet back; I seated -myself beside him. - -"Noo," he said, "we maun ha'e something to eat. What will ye ha'e?" - -Not knowing what might be available, I hesitated. Guessing the cause of -my hesitation, he said: "Dinna be feared: it's a guid meat-hoose and its -'tippenny' is the best in the country-side. As for me, I'm for a pint -o' 'tippenny,' and a fry o' ham and eggs. The King himsel' couldna dae -better than that." - -As he spoke a young girl had come through the door and now stood before -us. - -"What ha'e ye got for twa tired travellers?" asked Hector. "We want the -best; we're worthy o't, and quite able to pay for it forby." - -As the packman had foretold, ham and eggs were forthcoming; and having -given our order Hector produced his pipe and proceeded to fill it. - -When it was drawing satisfactorily he proceeded to point out the -beauties of the scene. To the right were visible great grey walls, -moss-grown in places, with here and there a bush springing among their -ruins. - -"That," he said, "is part o' the wall o' the old Abbey. There," -pointing to the right, "is a' that remains o' the Abbey itsel'. By and -by we'll gang and tak' a look at it." - -Soon the girl returned with our food. When we had finished our meal -Hector said: - -"And noo I maun go and see my frien' the miller. Meantime, I'll leave -you in chairge o' the pack, and if onybody should want to buy, you can -mak' the sale. I hope ye'll prove yersel' a guid packman,"--with which -he stumped off. - -In a moment or two the girl came to clear the table. When she had done -so, she returned, and looking at me half shyly, said: "Are ye a packman -tae?" - -"Yes," I answered. - -"Oh," she said, "then I wonder if ye ha'e sic a thing as a dream-book in -your pack?" I opened the pack, and spread its contents before her. -"No, I dinna want onything else but a dream-book," she said. I found -one, and, lifting a corner of her apron, she produced a penny which she -laid upon the table, and with a finger already between the pages of the -book disappeared into the inn. - -Left to myself, I drifted into a reverie. Love--the love of a man for a -woman, and the love of a woman for a man--seemed the greatest thing on -the earth. The packman with his loved one at Locharbriggs; this tavern -maid with her sweetheart--for did not her desire for a dream-book tell -me that she had a lover--were all under its spell. I, too, had my -memories of love,--memories of infinite tenderness--bitter--sweet--torn -by tragedy. I tried to banish such thoughts from nay mind, for they -brought naught but pain, but, try how I might, I found they would -return. Nor was it to be wondered at, for at that moment I was within a -stone's throw of Devorgilla's monument to her own enduring affection. I -was within sight of the place where her haunting love-story had seen its -fulfilment. Within the hoary walls of that great fane Devorgilla was -sleeping her eternal sleep with the heart of her husband upon her -breast. Yes, of a truth was it well said: "Many waters cannot quench -love, neither can the floods drown it." Hector would go to the widow, -the tavern maid would dream of her lover, while for me, love was nothing -but a memory. But what a memory! I was conscious of Mary's -presence--her spirit seemed to enfold me in the warm breath of the -evening. I almost felt her kiss upon my cheek. Never before, since -that day when we had parted upon the moors, had she seemed so near. I -slipped my hand into my pocket and caressed the fragment of her ring. I -drew it out and pressed it to my lips, and as I did so I heard the -stumping footsteps of the packman. Quickly I slipped the ring out of -sight and looked towards the door. - -Hector came through, carrying a tankard of ale in each hand. - -"Drouthy work, carryin' the pack," he said. "Ha'e ye sold onything while -I ha'e been away?" - -"Only a dream-book to the little maid," I answered. - -"Sic trash," he groaned, "sic trash, but they will ha'e them. But wait -a bit; I'm gaun to lay masel' on in the back end o' the year. Did ye -no' try to sell a pot o' salve?" I confessed that I had not. "Man," he -said, "ye'll no' mak' a guid packman. I could aye sell a pot o' the balm -to a lassie that buys a dream-book. But come on: the licht's juist -richt for seein' the Abbey at its best." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVII* - - *ON THE ROAD TO DUMFRIES* - - -We drank our ale, and leaving the Inn turned into the precincts of the -Abbey, where for the first time I had an opportunity of gazing upon its -ruined splendour. Rarely have I seen such beauty in decay--the mellow -light of the evening lending to the red sandstone of the aisles, the -choir and the great square tower a rosy hue that made them singularly -beautiful. The packman led the way and halted before a richly ornate -stone that rested on a pedestal below the great Gothic window. He took -his bonnet off reverently and I followed suit, and together we stood in -silence. "She lies here," he said, with a break in his voice, and when -I looked at him there were tears in his eyes. He sighed as though the -stone covered the remains of someone very dear to him. I knew what was -in his mind. This brave follower of the open road, this deliverer of -maidens in distress, this egotistical packman, and self-styled scholar -was an incorrigible sentimentalist. He was thinking, I knew, of -Devorgilla's beautiful devotion to her husband, but the widow at -Locharbriggs was in his thoughts as well. He turned and laid a hand -upon my arm as he donned his bonnet. - -"Whaur are ye sleepin' the nicht?" he asked. - -The question surprised me, for I had taken it for granted that we should -stay at the village inn. "I suppose," I said, "that I can get a bed in -the tavern." - -"Nae doot, nae doot," he said, "if so you like, but I never sleep in a -bed when I'm oot on the road. It's safer to sleep in the open, -especially when ye wear a wooden leg that ye dinna exactly need. Folks -are inquisitive. Come awa back to the inn wi' me. You can sleep there -if ye like, but I'll come back here. It'll no' be the first time I ha'e -slept by the graveside o' Devorgilla." - -We returned to the inn where I had no difficulty in procuring a bed. -Hector shouldered his pack and took his way back to the Abbey, but he -was up betimes and was hammering at my door with his heavy-headed stick -before I was awake. We breakfasted and set out for Dumfries. - -Hector had lit his pipe and trudged along beside me in silence. Left to -my own thoughts, I began to study him. Since we had joined company, he -had shown several phases of character difficult to reconcile. In the -presence of Sir Thomas Dalzell he had seemed to be an avowed enemy of -the Covenanters, yet, when Dalzell and his troopers were at a safe -distance, he had displayed contempt and bitter hatred for them. Then -there was the attack on the soldiers in the little copse by the roadside -on our way to New Abbey. What was he? Was the calling of a packman, -like his false beard and his unnecessary wooden-leg, merely a mask? I -was puzzled, but I determined that ere our journey should come to an end -I would do my utmost to unravel his secret. - -When the packman's pipe was empty he returned it to his pocket and broke -into song. The mood of sentiment was upon him, and he sang a quaint old -song of unrequited love. I failed to make out the words; but I heard -enough to know that he was thinking, as always, of the widow. - -About an hour after leaving the village we came to the end of a long -ascent. - -"It's been a stiff clim'," said the packman, "we'd better sit doon and -rest a wee." He threw off his pack and we sat down upon some rising -ground by the roadside. For a time I sat and drank in the beauty which -spread itself before me, but my reverie was disturbed by Hector, who -laid his hand upon my knee and said, "I want to talk to you." All -attention, I turned towards him, but he was slow to begin. Patiently I -waited, and then, half turning so that he looked me straight in the face -with his piercing right eye wide open, his left half shut, he said: - -"Nae doot ye're puzzled aboot me." I wondered whether he had been able -to read the thoughts that had flitted through my mind as we climbed the -hill from New Abbey. "I think it is only richt," he continued, "that -before we gang ony further, I should mak' masel' clear to you. Maybe -when I ha'e opened my heart to you, you'll tell me something aboot -yersel' for, if I ha'e kept my counsel, so ha'e you. Rale frien'ship -maun be built on mutual confidence; withoot that, frien'ship is naething -mair than a hoose o' cairds. Ye ken already that I am no' a'thegither -what I seem. I'd better begin at the beginnin'. I'm an Ayrshire man, -articled in my youth to the Law and at ae time a student o' Glasgow -College; an' lang syne, when my blood was hot and I was fu' o' ideals, I -threw in my lot wi' the Covenanters. And I've suffered for it." He -pushed down the rig-and-fur stocking on his left leg. "Look at that," -he said. I looked, and saw, where the skin ran over the bone, a long, -ugly brown scar. "Ye'll no' ken what that means?" I shook my head. -"Weel," he said, "that's what the persecutors did for me. I've had 'the -boot' on that leg, and until my dying day I'll carry the mark. But I'm -no' what they ca' a guid Covenanter. I'm a queer mixture, as maybe you -yersel' ha'e already noticed. I canna say that I'm a religious man, and -though my heart is wi' the lads that are ready to dee for the Covenant, -I fear that I masel' lack grace. Hooever, that's by the way. Lang -years sin' I cam' to this country-side whaur naebody knew me, as a -packman wi' a tree-leg, and as such I am kent to maist o' my -acquaintances. Wi' my pack on my shoulder I wander through the -country-side back and forrit frae Dumfries to Portpatrick, and frae -Portpatrick back again to the Nith, wi' chap-books, and ribbons, and -pots o' salve, but a' the while I keep my e'en and my ears open. I get -to ken the movements o' the troopers, and I hear tell in the hooses o' -the Covenanters o' comin' hill-meetings and sic-like, and mony a time I -ha'e been able to drop a hint in the richt place that has brocht to -nought some crafty scheme o' the persecutors and saved the life o' mair -than ane hill-man. If ye like to put it that way, I rin wi' the hare -and hunt wi' the hounds. I'm hand in glove, to a' ootward seeming, wi' -the persecutors themselves. I foregather wi' sodgers in roadside inns, -and it's marvellous hoo a pint or twa o' 'tippenny' and a truss o' -Virginia weed will loosen their tongues and gaur them talk. I've -listened quately, and mony a time I've let fa' a remark that mak's them -believe that a' my sympathies are wi' them and that I'm no' in wi' the -Covenanters ava. As a matter o' solid fact, I am sae weel thocht o' by -men sic as Sir Robert Grier, Dalzell himsel' and Claver'se, that mair -than aince I ha'e been sent by them on special commissions to find -things oot; and I've come back and I've tellt them what they wanted to -ken, and riding hell for leather they've gane off wi' their dragoons to -some wee thackit cottage on the moors. But they've never caught the -bird they were after. Somebody--maybe it was me, I'm no' sayin'--had -drapped a timely warnin'; and though I tellt the persecutors nae lee, I -ha'e mair than aince gi'en them cause to remember that truth lies at the -bottom o' a very deep well. That's my story. I'm a spy, if ye like--an -ugly word, but I ha'e na man's blood upon my haun's or on my conscience. -And it's dangerous wark, as you may weel ken. Some day ane or other o' -my schemes will gang agley, and the heid and haun's, and maybe the -tree-leg as weel, o' Hector the packman will decorate a spike on -Devorgilla's brig at Dumfries. I wadna muckle mind; for life is -sometimes a weary darg, but I'd like, afore that day comes, tae ha'e -feenished my _magnum opus_. I maun really lay masel' on and get it -begun. It would be a monument by which I micht be remembered. - -"Sometimes as I walk my lane alang the roads I think o' things. Here -and there I come across a wee mound on the moorland, or maybe by the -roadside, and I ken it covers the body o' some brave man wha has died -for his faith. Desolate, lonely, and scattered cairns they are. And -then I think, that though this is the day o' the persecutors, and though -they be set in great power, a day is comin' when a' their glory will be -brocht to naething. By and by Grier o' Lag, Dalzell and Claver'se, and -a' the rest o' them will pay the debt to Nature, and nae doot they will -be buried wi' muckle pomp and circumstance, and great monuments o' -carved stane will be set abune them. But in time to come, I'm thinkin', -it will no' be their tombs that will be held in reverence, but the -lonely graves scattered aboot the purple moors and the blue hills. It's -them that will be treasured for ever as a precious heritage. We're a -religious folk in Scotland, or at least we get that name--but religion -or no', we love liberty wi' every fibre o' oor being, and in days to -come, generations yet unborn, wha may be unable to understaun the faith -for which the hill-men died, will honour them because they were ready to -lay doon their lives in defiance o' a tyrant king. Noo," he said, -letting his eyes fall, "ye ken a' aboot me that there's ony need to ken, -and it's for ye to say whether we pairt company here or whether we gang -on thegither." He drew out his pipe and proceeded to fill it. - -For a moment I was at a loss. Was he seeking to entrap me into an open -declaration of sympathy with the Covenanters; or was he telling the -truth? His confession had been an absolutely open one, so open that if -my sympathies were with the persecutors he had placed himself completely -in my hands. He had looked me straight in the face with one piercing -eye as though to read my soul, while the other was half veiled as though -to hide his own. But his voice had rung with fervour as he spoke of the -lone graves of the hill-men, and I remembered the fight in the wood. He -must have spoken the truth; so I took courage and without further delay -told him my story. He listened attentively, and when I had finished he -said: - -"Ay, the auld packman is richt again. I thocht aboot ye last nicht. -Man, I can read fowk like a coont on a slate, and I'm richt gled to hear -frae your ain lips, what I had already guessed, that you're for the -Cause. If I had thocht onything else, I wu'd ha'e held my tongue." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVIII* - - *FOR THE SWEET SAKE OF MARY* - - -When with characteristic self-satisfaction the packman had extolled his -own intelligence, he lapsed into silence. As for me, the telling of my -tale had reawakened so many sad memories that for a time I sat gazing -before me, unable through my tears to see the other side of the road. -Hector knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and sighed. - -"It is," he said, "ane o' the saddest stories I ha'e ever heard. Sic an -experience is enough to mak' a man bitter for the rest o' his days. But -if Mary was only half o' what you ha'e tellt me she was, that's no' what -she wu'd like to see. It's the prood woman she wu'd be if she knew ye -were minded to throw in your lot wi' the Cause. What are ye gaun to -dae?" - -"I am making for England," I answered. - -Hector shook his head sadly. "I've noticed the same afore," he said, -and paused. - -"What have you noticed?" I asked. "I do not understand you." - -He looked into the distance, and spoke as though to himself. - -"Ay! It's the auld story. Queer but awfu' human. There was Moses and -Peter: the ane the meekest o' men, but he lost his temper twice; the -ither the bravest and lealest o' the disciples, but he turned coward." - -"Explain yourself," I said. "I cannot follow you." - -"I mean nae offence, but I thocht ye wad hae been quicker i' the uptak'. -D'ye no see that men fail maist often on their strongest point? Man, -when a man prides himsel' on his strong points it's time to get down on -his knees. Ye tell me ye lo'ed the lass--and nae doot ye did. But -ye're turning yer back on love, and rinnin' awa'. I'm surprised at ye. -If sic a fate as has befallen Mary were to befa' the widda at -Locharbriggs, dae ye think I should rest until I had dune something to -avenge her. Mind ye I'm no' counsellin' violence, for I'm a man that -loves peace. Bloodshed is the revenge o' the foolish. There are better -ways than that, and if ye'll throw your lot in wi' mine, I'll show ye -hoo ye can dae something for the sake o' her ye loved and for the cause -o' the Covenant." I listened in silence and shame. His words were -biting into my heart. - -He looked at me with eyes that seemed to peer into the depths of my -soul. Then I found speech. "Mary," I said, "was to me the most -precious thing in all the world. If you can show me how I can render -service to the Cause she loved, I am ready to do your bidding." - -He thrust out his right hand: "Put your haun' there," he said; "you've -spoken like a man. Dae ye mind what Horace says: '_Carpe diem, quam -minimum credula postera._' 'Tak' time by the forelock and never trust -to the morn.' A wise word that. Fegs, he was a marvel! In fact he's -gey near as fu' o' wisdom as the guid Book itsel'. We'll tak' time by -the forelock, and between us, if the Lord wills, we'll dae something for -the persecuted hill-folk and strike a blow for Scotland and for liberty. -But we'll ha'e to be gettin' on; the day'll no' tarry for us. Let us -awa'." - -Refreshed by our rest, we rose and took to the road again. - -A long descent lay before us and till we had completed it neither of us -spoke. But when we reached the foot of the hill Hector suddenly said: - -"I've been thinkin' aboot your story. It's wonderfu' what bits o' -gossip a packman can pick up on his roonds. Noo, you may be surprised -to hear that I kent a' aboot the shootin' o' the minister up on the -hills. I heard the story frae a trooper in the inn at Gatehouse. To -him it was a great joke, for he saw naething in it but the silly action -o' a daft auld man wha's ain stupidity brocht aboot his death. I -wonder, if he had kent the hale story as you and me ken it, whether he -would ha'e seen the beauty o't. I'm thinkin' maybe no', for to size up a -thing like that richtly it maun be in a man's heart to dae the like -himsel'. Ay, what a welcome the martyr would get on the ither side!" -He paused for a moment, then continued: "And it's queer that I heard -aboot you yersel' frae the same trooper. He tellt me that they cam' on -the minister quite accidental-like; and that they werena' lookin' for -him ava. They were oot on the hills huntin' for a deserter, wha I'm -thinkin' was yersel'. They didna find you, he said. As a matter o' fact -they believe that ye're deid--he said as muckle. So you may haud yer -mind easy, for unless an' ill win' blaws and ye're recognised by ane o' -yer fellow-troopers, ye're safe." - -We trudged on steadily towards Dumfries. My heart was with Mary, and I -did not speak. The packman was silent too--but while I was living in -the past he apparently was looking into the future, for he said -suddenly: - -"It's a dangerous job I'm invitin' ye to tackle--a job that calls for -the best wit o' a man, and muckle courage. I'm thinkin' you dinna lack -for either, but time will show. Ay: it will that. As for me," he -continued, after a pause, "I'm no' a religious man, but hidden in a -corner o' my soul I ha'e a wee lamp o' faith. But it doesna aye burn as -brichtly as it micht, and mony a time I sit by the roadside and compare -the man I wad like to be wi' the man that I ken masel' to be; and it -mak's me gey humble. But I aye tak' courage when I think o' Peter. He -found the road through life a hard path and he tripped sae often ower -the stanes that I sometimes think, like me, he maun ha'e had a tree-leg. -But at the end he proved himsel' to be gold richt through, as dootless -the Maister kent a' the while." His voice broke, and, looking at him, I -saw tears streaming down his cheeks. - -"But noo, a word in your ear. We're very near Dumfries noo. We'd -better separate there, it will be safer. It behoves ye to ken where ye -will fin' a lodgin'. - -"In Mitchell's Close at the brig' end there lives a widda woman. She -kens me weel. Her door is the second on the left frae the mooth o' the -close. Her name is Phemie McBride, and when ye tell her ye're a frien' -o' Hector the packman's she'll gie ye a welcome and ask nae questions. -We should reach the toon before twa o'clock. You can ha'e bite and sup. -I'll leave my pack at my lodgings and syne I'll be awa oot to -Locharbriggs to pay my respects to the widda. At six o'clock or -thereabouts I'll look for ye at the Toon Heid Port and we'll tak' a walk -up the banks o' the Nith thegither. But, a word in yer lug. Dumfries -is a stronghold o' the Covenanters; forby it is ane o' the heidquarters -o' the persecutors. Lag himsel' has a hoose there--so ye maun be -carefu'. Tak' a leaf oot my book, and oot o' the book o' even a wiser -man than me--Be all things to all men, and mix neither yer politics nor -yer drink. Haud your tongue, and if ye ha'e to speak, keep half yer -counsel tae yersel'." - -I thanked him and promised to exercise all caution. "And noo," he said, -"for appearance' sake, I maun be Hector the packman, again," and going -to a cottage by the wayside he knocked loudly at the door. I walked -slowly on and in a moment or two he rejoined me. - -With a twinkle in his eyes, he said: "Trade's bad the day. The -guid-wife wanted neither a dream-book nor a pot o' salve. But that -reminds me, it's gey near three months sin' I saw the widda. Noo you -yersel' ha'e kent the spell o' love. I dinna want to touch ye on a sair -spot, but if ye were in my place, what wad ye tak' tae yer sweetheart?" - -I had no suggestion to offer, and said so. - -"Weel," he said, "that's nae help. I'll juist ha'e a look at the -jeweller's window in the High Street. Maybe I'll see something there: -but failin' that there's aye a pot o' my balm." - -"She will not need any of that," I answered. "Your coming will bring a -colour to her cheeks without the aid of your magical salve." - -"Man," said Hector, "I like ye. Ye're a lad o' promise; I'll mak' a man -o' ye yet." - -We were approaching another cottage on the outskirts of the town, and -once again Hector assumed the role of the packman and tapped at the -door. When he rejoined me he said: "I ha'e had some luck this time, but -no' muckle, because a' I sold was a dream-book. Awfu' trash, as ye weel -ken." He groaned as though in anguish of spirit. "And noo," he said, -"we'd better pairt company. The brig' end o' Dumfries is on this side -o' the water." - -So we parted, and I walked on ahead, until as I descended a steep hill I -saw the end of the bridge before me. I found Mitchell's Close without -difficulty and entered it. The houses within it were flinging back the -glare of the sun from their whitewashed walls. I knocked at the second -door on the left, and after a little it was opened by an old woman. -Holding the latch in her hand, she stood between the half-open door and -the wall as though to block the passage. - -"Wha may ye be?" she said. "Ye ha'ena' a kent face." - -"I am," I said, speaking low, "a friend of Hector the packman." - -She threw the door wide open at once, saying, "Come awa ben." I -entered, and immediately she shut and barred the door behind us, and led -the way into the kitchen, saying: "Ony frien' o' Hector the packman is -welcome here. Can I get ye onything to eat?" - -As I had not broken my fast since leaving New Abbey, I was ready to do -justice to the meal which she made haste to spread before me. -Remembering Hector's warning, I held my tongue, and as she waited upon -me the old woman kept her counsel to herself. I could see that she was -studying me closely; and when the meal was over she said, suddenly: - -"So ye're a frien' o' Hector's, are ye? Whaur's the man noo?" - -"When I left him," I replied, "he was making his way to his own -lodging." - -"Nae doot, nae doot; and by this time I jalouse he's on the road to -Locharbriggs." - -I smiled. - -"If ye are a frien' o' Hector's," she continued, "ye've nae doot heard -aboot the widow at Locharbriggs." - -"Oh yes," I said. "She bulks largely in his affections." - -The old woman laughed heartily. "She does that, the silly auld man, but -he'd better look somewhere else, for she winna ha'e him. I ken her -weel; she's my dochter." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIX* - - *BESIDE THE NITH* - - -When the afternoon was mellowing into early evening I stood upon -Devorgilla's Bridge watching the river. Much had happened to me since -last I was there. I had drunk deep of joy and sorrow; and as I looked -down upon the slow-moving water, memory smote me with both hands. I -laid my arms upon the parapet of the wall and stood at gaze, but though -I looked before me, my mind was wandering backwards across the -chequered, love-lit, blood-stained months that lay behind me. The mood -passed and my eyes followed the stream as it issued from underneath the -dark arches and flowed slowly on until, in the distance, glistening like -a silver band, it swept round a bend and was lost to view. To my right, -on the brow of a hill, stood a windmill, its great arms aswing with -hesitant gait in the wind. Beyond the windmill the hills sloped down to -the river, studded here and there by a copse of trees, or the white -gable of a cottage flinging back a ray of sunlight. To my left was the -town of Dumfries, with the Sands sloping down from the nearer houses to -the river, and the stately spire of St. Michael's Church challenging the -sky in the near distance. Beyond, rose a pleasant, tree-crowned hill, -on whose slopes I could see the figures of sheep and cattle. - -There were yet two hours before I had to meet Hector at the Town Head -Port, so, crossing the bridge, I made for the Friar's Vennel, which I -knew to be the main thoroughfare from the brig-end to the centre of the -town. It was a busy artery of traffic, lined upon one side by shops and -upon the other by comfortable dwelling-places. Some of the houses had -gardens, well-kept and orderly. Here and there, between the houses, was -a narrow entry and looking down one of these I discovered that it opened -into a little court upon each side of which stood small thatched -cottages. - -I sauntered up the Vennel, and shortly came to the High Street--a broad -and roomy thoroughfare. Each side of it was occupied by shops, -well-stocked and prosperous-looking, and in the centre of the street -were the booths of market-gardeners and fishermen, who were making a -brave display of their wares. - -Leaving the booths behind me, I continued my journey up the High Street. -By and by I came to a wider portion of the street which the inhabitants -know as the Plain Stanes. Here was the house of Lag, and I gazed at it -curiously. A couple of soldiers stood at the door, from which I judged -that Sir Robert himself was in residence; so, remembering I was a -deserter, I did not tarry long, but went on towards St. Michael's -Church. - -I entered the churchyard and, sitting down under the shadow of one of -the gigantic tombstones, I waited until I judged it was time to go and -meet Hector. - -As I was going out I met a man whom I took to be the grave-digger, and -asked him to direct me to the Town Head Port. - -"Oh, ye're a stranger in these pairts," he said, as he pointed out the -way. I made no answer save to thank him and bid him good evening, and -then I hurried in the direction he had indicated. - -I found the Port without difficulty and stood just outside it, listening -to the cawing of the rooks in the tall trees on the green mound that -separated me from the river. - -I had not long to wait ere Hector arrived. He slipped his arm through -mine, and said: - -"Let's awa' doon to the bank o' the water." - -He was whistling merrily as we scrambled down the bank, so I judged that -the widow had been kind, and ventured to say as much. His only reply -was: - -"_Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo dulce loquentem._" I asked after her -health. - -"Oh, she's fine, fine. She was pleased wi' the bonny kaim I took her. -Here's a bit o' wisdom for ye, my lad. If ye want to please a woman -that ye like, gi'e her some gaud to adorn hersel' wi'. If she's plain -and no' weel-faured she'll tak' it as a compliment that ye should wish -to mak' her bonnie. If she's bonnie to begin wi', she'll tak' your bit -giftie as a proof that ye ha'e noticed wi' your ain een that she's -weel-faured and weel-lookin'." - -Alas, for me all such joys were things of the dead past. - -When we reached the river's edge we walked upstream. - -I have not the pen of a poet, nor has the poet yet been born whose pen -could paint with fitting words the glory of the shining Nith. Hector -says Virgil could have done it; but I wonder. There are beauties beyond -the range of words. The eye can drink them in; the soul can interpret -them: and as the soul interprets them, so are they revealed to the eye -that sees them. - -We walked for more than a mile till we came to a lofty eminence, set -tree-crowned above the stream. When we had climbed to its summit Hector -paused beneath a giant beech tree which stood perilously near the -declivity that fell sheer to the river brink. "Look," he said, and -pointed down the river. Lit by the rays of the setting sun, it -stretched like a ruddy band of bronze into the distance, leading the eye -directly to the ruins of the old College of Lincluden with its Gothic -window and shattered tower. Beyond, the blue hills raised their brows -to the sky, from which, as from a golden chalice, a stream of glory -poured. - -For each of Nature's pictures there is one divine moment in the day. It -was now. - -I stood in rapture till Hector touched my arm. "It's bonnie," he said. -"I should say ye've naething to match it in England, but we maun awa' -hame. Come on," and he led the way across a field to the road. "This," -he said, "is the shortest way back to the toon. I ha'e been alang it -aince the day already, for it leads tae Locharbriggs, and mair than -likely I'll be alang it the morn, for the widda was wonderfu' kind, and -though she wouldna exactly gang the length o' namin' the day, she was -mair amenable to reason than I've ever kent her afore. So the morn's -mornin' I'm makin' my way oot to her again: and maybe I'll be lucky. Ye -never can tell, for didna' Virgil himsel' say '_Varium et mutabile -semper femina_'--'Woman is a fickle jade onyway ye like to tak' her.' -Oh, these auld poets, but they had the wise word every time. Noo that -we're comin' near the toon we'd better settle what we are gaun to dae -the morn. As for me, I ha'e mony things on haun and my time'll be a' -ta'en up. But I'll be free at six o'clock. Ye can spend the day as ye -like, and I'll meet ye at that oor at the Vennel Port." - -I promised that I should be at the trysting-place at the time appointed. - -We were now drawing near the town. By and by we came to the mound known -as Christie's Mount, and soon we could see the Plain Stones before us. -As we swung round into the lower part of the High Street we heard sounds -of revelry coming from Lag's house at the corner of the Turnpike Wynd. -We crossed to the other side of the street and looked up. Every window -was a blaze of light. From an upper room came the sound of wild voices -of men far gone in their cups, and every now and then shouts of -laughter. One laugh, a great raucous bellow, dominated all the rest. - -"That's Lag himsel'," whispered Hector. "Eh, it's awfu', awfu'. While -thae men o' blood are feastin' and drinkin' there, saints o' the -Covenant are sleepin' under the cauld sky awa' on the hills." - -Suddenly out of the darkness stepped a soldier, who, seeing us gazing up -at the house approached, and as he passed scanned us keenly. I nudged -the packman with my elbow and at once he led the way up the High Street. -He did not speak until we were near the Tolbooth, then he whispered: - -"Ay, ye'll min' what I tellt ye; it's true ye've to be carefu' what ye -say in the toon o' Dumfries. Dinna forget that. A scarlet-coated loon -like yon kens nocht aboot Horace, and he, worthy man, as always, has the -richt word for the occasion: '_Redeat miseris, abeat fortuna superbis._' -Ye can translate that literally for yersel', but I'll drap my renderin' -in yer lug." Putting his mouth close to my ear he whispered: "'May God -bless the puir hill-men, and damn Lag and a' his stiff-necked tribe.' -Noo a guid nicht tae ye; I'll meet ye the morn at six o'clock at the -Vennel Port." - -With some difficulty, for it was dark and the streets were ill paved, I -betook me down the Vennel, and crossing the river made my way to my -lodgings. My sleep was dreamless, and when I awoke in the morning a -sparrow was twittering on the sill. I dressed quickly and went -downstairs. In the kitchen, I found the old woman sitting at a -well-scrubbed deal table. She had a pair of spectacles on her nose, and -on the table beside her lay an open Bible. She did not raise her eyes -at my approach, but continued to read in a sibilant whisper, keeping -time to the words as she pronounced them by beating the air with her -open hand. I waited patiently until her devotions were finished. - -"A good morning to you, sir. Ha'e ye sleepit weel?" she asked. - -"Thank you," I replied, "none better. I am sorry that I interrupted you -in your religious duties." - -"Oh, ye didna interrupt me," she said; "besides, readin' the Book is no' -a releegious duty, it's a releegious privilege. Belike ye dinna ken the -difference. Nae doot that comes frae bein' a frien' o' Hector's--Hector -that is aye haverin' oot o' the auld heathen poets. If he kent as -muckle aboot the psalms o' a guid Presbyterian like Dauvit as he lets on -he kens aboot Horace, it wad, I'm thinkin', be a lot better for his -sowl, the silly auld gommeril. Wantin' tae mairry a lassie a quarter o' -a century younger than himsel'! Thank God she's got some o' the sense -o' her mither. She winna ha'e him! Noo, lad, yer parritch is ready and -I'll juist dish them for ye." - -When my meal was over I entered into conversation with her again. - -She had a caustic tongue and a good deal of quiet humour, and she -reminded me in some ways of Jean at Daldowie; and with the thought of -Daldowie came memories of my lost love. The mellow hand of the years -upon them may impart to our sorrows a fragrance that mitigates their -pain, but the wound in my heart was still a recent one, ready to bleed -at a touch. - -Almost unable to restrain myself, I picked up my bonnet and going out -crossed the bridge and came down upon the Sands. Along their length was -stretched a number of booths, and the Sands themselves were thronged -with people. Apparently it was a market day. Leisurely, as I had -nothing else to do, I joined the crowd--buirdly, well-clad farmers; -robust looking farm-servants; sturdy farm wenches with large baskets of -butter and eggs upon their arms. - -On the outskirts of the crowd a sailor, with a bronzed face and great -rings depending from his ears, was putting a monkey through a series of -antics to the amusement of the young men and women who stood around him -in open-mouthed amazement. - -When I had grown tired of watching him I made my way to the Vennel Port, -and then I walked leisurely through the main streets of the old town. -When I came to its outskirts, just beside St. Michael's Church, I bought -some food and making my way to the river-side I followed its course -downwards. By and by I came to some rising ground, and climbing up made -my way through a rocky gorge and sat down on the soft turf beneath an -overhanging oak tree. - -After a meal, I stretched myself upon my back, and pulling my bonnet -over my eyes composed myself to sleep. When I awoke I remembered that I -had promised to meet Hector at six o'clock. By the time I had retraced -my steps the appointed hour would be at hand. So I descended to the -river bank and made my way towards the Vennel Port. - -Six o'clock was striking when I reached it, but Hector was not there. -Moment succeeded moment and still he did not come. Impatient I began to -walk up and down, crossing the Sands to look at the river where -fishermen were busy tempting the fish with their flies. I strolled back -again to the Vennel and walked up it for a short distance, descending -once again to the Port. There was no sign of Hector, and when the clock -struck seven and I realised that an hour had elapsed since I had come to -the trysting-place, anxiety assailed me. This was not like the packman. -Had some mischance befallen him? He had told me that his was dangerous -work, and I knew that he spoke the truth. One false step, and he would -be undone. At this very moment he might be in grave danger. Ill at -ease, I went up to the top of the Vennel, hoping to meet him. My quest -was vain! The clock struck eight: he had not yet appeared. As the time -dragged on its leaden way I remembered the long pathetic vigil I had -shared with Jean at Daldowie, and though the memory stabbed me to the -heart, I hugged it to me. The hour of nine struck on the Tolbooth -clock; still there was no sign of Hector. Twilight gathered and -deepened; the stars stole out, and still he did not come. When another -weary hour had passed I decided that it was useless to wait longer, so, -at the last stroke of the hour, I crossed the bridge and made for my -lodgings in Mitchell's Close. The good woman of the house had not yet -retired to rest, and I was fain to partake of the supper which she had -prepared for me. - -During the meal I said nothing to her of my anxiety. Hector had warned -me to be careful in my speech, and, fortunately, she showed no curiosity -as to my doings. When supper was over I bade her good night and went to -my room. Before undressing and lying down, I looked through the window. -It was a quiet summer night. All the world seemed at peace; but some -dazed dread was knocking at the door of my heart and I was sore -troubled. Something must have happened to Hector--of that there could be -little doubt. For a time I lay awake in a maze of anxiety: and it was -not till after midnight had boomed from the Tolbooth clock, that languor -stole over me and I slept. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXX* - - *IN THE TIGER'S DEN* - - -Suddenly I woke, startled. Some noise had disturbed me. I listened -intently. Nothing stirred in the house. I sat up in bed, and peered -into the darkness, only relieved by the fitful light of the moon -stealing through the window. What had wakened me? I waited anxiously; -then I heard three little taps, clear and metallic, upon the window. I -sprang up and looked out, and saw in the dim-lit courtyard the tall -figure of a man, who moved forward when he saw me, and I recognised the -wooden leg of Hector. Eagerly I undid the window, swinging it back -gently on noiseless hinges, and craned forward into the night. Hector -put a hand to his mouth, and whispered, "Wheesht! wheesht!" then walked -softly to the door of the house. Hastily throwing on some clothes I -crept on tip-toe downstairs, and opening the door admitted him to the -kitchen. - -With uplifted finger he whispered, "Haste ye, and dinna wake the auld -woman. We'll talk on the road." As silently as possible I hastened to -my room and finished dressing; then, I rejoined the packman. As I -entered the kitchen he was lifting the poker from the fireplace. -"She'll understand--that's a sign," he said, as he laid it carefully on -the top of the table. - -"But what," I whispered, "about paying her?" - -"Dinna worry on that score," he said; "she kens me. That's eneuch. -There's danger afoot. Come on." - -He led the way to the door, which he opened noiselessly and together we -passed out into the courtyard. - -At the mouth of the close he paused and peered carefully in every -direction. Then he turned to me and whispered, "There's naebody aboot." -We passed quickly into the street, and, walking close to the houses so -that we were in their full shadow, we hurried away. - -From the direction we took I judged that our path lay parallel to the -course of the river on the side opposite the town of Dumfries. We had -walked perhaps a mile before Hector again broke the silence. Still -whispering, he said: - -"Man, I've had an awfu' day. Horace has the richt word every time: -'_Recenti mens trepidat metu_'--'My hert's a' o' a dither wi' fricht.' -What's yer name? ye've never tellt me." - -For the first time it dawned on me that he did not know my name. He had -called me Joseph at the road-end when Dalzell had taken us unawares, but -since then the matter had never been mentioned between us. "My name is -Walter de Brydde," I said. - -"Ay," he said, "but what name was ye kent by when ye were a trooper?" - -"I called myself Bryden," I replied. - -"That's it. It was you richt enough. Oh, I've had a terrible day. But -I had better begin at the beginning, and tell ye the hale story. - -"This mornin' I left my lodgings wi' full purpose and intention o' gaun -to see the widda. Weel, it's a lang road and a drouthy, so before -leavin' the toon I drapped into the Hole i' the Wa', to ha'e a pint o' -tippenny. It's a hoose I aye frequent when I'm in Dumfries. Weel, as I -was tellin' ye, I was sittin' in the corner, and I'd juist passed the -time o' day wi' the landlord, when in daundered twa sodgers. As soon as -I saw the sicht o' their coats, my ears were cocked to catch their -words. They were talkin' as they cam' in. The ane was sayin' to the -ither; 'I could stake my life it was him.' They sat doon and ordered -their yill, and went on talkin'. I didna catch a' that they said, but -they hadna been talkin' long ere I guessed it was aboot you. I juist -got a word noo and again, but I've pit them thegither. They went -something like this: - -"'Aye, at Wigtown, the nicht efter the women were drooned.' - -"'Then what think ye he's daein' here?' - -"'Oh, I canna tell that.' - -"'I thocht ye had lang syne made up your mind that he had deid on the -moors like a braxy sheep. What's this they ca'd him?---- Oh, -ay,--Bryden. What mak's you think it was him?' - -"'Weel, I saw him yesterday in the High Street. He had a week's growth -on his face, and that in itsel' is a disguise, and he walks wi' a limp, -which he didna dae when he was wi' us; but what jogged my memory was a -wee jerk he gied his shoothers. I couldna mind off-haun' where I had -seen it afore. Hooever, an 'oor afterwards when I was thinkin' o' -something else, it flashed across me that Bryden used to move his -shoother and his left elbow exactly that wey. So says I to masel', -that's the man; and I went back to the place where I'd seen him. Of -coorse he was there nae langer.' - -"'What are ye gaun to dae? Ha'e ye tellt yer Captain yet?" - -"'No' me! I'm no' sae saft. I'm keepin' my een open, an' if he's still -in Dumfries I'll be comin' across him ere lang and I'll arrest him on -suspicion, and tak' him afore Lag himsel'. Man, there's a price on his -heid.' - -"Weel, I had learned a lot, and I knew it was you they were after, for I -ha'e noticed the jerk o' your left elbow tae. So I made up my mind that -afore I should gang oot to Locharbriggs I wad slip across to Phemie -McBride's and gi'e ye warning. So I finished my yill and paid my score -an' set oot. - -"Juist as I was aboot to leave the close-mooth, a dragoon clapped me on -the shoother and said: "'You're Hector the packman, are ye no?' - -"'Ay,' says I. 'What of it?' - -"'Weel,' says he, 'ye maun come wi' me. Ye're wanted.' - -"'Wanted?' says I. 'Wha wants me?' - -"'Sir Robert Grier o' Lag. I've nae doot ye've heard tell o' him.' - -"'Ay,' I answered, 'I ken Sir Robert weel. What does he want wi' me?' - -"'Come and fin' oot for yoursel',' said he. 'An' ye'd better mak' -haste, for if we keep him waitin' there'll be hell to pey. Haste ye!' - -"As we hurried doon tae Lag's hoose in the Plain Stanes, I began to -wonder if his summons could ha'e onything to dae wi' the little affair -you mind in the woods near New Abbey. I'm sayin' nae mair; even the -darkness may ha'e ears. - -"Weel, by and by we cam' to the hoose at the end o' the Turnpike Wynd, -and I went up the stair wi' the trooper. He led me into a room, and we -waited there thegither. As we waited I heard Lag's voice comin' frae -the next room. He was swearin' in a wey the very deil himsel' couldna' -ha'e bettered. He was yellin' like ane possessed for cauld water, and as -I stood in the room a wee bit drummer boy cam' rinnin' up the stairs wi' -a pail o' water that he had brocht frae the Nith. As he passed through -the room where I was standin', it went jaup, jaup, jauppin' on the -floor. He knocked at Lag's door and syne went in, and I heard the water -being poured into a basin. Then I heard Lag shoutin', 'It's no cauld -ava. It's boilin', ye wee deevil! Get awa doon to the water for -anither pailfu',' and wi' fear on his face the wee laddie raced through -the room as shairp as a hare and clattered doon into the street. - -"Weel, I waited wi' the trooper in the antechamber while the oaths frae -the other side o' the door cam' thick and fast. I may say I listened -wi' a kind o' admiration. Wi' some folk swearin' is naething mair than -a bad habit, but wi' Lag it seems to be a fine art. But that's by the -way. By and by the sodger that had brocht me took courage and knocked -at the door. It was opened by another trooper. The first trooper gave -him a message for Lag, and he shut the door and delivered it, for the -next thing I heard was Lag shoutin': 'Well, the packman maun juist bide -my time. I'm far ower bad to see him the noo!' so his body-servant cam' -oot again and tellt the trooper that had me in haun'. He took me awa' -doon the stairs to the kitchen where there was a lot mair sodgers. -Weel, ye ken, at this I was gey perplexed. Here was I, haeing promised -to ca' on the widda in the mornin', held a prisoner. And I had you on -my mind as weel, for frae what I heard in the Inn, you were in danger. -So I said to my guard: - -"'If Sir Robert canna see me the noo, is there ony need for me to bide -here? I'll gi'e ye my promise to come back at four o'clock this -afternoon, when I hope Sir Robert will be able to see me.' - -"'No, no,' said the sodger, 'that winna dae ava. I'm takin' nae risks.' - -"Weel, there was nothing for it but that I should stop where I was, -though it was sair against the grain. Hooever, they produced a bottle o' -'Solway waters,'[#] and I'm bound to say they didna lack for -hospitality. Nothing loth, I took a drappie, and then I took anither, -and we began to talk merrily. - - -[#] Smuggled brandy. - - -"The mornin' slipped by, and still Lag wasna' ready to see me. Every -noo and then the wee drummer laddie raced through the kitchen wi' -anither pail o' water frae the Nith, and when he had disappeared wi' the -water jaup-jaupping ower the side o' the bucket, the troopers would -nudge each other and say 'Guid sakes, his feet maun be in hell already,' -and the callousness o' their words would mak' me shiver. Fegs, the -Latin has it best: '_Horresco referens_'--'It gies me a grue to think -o't.' - -"By and by the clock struck one and we had oor dinner thegither. I'm -bound to say that if the troopers' 'Solway waters' was guid, the -victuals were likewise o' excellent quality, and I made a guid meal. It -was maybe twa o'clock when the sodger that had been in Lag's room cam' -doon into the kitchen. I thocht noo my 'oor had arrived and that I -should yet ha'e time to get oot to Locharbriggs afore I was due to meet -you. But nae sic luck! 'He's asleep noo,' he said. 'He's managed to -droon the pain in Nith water and a couple o' bottles o' Oporto.' Weel, -I saw that the outlook was no' very bricht for me; but I made anither -attempt to persuade my guard to let me away for an' 'oor or twa, -promisin' solemnly that I should return punctually. But he would ha'e -nane o't. So there I was, kept a prisoner, and the afternoon dragged -wearily by. - -"At lang last six o'clock cam', and I knew that if you hadna fa'en into -the haun's o' the troopers you would be waitin' for me at the Port o' -Vennel. I was sair perplexed. I wondered if I daur bribe the wee -drummer to tak' a note to you, and I had framed a suitable epistle in -Latin that I jaloused nane o' thae ignorant troopers would understaun'. -Then I thocht better o't; for a note to you frae me micht direct their -attention to you, and I didna want that. The 'oors o' the evenin' -flitted awa' and by and by it cam' to half-past nine, and the sodger -cam' doon the stairs again and said: 'Sir Robert is awake noo and wants -to see the packman.' - -"So I went up the stairs, and as I left the kitchen ane o' the troopers -laughingly cried after me: - -"'If he wants to put "the boot" on ye, ye'd best offer him your -tree-leg. He's likely tae be that drunk he winna ken the differ.' - -"The sodger that was his body-servant threw open the door o' his room -and said: 'The packman, sir,' and in I stepped as bold as ye like. He -was sittin' in a big chair wrapped in a lang flowered goon. His feet -rested on twa big cushions and were rolled up in bandages. Juist beside -the cushions stood a basin o' water; it was the same, nae doot, that the -wee drummer boy had been kept busy fillin'. Lag glowered at me as I -cam' through the door, and twisted roon' in his chair. - -"'Good evening, Sir Robert,' says I. 'I hope you are feeling better.' - -"His brow gathered in a knot, and he growled: 'Wha the devil said I had -been ill? I havena asked ye here to talk aboot mysel'. It's you I want -to put a few questions to.' - -"'I am at yer service, sir,' I said. 'What can I dae for you?' - -"'Well,' says he, 'I've had a message from Sir Thomas Dalzell. He tells -me that four of his troopers were set on by a gang of ruffians in New -Abbey Road twa or three days sin', and seriously mishandled; and he -minds that he saw you on the road at Loch End that very day. He -jalouses that after he saw you you took the road to New Abbey. What he -wants to ken is this: Did you see onybody on the road that afternoon who -might have been guilty o' this criminal attack upon the soldiers o' His -Majesty?' - -"Weel, that was a straicht question, but it wasna to be replied to wi' a -straicht answer; so I thocht it wiser to evade the issue, an' I said: -'Sir, can you gi'e me ony further particlers? Hoo mony sodgers were -there? What was the number o' their assailants? Where did the attack -take place, and what happened to the sodgers?' - -"That shook him off the scent, though, for a minute, I was feared that -he saw through me, for he said: 'Now, Hector, ye talk like a damned -hedge-lawyer. There were four soldiers involved. As far as Sir Thomas -can make out, the number of their assailants was six or eight, and the -attack took place on the road about a mile and a half from New Abbey. -After being knocked senseless, the soldiers were carried into a wood and -tied to a tree. They werena found till next day.' - -"Now I knew where we stood. Dalzell and Lag had got the scent a' wrang. -It wasna for me to gi'e the scent richt. So it didna cost me ony -scruples o' conscience to make replies to the facts that he had laid -before me. 'Sir Robert,' says I, 'the case baffles me a' thegither. I -maun ha'e been very near the wood ye speak o' at the time this attack -was made upon the troopers, but I saw nae sodgers on the road, nor did I -come across ony six or eight men wha micht ha'e assailed them. As a -matter o' fact I met naebody between Loch End and New Abbey, except a -puir auld body gatherin' a wheen sticks.' And then an idea occurred to -me--for I knew that if Lag or Dalzell couldna lay their hands upon the -men wha had attacked the troopers, they would start harryin' every -hoose, where there was a likely young man, between Loch End and New -Abbey. That would only mean persecution for innocent folk; so, though I -was fain enough to save my ane skin and yours, I didna' want others to -be punished for oor deeds, and I threw oot a suggestion at which Lag -jumped. 'It's only a theory o' mine, Sir Robert,' I said, 'but it's -juist possible that this assault on the sodgers was made by the sailors -frae some smugglin' craft that micht be lyin' in the Solway ayont New -Abbey.' - -"'Man, Hector,' he said, 'that's worth thinkin' o'. There was a smuggler -reported in the estuary a few days syne. I maun look into that.' - -"And then the pain in his feet began to get bad, and he cursed horribly. -When he got his breath again, he looked at me and said: - -"'And now, Hector, a word in your lug. You're supposed to be a guid -King's man, and I have no direct evidence that you are not; but it's a -queer thing that when you drop a hint to the King's representatives -aboot some hill-man's nest and the troopers gang to harry it, there are -nae eggs in it'; and he glowered at me savagely. 'Have a care,' he -growled, 'have a care!' - -"I thocht it was time to change the subject, and lookin' doon frae his -face to his bandaged feet I said: 'I would coont it a high honour if ye -wad permit me to try some o' my magical salve on your feet. I can -assure ye, sir, it has powers o' a high order; it's used in the Court o' -His Majesty the King himsel'.' Wi' that I produced a wee pot o' it oot -o' my pocket. 'It will,' I said, 'produce instant relief and ensure for -ye a guid nicht's rest. May I ha'e the honour o' tryin' it, sir?' - -"'Well,' says Lag, 'I'm ready to try anything. Nobody but mysel' kens -the torment I have been suffering. It's fair damnable.' - -"Withoot anither word I dropped down on my knees beside him and took off -the cauld water bandages wi' as much gentleness as I could; and when -they were off and I saw his feet, I kent hoo he maun ha'e suffered. -They were the colour o' half-ripe plums and that swollen that if ye put -yer finger on them ye left a dint as though they had been clay. I said -to mysel', says I, 'Hector, here's a test for yer salve,' so I talked to -Lag cheerily o' the wonderfu' cures I had made afore, and a' the while, -as gently as I could, I was rubbin' his feet wi' it. When I had been -rubbin' for the better pairt o' half an 'oor, he said: 'Man, Hector, -ye're nae fule. Ye've gi'en me greater ease than I've had a' day. Did -ye say ye made this saw yoursel'?' I told him it was my ain discovery -and that nane but me could supply it, but if he would dae me the honour -o' acceptin' a pot or twa, he would mak' me a prood man. Then I -bandaged his feet and washed my hands. - -"'That's fine,' he said. 'Now, Hector, one good turn deserves another,' -and taking up a wee bell that stood on a table beside him he rang it, -and his body-servant came back into the room. 'Bring a couple o' -bottles o' Malvoisie,' he ordered. 'And at the same time fetch that -soldier of Sir Thomas Dalzell's wha brought the message this morning.' - -"'In a few minutes back came the servant wi' a couple o' bottles in his -hand and behind him a trooper wi' a bandage roond his heid. I -recognised him at aince. He was the fourth that we laid oot in the -wood. When I saw him I maun say I got an awfu' fricht; for if ye mind -he was the ane that had a chance o' seein' you and me. I thocht tae -masel'--Noo, Hector, ye're in a bonnie hole, but neither by act or word -did I let on that I was perturbed, and I waited for what should happen -next. Lag ordered his man to open ane o' the bottles. Then he poured -oot a glass for me and anither for himsel', and turnin' to Dalzell's -man, he said: - -"'Can ye tell me if these ruffians that set on you were sailors? and how -many o' them were there a' thegither?' - -"The man hesitated for a wee and then answered: 'I'm no clear, sir, -whether they were sailors or no'. Ye see, sir, I got an awfu' crack on -the heid, and ever since I've felt gey queer like. They may ha'e been -sailors; that I dinna ken, nor am I quite sure hoo mony there were. I -min' only o' seein' twa masel'; but I'm sure o' this, that nae twa -sailors nor twa onything else, short o' deevils, could ha'e laid oot -four sodgers o' the King's as we were laid oot. There maun ha'e been -aboot six o' them. There may ha'e been eight or ten, but I'm no sure -ava, sir.' - -"'Well,' said Lag, angry-like, 'that's no muckle help. Could you -recognise one o' them if you were to see him again?' - -"I looked at the sodger oot of the corner of my e'e. If I hadna had a -wooden leg my knees would ha'e knocked thegither, but I waited. - -"'Yes, sir,' said the sodger, 'I'm sure o't. I could recognise baith o' -the men that attacked me.' - -"Lag pointed straicht at me. 'Tak' a look here,' he said. 'Have you -ever seen this man before?' - -"I looked straicht at Sir Robert and wondered if he was playin' wi' me -as a cat plays wi' a moose, and then I turned to the sodger so that he -could tak' a guid look at me; but a' the time I was considerin' what -micht be passin' in the crafty mind o' Lag, cauld and cruel behin' his -knotted brow. Did he ken the truth? The sodger looked at me frae heid -to foot. The licht in the room was dim, and by way o' showin' that I -feared naething, I said: 'By your leave, Sir Robert,' and I lifted ane -o' the lichted candles frae the table and held it in my haun' so that -the sodger could tak' a guid look at me. He scanned me carefully again -and shook his head, saying: - -"'I ha'e never seen this man afore. The man I mind was clean shaved.' - -"Wi' that I walked ower to the table and laid the candlestick doon -again. - -"The sodger saluted and turned to go, but I spoke up: 'Sir Robert,' said -I, 'may I examine this puir fellow's heid? I micht by the application -o' my magical salve, with whose virtues you are already acquaint, gi'e -him some relief.' - -"'Certainly, certainly,' said Lag, now in a good temper. - -"So wi' that I took the bandage off the trooper's heid. Ma certie! what -a beauty I had put there wi' my ain guid stick. It was the size o' a -pigeon's egg, and when I felt it between my fingers I was prood o' my -handiwork. But I never let on. I examined it wi' care; then by way o' -raisin' a laugh oot o' Lag I said: 'This young man has to thank -Providence that he was born wi' a thick heid.' Saying which, I took a -little o' the salve and began to rub it on the lump. The fellow winced, -but in the presence o' Lag he was frichtened to mak ony resistance. I -put a guid dressin' on the swelling and bound it up wi' a kerchief. He -was wonderfu' gratefu', but at a sign frae Lag he went off and I was -left alane wi' Sir Robert. He signed to me to sit doon, and passed me a -glass o' the Malvoisie. As I took it he raised his glass and said, 'The -King, God save Him,' and I, mindin' the advice I had gi'en to you to be -a' things to a' men, followed his example and said, 'The King, God save -Him,' and under my breath I added to masel', 'God kens he needs it.' -Weel, I sat and cracked wi' Lag for maybe half an 'oor and tellt him -mair than ane guid story and had a he'rty laugh or twa oot o' him. Then -I pushed the glass away, saying: 'By your leave, Sir Robert, if ye're -dune wi' me, I'll be obliged for yer permission to return to my -lodgings, for I maun be off on the road the morn.' - -"He raised nae objection, and said: 'You won't forget to let me have a -pot o' that saw.' - -"'Certainly, Sir Robert,' I replied, 'you shall ha'e it the first thing -in the mornin': or, if it pleases you to send a trooper wi' me you can -ha'e a pot o't the nicht.' - -"'That's better,' he said. 'And you'll tak' this bottle o' wine, and -whenever ye ha'e a wee drap o't, I hope you will think kindly o' Lag. -He's a man sorely miscalled in this country-side.' - -"'Thank ye kindly, Sir Robert,' says I. 'I shall see that you are -supplied wi' my magical salve for the rest o' yer life. And if on yer -next visit to London ye should ha'e the chance o' droppin' a word into -the ear o' His Majesty, ye micht juist ask him quietly whether he has -used that pot I sent him a twalmonth sin'. I'm inclined to imagine, -between you and me, Sir Robert, that it never reached His Majesty's ain -hand. I think it was stopped on the wey by ane o' the Court ladies wha -used it to make hersel' beautiful.' - -"He threw back his held and roared wi' laughter. - -"'Man, Hector,' he said, 'ye're a caution. But mair than likely ye're -richt. I've been to the Court mysel', and God kens some o' the women -there would need a' the magical saws in the world to make them bonnie. -I'll juist put it to His Majesty, Hector, and ask him,' and he roared -wi' laughter again. - -"He rang the bell, and his body-servant cam' in, and he gave orders that -ane o' the men was to accompany me to my lodgings to get a pot o' salve. -So I set oot, gled as you can weel guess, to be under the open sky aince -mair. The sodger wha accompanied me was a douce lad, and by way o' -reward for his convoy I gied him a wee bit o' Virginia weed to himsel', -forby four pots o' the salve to tak' to Sir Robert. - -"Juist as I let him oot o' the door o' my lodging, the clock struck -twal, and the soond o' it brocht back to me the thocht that you wad be -at a sair loss to ken what had happened to me. I turned things ower in -my mind and it seemed to me that Dumfries is no' exactly a safe place -for us at the moment. So I decided that in an 'oor or twa, when a' -should be quiet, I would slip ower and waken you and tak' ye awa' oot o' -danger. - -"So here we are. That's the true story o' a' that has happened since I -saw you last; and as we are weel oot o' the toon and there's naebody -aboot, I think we micht rest oorsels a wee and, juist by way o' -celebratin' oor escape oot o' the tiger's den, we micht sample the -Malvoisie. I've got Lag's bottle, and I aye cairry a corkscrew." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXI* - - *THE CAVE BY THE LINN* - - -We took turns at the bottle, and found the wine of excellent quality. -After a short rest we resumed our journey. The moon had set and from -some distant farmyard a cock crew lustily, and I knew that daybreak was -not far off. - -The wine, or the exercise, or the knowledge that he had escaped from a -situation of grave danger, had an exhilarating effect upon the packman, -who was now in high spirits. I ventured, while congratulating him upon -his escape, to ask where we might be going, for I was at a loss to know. -Now and then I heard the sound of running water, and in the grey of dawn -I was able to catch a glimpse of a stream to our right, which I thought -must be the Nith. - -"We're drawing near Auldgirth," he said. "Beyond that we'll come to -Closeburn, and no' lang after that we'll be snug hidden in a cave at -Crichope Linn." - -Soon we came to a bridge, with three arches spanning the brown river. -Hector scrambled down through the bushes by the roadside and made his -way under the nearest arch, and I followed him. A little grassy bank -lay between the pier of the bridge and the water, and here we sat down. -The packman unstrapped his wooden leg, and, with some groaning, for the -process evidently caused him discomfort, removed his great shaggy beard. - -"I'll bury my tree-leg here, for the time being, but the beard I'll tak' -wi' me in my pooch. That's sufficient disguise for me: as for you, -you'll be nane the waur o' a bit o' disguise as weel." - -He took from his pack a pair of scissors, and set to work upon my beard -and whiskers. As he did so, doubt assailed me and I called to him to -stop. To be clean-shaven once again was to expose myself to more ready -recognition, if it should ever be my lot to encounter one of my former -companions among Lag's troopers. - -"Ay, lad, ye're richt," said Hector. "I should ha'e thocht o' that -mysel'. But never mind, I've no' done muckle damage yet. Were you -clean-shaven when you were a trooper?" - -"Yes," I answered. - -"Weel," he said, "I'll do a bit o' fancy work on your face, and I'll -leave your upper lip alane and wi' some o' my magical salve you can -dress your moustachios to make you look like a Cavalier. Forby, I'll -leave you a wee tuft on your chin, like the King. I'll warrant neither -the folk that saw you in Dumfries wi' a fortnicht's growth on yer face, -nor the troopers that kent ye as a clean-shaven man, will be likely to -recognise you." - -When he had finished his work he stood back and looked at me carefully, -poising his head upon one side, and as was his wont half closing his -left eye. He was evidently satisfied, for, with characteristic -self-complacency, he said: - -"Man, Hector, ye're a lad o' mony pairts." - -Out of his pack he produced a small looking-glass of burnished steel and -handed it to me. In the uncertain morning light the reflection of my -face was not very distinct, but enough to show that my disguise was -effective, for I hardly recognised myself. - -"Come on," said Hector, swinging up his pack, and crossing the bridge we -continued our journey. - -The country had the glamour of early summer upon it. Every bush was -crowned with a coronal of green: the fields were smiling with promise: -the hill-sides were dimpling with sunny laughter, and the river, which -now ran beside us, babbled cheerfully as it sped on its way to the sea. - -After a few more miles we saw, in the distance, a long row of cottages -flanking our way. Hector suddenly quitted the road, and, hidden behind -a hedge, we made a long detour in order to avoid them. - -"Yon," said he, "is the village o' Closeburn. The curate's a spy and a -tyrant. It behoves us no' to be seen." - -Making use of all the cover we could, and continuing our way till -Closeburn was left behind, we came out upon a narrow and unfrequented -road overshadowed by beech and oak trees. The air thrilled with the -song of birds, and the spirit of the hour seemed to have descended upon -the packman, for as we trudged along he whistled merrily. By and by we -came to the edge of a wood. Just on its margin we crossed a rustic -bridge which spanned a little brown rivulet that trickled sinuously in -and out between its mossy banks. Following the line of the stream we -entered the wood, Hector leading the way. The ground was a great carpet -of luscious green, save where it was spangled over with beds of blue -speedwell. The foliage of the trees--beech, oak and mountain ash, pine -and fir--broke up the rays of sunlight and the air within the wood was -delightfully cool. Our path led steadily up from the bed of the stream -till it looked like an amber thread meandering through a gorge a hundred -feet beneath us. Here and there its course was checked by a quiet pool, -so still that one might think the stream had ceased to flow; and where -some branch of a bush or tree touched the surface of the water it was -garlanded with a ball of tawny froth from which little flakes broke away -and studded the surface of the pool like scattered silver coins. - -We penetrated deep into the wood--the stream chattering far below -us--and at last Hector, half-turning, and saying earnestly "Tak' tent," -began to clamber down the slope towards it. I followed, and in a few -moments we had reached the edge of the water. Leaping from stone to -stone, Hector led the way past a waterfall upon our left which, thin as -veil of gossamer and iridescent in the sunlight, fell from an -overhanging rock into the burn. - -Just beyond us and to the right the stream issued from a defile. Above -us, on both sides, the sandstone rocks towered, and looking up from the -depths one could see the sky through the leafy screen of foliage that -overshadowed us. Carefully choosing every footstep, we continued up the -stream. The way, though difficult, seemed quite familiar to the -packman. - -Suddenly the great sandstone walls which flanked the stream began to -close in upon us, rising sheer from the water edge. The stream thus -confined into straiter bounds became a broiling torrent. To make -progress we were compelled to bestride it, finding precarious foothold -in little niches on the opposing walls. After a few more difficult -steps the narrow defile widened out and we stood upon the edge of a -great broad cup which was being steadily filled by an inrush of water -through a gorge at its upper end similar to that along which we had -come. In shape the cup was almost circular and looked like a huge -misshapen bowl of earthenware. From its sides the sandstone cliffs rose -almost perpendicularly, but a few feet above the water was a ledge broad -enough to walk upon. It was a curious natural formation. The basin at -our feet was deep, so deep that I could not see the bottom. The water -leaped into it through the upper defile, churning its nearer edge into -yellow froth; but the turbulence of the leaping stream swooned into -quietness when it came under the spell of the still water that lay deep -and impassive in the heart of the pool. Half-way round its -circumference, poised on the ledge and heaped one upon another in -seeming disorder, stood a pile of boulders. Hector seized one of them -with both hands. He tugged at it vigorously and it moved, disclosing a -cleft in the wall of the precipice through which a man might crawl. - -"We're here at last," said Hector. "Doon on your hands and knees, and -crawl in; there's naething to fear." - -I did as he bade me, and, carefully feeling the way with my hands, -thrust head and neck and shoulders into the aperture. After the light -of the outer world the interior of the cave was impenetrably dark. -Steadying myself with my hands, I proceeded to drag my body after me and -was about to rise to my feet when suddenly something leaped upon me. A -pair of hot hands closed upon my throat from behind and a great weight -hurled itself upon my back. I tried to scream, but the lithe fingers -gripped my neck and stifled me. There was a clamour in my head as -though a thousand drums were rattling; lights danced before my eyes. -Again I tried to scream, but my tongue hung helpless out of my mouth and -I could hardly breathe. I struggled fiercely, but the hands that -gripped my throat did not relax and suddenly I seemed to be falling -through infinite space and then ceased to know anything. I remembered -nothing until, at last, I felt somebody chafing my hands. Then out of -the darkness I heard the voice of Hector say quite cheerfully: - -"Ye'll do. Ye'll be a' richt in a minute or twa. Noo I maun ha'e a look -at the minister." - -"What has happened?" I asked, but Hector did not reply, so I raised -myself and found him stooping over the body of another man lying not far -from me. - -"Thank God," he said, "I ha'ena killed him. His skull is evidently as -soond as his doctrine, and that's sayin' a lot." - -"Tell me what has happened?" I exclaimed. "Who is this man?" - -"As far," said he, "as I can mak' oot by the licht o' these twa tallow -candles, he is the Rev. Mr. Corsane, the ousted minister o' Minniehive. -I canna exactly tell what happened afore I cam' into the cave, but juist -as your feet were disappearing into the hole, they began to dance in the -air, remindin' me o' the cantrips I ha'e seen a man perform when the -hangman had him in haun'. I was at a sair loss to ken what ye micht be -daein', and I was mair puzzled still when, just inside the cave, I heard -a terrible struggling. Hooever, as ye weel ken, I'm nae coward, so in I -crawled, wi' my auld frien' 'Trusty' in my kneive. Though it was awfu' -dark, I could mak' oot twa men strugglin'. Ane o' them was astride the -other and I judged that you were the nethermost. I shouted, the man that -had you by the throat let ye go and flung himsel' on me. I caught him a -dunt wi' the point o' my elbow juist ower his breist-bane. He reeled -back, but when he got his breath he rushed at me again. By this time my -e'en were better used to the darkness, so I up wi' 'Trusty' and gi'ed -him a clout on the side o' the heid, and here he lies. Then I lichted -the candles I had brocht wi' me, and found that he had gey near -throttled you deid. By the look o' him I jaloused that he was the Rev. -Mr. Corsane, and then the whole thing was plain to me. Maist likely he -has been hidin' in this cave--a cave weel kent by the Covenanters--so -when you cam' crawlin' in withoot word said or signal given, he maun -ha'e thocht it was ane o' the dragoons and like a brave man he made up -his mind to sell his life dearly. That's the story so far as I can mak' -it oot and I ha'e nae doot it's the true ane. - -"But I wish ye would lay your hand ower his heart and tell me I haena -killed him, for I wouldna' like to ha'e the death o' sic a godly man on -my conscience." - -I did as I was requested and I was able to reassure the packman that the -man's heart was beating regularly and strongly, although somewhat -slowly. - -"Thank God," he said fervently. "I'll see what my salve will dae for -him," and he opened a pot of his ointment and proceeded to rub it gently -into the lump which his stick had raised upon the minister's temple. -The effect, however, was far from being immediate. The minister lay -with lips half parted and eyes half open, breathing heavily, without -signs of returning consciousness. Hector began to show signs of alarm. - -"If," he said, "this was only a dragoon I wouldna worry: but this is a -minister, a different breed o' man a' thegither. A clout that would dae -nae mair than gie a dragoon a sair heid micht kill a minister. He maun -be in a bad way if my salve winna revive him." - -"Give him time," I said, "and let us see what cold water will do." -Crawling out into the open, I leaned over the pool and, filling my -bonnet with water, returned to the cave and sprinkled the minister's -face copiously. I saw his eyelids flicker as the first cold drop -touched his forehead, and a few minutes later he moved one of his hands. - -"He's recovering," I said, and taking off my coat I folded it and placed -it beneath his head. We waited in great anxiety, and by and by saw -other signs of returning vitality. The better part of an hour had -elapsed before the minister endeavoured to raise himself upon his elbow, -an effort which we gently resisted. Immediately afterwards, with eyes -staring up to the roof of the cave, he said: - -"Where am I? What has happened?" - -I motioned to Hector to reply. - -"Oh, ye're a' richt, and we are frien's. Ha'e nae fear. Settle -yoursel' doon, if ye can, for a sleep: and when you ha'e rested we'll -tell you everything." - -Without demur the minister closed his eyes again, and we were able to -tell from his regular breathing that he had fallen asleep. - -Hector rose, whispering behind his hand: "If you'll sit by the minister -I'll close the door," and he crawled noiselessly through the aperture -and returned, pushing his pack before him, and then closed the opening, -cutting off the thin shaft of daylight that had been coming through it. - -About an hour later the minister stirred in his sleep, and turning over -upon his side opened his eyes and looked at me inquiringly. Hector -produced the bottle of Malvoisie with which we had refreshed ourselves -on the roadside, and held it to the minister's lips. - -"This will refresh you," he said, and without protest he drank. He made -some attempt to speak, but Hector forbade him. "No, no, sir, haud yer -wheesht a wee langer. Dinna fash yoursel'. We are your frien's. Ha'e -nae fear and settle yoursel' to sleep." - -Like an obedient child, the minister did so. - -The day passed and still the patient slept. By and by Hector went to -the mouth of the cave and peered through one of the chinks between the -rocks. - -"The nicht has come," he said. "It's time we were bedded." Taking up -the candle, he searched the floor of the cave. "Dae ye think," he -asked, "we daur lift the minister? Here's his bed," and he pointed to a -heap of withered brackens in a corner. I suggested that it might be an -easier thing to carry his bed to the minister, and, stooping down, I -gathered up an armful of the leaves, which I spread upon the floor -beside him. So gently that he did not stir we lifted the minister on to -it, and once more I slipped my folded coat under his head for a pillow. -Hector drew off his coat and spread it over the minister's chest, then -seizing a corner of his pack he pulled it up, scattering the contents in -a jumbled heap on the floor, and spread the canvas covering over the -lower part of the minister's body. - -"That will keep him warm," he said. "Now you mak' your bed where ye -will. I'll keep watch for the first pairt o' the nicht and I'll waken -you by and by, and ye can tak' yer turn." - -Worn out with the experiences of the previous night and day, I lay down -not far off. My neck still ached from the strangling grip of the -minister's fingers, and the floor of the cave was a hard bed. But I had -lain in many strange places ere this and soon I was fast asleep. Once -during the night I awoke and peering through the shadows could discern -the figure of the minister on his bracken couch, and, with hands clasped -round his bent knees, the packman sitting beside him. But I judged that -my time had not yet come, for Hector made no sign and soon I was asleep -again. - -I awoke cold and stiff as though I had been beaten. Looking towards the -doorway I could see a thin streak of light filtering through, and I knew -that day had come. Hector still sat motionless: he had kept his vigil -the whole night through. - -I ventured to upbraid him because he had not kept his word and wakened -me in the night to share the watch with him. He laughed. - -"It was a kind o' penance," he said. "I ha'e twa things on my -conscience that will want a lot o' expiation. _Imprimis_, I felled the -minister; _secundo_, I gi'ed him some o' Lag's wine. In the nicht I've -been thinkin' the second is the mair serious transgression. To godless -men like you and me, Lag's wine could dae nae hairm, but hoo think ye -the wine o' a persecutor will agree wi' the body o' a saint? As like as -no it will turn to gall in his blood and dae him a peck o' hairm." - -I laughed quietly. "You may set your mind at rest," I said. "The wine -was good. Even though it came from Lag's cellar, it will do the -Covenanter no harm." - -While we were talking the minister began to move, and in a few seconds -opened his eyes. In a moment Hector was bending over him. - -"Hoo are ye this morning, sir?" he said. "I hope ye ha'e rested weel?" - -The minister raised himself upon his elbow, and looked at Hector -anxiously. "Thank you," he said, "I have had a good sleep, but my brain -is in a strange whirl and my head is very sore. Have I been ill?" - -"A' in good time, sir, a' in good time," said Hector, cheerfully. "You -are in nae danger. By and by I'll tell ye a'. Meantime ye maun break -yer fast." - -The packman rose and going to a shelf of rock on which the candle stood -picked up a bowl. - -"Here, Bryden," he said. "I'll open the door if you crawl oot and fill -this bowl at the linn." - -He gripped the movable boulder and swung it round and I crawled out into -the open air. The morning sky above me was fleecy with soft clouds; the -air was full of melody; all the feathered world was awake. Thrush vied -with blackbird, blackbird with linnet, and linnet with the far off -tremulous lark. I stood on the little sandstone platform above the pool -filling my lungs with great draughts of morning air. The haunting -beauty of the place--the mystical and impenetrable depths of the pool, -the tender foliage above me mirrored on its surface, the soft wind of -the morning throbbing with melody--all conspired to cast a spell over -me. But I woke from my dream as I remembered the stern realities that -beset me. Leaning over I filled the bowl and returned with it to the -cave. Hector had already laid out the morning meal, but at the moment a -desire more urgent than hunger was upon me. - -So I crawled once more into the open air and, quickly undressing, dived -into the pool, and swam round it a dozen times. Greatly refreshed I was -about to swing myself out, when I saw the shoulders of Hector protruding -from the aperture in the wall. He shook his head and smiled at me, -saying: - -"You gi'ed me a terrible fricht. I heard the splash and thocht ye had -fa'en in. Ye're a queer chiel; ye like cauld water a lot better than I -do," and he drew his head back into the cave. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXII* - - *TOILERS OF THE NIGHT* - - -The rest and sleep of the night had done the minister good service; and -though he still complained of considerable pain in the head and bore -upon it the protuberant evidence of Hector's skill with his weapon, he -was able to join in our conversation. In my absence Hector had told him -who we were and what had happened. He had some difficulty in -recognising Hector, beardless and lacking his tree-leg, but when the -packman had salted his conversation with an apposite quotation from -Horace, he had been compelled to admit his identity and had hailed him -as an old friend. - -Hector's surmise had been correct. The inhabitant of the cave was none -other than Mr. Corsane, who, ousted from his charge and compelled to -become a wanderer, had made it his headquarters through many a weary -month. It was a hiding-place in which he could find shelter alike from -the blasts of the storm and from the persecutors. Driven from his -manse, his church and his parish, a man with a price upon his head, he -did not remain in this cave from week's end to week's end, a craven -fugitive. Constantly he had ventured out. Did sickness or sorrow visit -one of the homes of his little flock, he was instant in succour, ready -to bring to them at all times the spiritual help and consolation for -which they looked to him. Wherefore, though he was a minister without a -charge, he was not a minister without a people. - -When the meal was over I besought Hector to lie down and rest; and being -satisfied that the minister was now out of danger, he needed no second -bidding. - -The weeks and months that followed were full of interest and occupation. -As always, in the annals of persecution, an hour had come when the -malignity of the tyrants reached its zenith. In a wild endeavour to -break the spirit of the persecuted, they applied themselves with -increased fury and devilish ingenuity to render the lives of their -victims intolerable. - -So it came to pass that more and more of the men in the parishes round -about us were driven to forsake their homes and take to the moors or the -hiding-places among the hills. Little cared the persecutors if the land -that should have laughed with rich crops sank into desolation since none -were left to cultivate it. The malevolence of the oppressors gave Hector -and myself many opportunities of service. By stratagem, and sometimes -by force, at great risk, and often after lively encounters, we rescued -more than one good man and true from the clutches of the troopers and -spirited him away in the dead of night to a safe hiding-place. I may not -here set down these high adventures. Some other pen than mine may -record them. But for the greater part our deeds were works of peace. -All through the months of summer we would steal out from the cave when -the twilight came and, making for some farm whose good man had been -compelled to flee, we would spend the hours of the night in performing -those tasks in the fields which, but for us, would have been left -undone. - -Toiling all night through, we would steal back to the sanctuary of our -cave in the grey dawn, tired, but proudly conscious that we had done -something to ease the burden which was weighing upon the heart of some -desolate woman. We cut the clover, we mowed the hay, we left it for a -day or two to dry and then stacked it into little cocks upon the field, -and when the time came, we sheared the sheep and did those thousand and -one things that a husbandman does in their due season. We were careful -not to be seen, though always when the night was at its darkest, Hector -would make his way to the farmhouse or cottage nearest the field in -which we were at work and almost invariably he would find upon the -window-sill a store of food left for us. For, though the children and -the superstitious might imagine that the mysterious labourers in the -fields were creatures from another world who accomplished heavy tasks -with the wave of a magic wand, the good-wife of the house had more than -a shrewd suspicion that they were creatures of flesh and blood who -toiled with the sweat on their brows and who had appetites that required -satisfaction. - -Nor did we confine our work to the farms near our hiding-place. In the -course of his wanderings among his flock, the minister would, now and -then, hear of a farm more remote that needed our care, and many a night -we walked for miles before we reached the fields where our -self-appointed tasks lay. I felt, as Hector did, that in this service -we were doing something to help the Cause of the Covenant. And as -honest work ever offers to a man the best antidote to sorrow, my heart -began to be filled with a great contentment. Mary was lost to me. That -thought and the sense of desolation which it provoked was ever before -me, but my labours for the persecuted were some token of the love I had -borne her and I knew that she would understand. - -Sometimes, in the darkness, when my back ached beyond endurance as I -bent over some unaccustomed task, I would cease for a moment to feel for -that little bit of metal lying over my heart that was all that remained -of the ring I had given her. And its touch would give me courage and my -weariness would disappear. - -Hector, I discovered, was a master of all the arts of agriculture. No -task seemed too heavy for him, and never have I seen a man so proficient -at shearing sheep or with such a subtle way of pacifying a querulous -dog. Dogs, indeed, were one of the dangers that beset us, for more than -once we spent the night at work on a farm which was in the occupation of -the soldiery. If the farm dog had but given the alarm, we might have -found ourselves surrounded and shot on the instant, or compelled to flee -for our lives. But no dog ever barked at Hector. There was some -indefinable understanding between him and the faithful creatures. A -startled collie would raise its head and thrust forward its snout as -though about to alarm the night, but, at a whisper from Hector, it would -steal up to him and rub its head and shoulders in comradeship against -his legs. This sympathy between himself and the dogs made for our -safety, and there was something else which helped. Most of the troopers -were creatures of the grossest superstition, thrilled with an uncanny -dread of warlocks, witches, and all the evil spirits of the night. -Their bloody deeds by day filled their nights with ghostly terrors, and -more than once I have known them desert a farm--upon which they had -descended to devour its substance like the locusts--headlong and in fear -when they found that the "brownies" had been at work in the fields by -night. To them it had become a place uncanny, and they would hastily -take their departure, to the no small joy of the farmer's wife and her -little children. To the children a visit of the "brownies" was a thing -to be hailed with delight and shy amazement. - -Once, after a heavy night's work, Hector and I were resting in the early -dawn beneath a hedgerow ere we set out upon our long journey to the -cave, when I heard the voices of children on the road. I looked through -the hedge and saw a little boy leading his sister by the hand. They -climbed upon the bars of the gate and surveyed the field before them. -Then the quiet of the morning was broken by the shrill voice of the lad, -who, pointing to the mown hay, shouted: - -"Aggie, Aggie, the brownies ha'e been here," and, leaping down from the -gate so quickly as to capsize his sister, who, awed by the mystery, did -not burst into tears, he rushed along the road to the house calling at -the top of his voice: "Oh, mither, mither, come and see. The brownies -ha'e been working in the hay-field and the hay is a' cut. Oh, I wish my -faither knew." - -We waited till--at the urgent summons of her little son--the woman had -walked down the road to the gate and had surveyed our handiwork. We saw -her stoop, pick up her children, and kiss them fondly. Then she turned -away that they might not see her tears, and, at the sight, our own -hearts grew strangely full. We waited until she had taken her little -ones home, and then we stole away. - -"Puir lassie," said Hector, "puir lassie." - -During the day I rarely ventured from the cave, though now and then -Hector would fare forth in daylight on mysterious errands of his own. I -suspected that he had some tryst to keep with the widow at Locharbriggs, -but he did not take me into his confidence. But usually he and I were -birds of the night. We were busy folk, and the minister was no less -occupied. Messages would come to him mysteriously; how, I was never -able to discover; but by some means he was kept informed not only as to -the doings and welfare of his own flock, but as to the larger happenings -throughout the whole country-side. He knew what men had been compelled -to flee from their homes; which others had been haled to Edinburgh and -put to torture in the hope that the persecutors might wring from them -some confession. He knew the houses which had been touched by the hand -of sorrow, and with no thought of self he would steal forth to offer -what consolation he could. His quiet bravery impressed me deeply, and I -found myself developing a lively admiration for him which rapidly grew -into a warm affection. - -He was a man of large scholarship; no bigoted fanatic, but a gentle and -genial soul borne up perpetually by an invincible faith in the ultimate -triumph of the cause for which he had already sacrificed so much, and -for which, if need be, he was ready to sacrifice his all. - -In little fragments I had from time to time told him my story. I -finished it one night as we sat together outside our cave on the narrow -ledge above the pool. There may have been some anger in my voice, or -some bitterness in my words, for when my tale was ended he was silent -for a time. Then he laid one of his hands upon my knee and with the -other pointed to the stream as it poured through the gorge into the -quietness of the pool. - -"See," he said, "the water in turmoil catches no reflection of the sky, -whereas the stars are mirrored every one on the quiet face of the pool. -So it is with human hearts. Where bitterness and turmoil are there can -be no reflection of the heart of God. It's the quiet heart which -catches the light." - -He said no more, but, ever since, when storms have risen in my soul I -have remembered his words and the memory of them has stilled the passion -within me. - -When the nights were too rough for work in the fields, we would spend -them in the cave together. And sometimes Hector, who had a subtle mind, -would try to entangle the minister in the meshes of a theological -argument, and I would sit amazed at the thrust and parry of wit against -wit. These discussions usually ended in the defeat of Hector--though he -would never admit it. More than once, at their conclusion, the minister -would say: - -"We must never forget this; theology is but man's poor endeavour to -interpret the will of God towards humanity. It is not for me to -belittle theology, but at the end of all things it will not count for -much. It's the life of a man that counts; the life, and the faith that -has illumined it. Theological points are but sign-posts at the -cross-roads, and sometimes not even that. Faith is the lamp that shows -the wayfaring man where to set his feet." - -As the summer mellowed into early autumn, Hector began to grow restless. -I ventured to suggest to him that he was heart-sick for love. - -He laughed. "Maybe ye're richt," he said; "but ye dinna imagine that I -ha'e managed to live a' these weeks withoot a sicht o' the widda. No, -no, my lad." - -"And how runs the course of love?" I asked. - -"Man," he answered, "I'm gettin' on fine. I verily believe Virgil was -wrang when he said 'Woman is a fickle jade.' The widda's no fickle at -ony rate. D'ye ken she wears my kaim in her hair ilka day o' the week. -It's the prood man I am." - -"Then why this restlessness?" I asked. - -He laughed as he replied: "Weel, to mak' a lang story short, I am -hungerin' for the road. A man that has got the wander fever in his -bluid can never be lang content in ae place. I'm bidin' wi' you a week -or twa mair, for the time o' the hairst is at hand, but when we ha'e cut -a wheen o' the riper fields I'll ha'e to leave ye for a bit. I'll be -back inside twa months, and we'll settle doon then for the winter. And -when I gang, dinna forget this, I'll keep my ears open for ony news o' -what happened at Daldowie, and maybe when I come back I'll be able to -tell ye hoo Mary deed." - -The mention of Daldowie awoke in my heart a keen desire to accompany -him, and I told him so. - -"No, no," he said, "no' yet. By and by, if ye like. In the meantime -yer duty lies here. You've got to look efter the minister. As ye weel -ken, he's a feckless man at lookin' after himsel'. Forby, you'll ha'e -work to dae. The hairst winna' be ower when I gang. So you'd best -juist bide here." - -His arguments were not weighty, but obviously he did not want my company -and he had proved himself so good a friend that I shrank from offending -him by insisting. So, reluctantly, I agreed to remain behind. - -"You will take care," I said. "I fear that Lag has begun to suspect -you, and you may run into danger unless you are wary." - -He laughed as he replied: "Ah weel, as Horace said, '_Seu me tranquilla -senectus expectat, seu mors atris circumvolat alis_' which ye can nae -doot translate for yersel', but which means in this connection, that -Hector will either see a peacefu' auld age by his ain fireside wi' the -widda, or the black-winged corbies will pick his banes. Man, Horace has -the richt word every time." - -We did not discuss the matter of his departure again, but continued our -nightly tasks in the fields. There was something peculiarly beautiful -about our work at this time. The nights were short and never wholly -dark. We would steal into a ripening field of corn in the twilight, -when the purple shadows lay asleep among the golden grain. As the light -of day gave place to the half-darkness of the night, the grain, pierced -by the silver shafts of the moon, grew lustrous and shone like fairy -jewels. I paused in wonder every time I bent to put my sickle between -the tall blades. It seemed almost a sacrilege to cut down such things of -beauty. - -As the nights were short we could work only a few hours before the -daylight came again; but always ere it came the slumbering earth was -wakened by a burst of melody. When, in the east, one saw a little -lightening of the grey shadows, as though a candle had been lit on the -other side of some far off hill, one's ear would catch the sound of a -bird's pipe, solitary at first and strangely alone. That first -adventurous challenge would soon be answered from a myriad hidden -throats. Far off, a cock would crow, and then on every side, from the -heart of hidden lark and pipit, linnet and finch, a stream of melody -would begin to flow over the field. The music increased in volume as -bird after bird awoke from its sleep in hedge, and bush and tree, and -the choir invisible poured its cataract of song into that empty hour -that lies in the hand of time between the darkness and the dawn. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXIII* - - *THE GOING OF HECTOR* - - -September came with all its golden glory and each day Hector became more -and more restless. When the month was half sped he left us. One -morning on our way home to the cave after a busy night of harvesting he -said: - -"I'm gaun the nicht." And though I urged upon him that he could not -have chosen a worse time, since we had many fields yet to cut, I failed -to dissuade him from his purpose. "No," he said, "I can bide nae -langer. The fever is in my bluid, and there's nae cure for it but the -road." - -When night came I accompanied him down the course of the linn and on to -the high road. At the last he laid many injunctions upon me, the chief -being to take care of our companion in the cave. - -"He's a guid man," he said, "but a thochtless. I blame mysel' yet for -the crack I gi'ed him on the heid. It seems tae ha'e left him a bit -confused. Ye'll tak' care o' him." - -When the moment of parting came he took off his bonnet, and gripping me -fervently by the hand said: - -"I'll be back ere lang, but if I dinna return, I should like ye noo and -then to gie a kindly thocht to the memory o' the packman. Maybe I may -find a grave under the open sky on the purple moorland; and if that be -my lot and ye should be spared for happier days and can fin' the place -where I lie, maybe ye'll see that my cairn is no' left withoot a name. -But dinna be carvin' ony extravagant eulogy on the stane. Juist put the -words 'Hector the packman.' That'll be enough for me--but it's the -prood man I wad be, lying in the mools beneath, if ye wad add a line or -twa o' Latin juist to let the unborn generations ken that I was a -scholar. There are twa bit legends that come ready to my min'; ane is, - - "Sciro potestates herbarum usumque medendi - Maluit, et mutas agitare inglorius artes. - -'He was skilly in the knowledge o' herbs and o' their healing powers, -and wi' nae thocht o' higher glory he liked to practise that quiet -art'--that's frae Virgil, as ye will nae doot remember an' of course -refers to my salve. But there's anither word frae my auld frien' -Horace; it's a fit epitaph for a man like me wha's life has never been -what it micht ha'e been: - - "... Amphora coepit - Institui: currente rota cur urceus exit? - -'The potter was minded to make a bonnie vessel; why does naething but a -botchery come frae the running wheel?'" - -Before I could make a fitting reply he dropped my hand and left me. I -stood in the dusk watching him go. He glided into the shadows and soon -he had become as incorporeal as one of them. With a sense of desolation -upon me, I made for the field where my night's task awaited me, and -laboured steadily till the dawn. - -As I made my way back to the cave I could not help wondering where -Hector might be. - -There had been something almost ominous in the manner of his parting. -Had he felt the shadow hovering over him?--or was his farewell and his -reference to his possible death nothing more than an expression of his -curiously sentimental nature? - -I could not decide: but I trusted that his natural caution and his -mother-wit, of which I knew something, would carry him safely through. - -Consoling myself with this thought, I entered the wood and proceeded to -make my way up the bed of the stream. - -A week or two passed undisturbed by any eventful happening. Night after -night I continued my work in the fields. More than once the minister -joined me, lending me what aid he could. But his spirit was greater -than his strength, and at last I had to ask him for his own sake, and -for the sake of those who counted upon his ministrations, to reserve his -energies for their own special work. Recognising his physical -limitations, he took my advice. - -"Maybe," he said, "you're right. Perhaps it was given to me to be a -sower only, and not a harvester. The fields you are reaping were sown by -other hands than yours, and mayhap the ripe fruit which in the good -Providence of God may spring from the seed I have sown will be gathered -by other hands than mine. But it matters little. The thing is to sow -honestly and to reap faithfully, so that at the end of the day when we -go home for our wages we may win the Master Harvester's 'Well done.'" - -Even had he been physically capable of doing useful work in the fields, -it would have been unfair to expect him to do it at this time. His days -were already full. He was making preparations for a great Conventicle to -be held among the Closeburn hills early in October. It was to be a very -special occasion--a gathering together of all the faithful to unite in -that simple love feast which has inspired with fresh courage and -inflamed with new devotion men and women throughout the ages. It was a -brave, a hazardous thing to venture on. - -I was more than a little uplifted when he honoured me by asking me if I -would care to be a sentinel. - -His request touched me deeply, and I felt that Mary was smiling upon me -with radiant eyes out of the unknown. - -A few more days elapsed. Another Sunday came and went, the last before -the great occasion. I had spent the day in the coolness of the cave, -and the minister had been out about his spiritual duties. I stole out -and sitting on the ledge above the pool sat dreaming in the twilight. -Far off in the fields beyond the wood I heard a corncrake rasping out -his raucous notes. There was a twitter of birds in the trees above me -as they settled down to sleep. - -As I sat there I was joined by Mr. Corsane, who came through the narrow -defile below the pool. He looked weary and somewhat distraught; but -though I surmised that some anxiety oppressed him, he did not offer to -share it with me, so I held my peace. Soon he retired to rest and when -midnight came I set off to my labours. I did not see him on my return -to the cave in the morning, nor had he come back by evening when I left -again. But when on the morning of Tuesday I came in sight of the pool, -I discovered him waiting for me on the ledge outside the cave. He hailed -me at once: - -"I have been watching anxiously for your return. I am in sore -perplexity." - -"Can I help you, sir?" I asked. - -"If I were younger," he replied, "and could perform the task myself, I -would gladly do it; but it is past my power. It is an urgent -matter--for it concerns the safety of one dear to me and very precious -to the Cause." - -"Command me," I exclaimed. "I am ready to do anything I can; only tell -me how I may help." - -"I have a friend in Edinburgh," he said, "Peter Burgess by name. His -life is in danger. I must get a message to him ere Friday. Will you -take it?" - -"Gladly," I cried. "Trust me--and all the persecutors in Scotland shall -not prevent me." - -A smile flickered upon his face. "That is a reckless boast," he said. -"But I trust you, and thank you." - -"I am ready to start at once," I said. - -"What?" he exclaimed. "Weary as you are!" - -"Certainly," I answered, "one must needs haste. I'll have a plunge in -the pool while you write your letter, and after a mouthful of food, I'll -be off." - -By the time I had bathed and eaten, his message was ready, and with a -few last words of instruction I was about to set off. But he called me -back. - -"Have a care to your goings, my son. Be wary! be brave! I trust you -will succeed in reaching my friend ere it is too late; but you cannot be -back in time for the great Assembly on Sabbath. I shall miss you." - -He raised his hand in blessing, and, secreting the letter about me, I -turned, and was gone. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXIV* - - *THE FLIGHT OF PETER BURGESS* - - -When night fell I was far away among the hills. I had made good -progress and was well content. I should accomplish the journey in good -time--of that I was confident--so I crawled into a bed of heather and -slept soundly. - -In the early morning I was awakened by the call of the moor birds. -Before starting on my journey again, I thought it wise to secrete the -letter with greater care, so I took off one of my shoes, and, making a -hollow in the heel, folded the letter tightly and placed it there. Then -I took to the road again. - -I had hoped to reach Edinburgh by noon on Thursday, but when I came in -sight of the city it was past five o'clock. The journey had proved more -arduous than I expected; but I was still in time. The last long mile -accomplished, I reached the city. The moon had risen, and as I swung -round beneath the grey shadow of Holyrood I caught a glimpse of the -noble brow of Arthur's Seat towering high behind it. I passed the guard -of soldiers at the Canongate without challenge, for, apparently, they -saw in me nothing more than a travel-stained and dusty wanderer--some -gangrel body. - -I did not wish to draw suspicion upon myself by asking anyone to direct -me to Halkerstone Wynd where Peter Burgess dwelt. But, meeting a boy, I -stopped him to ask where I could find the Tron Kirk, which Mr. Corsane -had given me as a landmark. His reply was explicit enough, if somewhat -rude. "Follow yer nose," he said, "and ye'll be there in five meenutes," -which I took to mean that I was to continue my journey up the hill. -Very shortly a large church came into view, and as it took shape in the -moonlight a clock in its tower struck ten. I counted the strokes, and, -turning, retraced my steps and found at no great distance from the -Church, as the minister had told me, the Wynd which I sought. The -minister had given me careful instructions, so that when I entered the -Wynd I had no difficulty in finding the house in which his friend lived. -The outer door stood open, and I entered, passing at once into the -confusion of darkness; but I had learned from Hector the wisdom of -carrying a candle in one's pocket, and lighting it, I looked around me. -I knew that I should find Peter Burgess on the top floor of the house, -so, shading the candle with one hand, I began the ascent. Up, and up -and up, in never ceasing spirals wound the stair. To me, weary with my -journey, it seemed interminable. Between two of its flights I paused, -and leaning over the balustrade looked downwards. A chasm, black as -pitch and unfathomable to my straining eyes, gaped below me. After a -moment's rest I continued my ascent, and by and by, breathless, I came -to the top. An oaken door barred my further progress. An iron knocker, -shaped like a lady's hand, hung gracefully upon its middle beam. I -remember that as I seized it to knock, I held it for a second while I -looked at the delicate metal filigree of lace that adorned the wrist. -Then I knocked three times--first gently, then more firmly and, as no -answer came, more loudly still. At last I heard movements on the other -side, and in the flickering candle-light I saw a little peep-hole open, -and a voice said "Who is it?" I bent my head to the tiny aperture and -said in a whisper "Naphthali," the password I had been told to use. -Instantly the peep-hole was closed, and the door was thrown open. -"Enter and welcome," said the voice, and I needed no second invitation. -I found myself in a narrow passage at the end of which was a room -through whose open door a light shone. The man who had admitted me -closed and barred the door and then led the way to the room. Then -turning to me he said: - -"To what do I owe this late visit?" - -"I bring," I replied, "a message from a friend, but before I give it to -you I must know who you are." - -He went to a bookcase that stood against one of the walls and from it -withdrew a little calf-bound volume. Opening it he pointed to the -book-plate within. - -On the scroll I read the legend "Ex libris Petri Burgess," and I saw -that the book was a copy of Rutherford's _Lex Rex_. I sat down at once -on a high-backed oak chair, and, taking off my shoe, found the letter -and handed it to him. He took it with a grave bow, and, breaking its -seal, sat down at the black-oak table in the centre of the room. - -As he did so, I looked about me. The room was furnished with -considerable taste and was lit by two candles which stood in silver -candlesticks on the table. Between the candlesticks lay a sheet of -paper. Beside them stood an ink-horn and a little bowl of sand in which -was a small bone spoon. The light was somewhat uncertain, and to read -with greater ease he drew one of the candlesticks nearer to him. - -When he had read the letter through, he sat in a fit of meditation, -beating a gentle tattoo with the fingers of his left hand upon the top -of the table. He read it again, and went towards the fireplace where he -tore the missive into tiny pieces and dropped them into the fire. Then -he came back to the table. - -"Forgive," he said, "my seeming lack of hospitality; you must be worn -out and famished. Let me offer you some refreshment." - -I thanked him heartily, and in a few minutes he had set food and wine -before me. - -He joined me in the repast, and as we sat at the table I had an -opportunity of studying him with some care. I judged him to be a man -over sixty. His face was refined and the delicate line of his mouth -which his beard did not conceal bespoke a sensitive nature. He treated -me with a courtly grace, asked interestedly as to my journey, and -inquired earnestly as to the progress of the Cause in the South. I told -him all I knew, and when he heard from my lips how Mr. Corsane, though -evicted from his Church, still regarded himself as the shepherd of his -people and was constant in his devotion and instant in his service to -them, he said: - -"Good! good! But how he must have suffered! As for me," he continued, -"I have no cave in which to take refuge, so I must steal away like a -thief in the night. Please God, ere morning I may find a boat in which -to escape to the Low Countries. But you must have bed and lodging; and -ere I leave the city I shall see you safely housed with a friend in the -Lawn Market." - -When our meal was over my host pushed back his chair and said: - -"Now I must go." He went to the bookcase, and taking from it two or -three volumes put them in the pockets of his coat. Turning to me with a -smile, he said: "A fugitive had best go unencumbered; but I should be -lost without a book." - -He made up a small parcel of food, and then, extinguishing one candle -and taking the other from its candlestick, he led the way to the door, -and together we passed out. He locked the door from the outside, and -lighting the way with the candle, which he still held in his hand, he -conducted me downstairs. - -When we entered the High Street, we turned and walked up past the Tron -Kirk. - -The streets were deserted, save for ourselves, for midnight was at hand. - -"The Castle," he said, "is just ahead of us, but we are not going so -far. This is our destination," and he turned into a narrow Wynd on the -right side of the street and passed through an open door just beyond its -mouth. In the shadow of the doorway he lighted his candle and proceeded -to climb the stair. On the second floor he knocked gently at a door -which, after a pause, was opened noiselessly by an old woman. - -We entered. My companion whispered a word or two in her ear, and taking -a leathern pouch from one of his pockets pressed some money into her -hand. - -"Be kind to the lad," he said, "he has travelled far." - -The old woman looked at me, and with the coins still gleaming in her -open palm, said: "Ye can trust me, Maister Burgess. He's no' to peety -if he has ane o' my guid cauf beds to sleep on, and a bowl o' parritch -in the morning." - -Mr. Burgess held out his hand to me in farewell. "God keep you," he -said. "And when you see my friend again, tell him I thank him with all -my heart. If God will, I shall communicate with him when I reach a place -of safety. If not----" and he raised his eyes to the low ceiling and, -dropping my hand, turned and was gone. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXV* - - *WITHIN SIGHT OF ST. GILES* - - -The old woman closed the door, and lighting a candle led me to a room -and left me. I found that the bed was all that she had claimed for it; -and after my many months of fitful sleep on my bracken couch on the hard -floor of the cave, and my weary journey, this mattress of chaff, into -which I sank as soon as I lay down, seemed a couch for a king. As I -turned over on my side and composed myself to sleep, I had but one -regret. Weary as I found myself, it would be impossible for me to get -back to the cave in time for the great Conventicle which was to be held -among the Closeburn hills upon the coming Sabbath. - -My sleep was dreamless, and when I awoke the torch of the sun was -blazing outside my narrow window. Having dressed myself, I made for the -kitchen, where I found the good-wife busy over the fire. She turned as -she heard my footsteps and asked: - -"Are ye weel rested? Ye maun be, for ye've sleepit the better pairt o' -twal 'oors. I knocked at your door at ten o'clock; syne I tappit again -at half-eleeven, but for a' the answer ye gi'ed, ye micht ha'e been the -Castle Rock. So I juist left ye your lane, and here ye are at lang -last, famished nae doot!" I was surprised to learn that I had slept so -long, but the rest had done me good service and I felt greatly -refreshed. "There's ae virtue aboot parritch, forby ithers," she -said--"a wee bit extra boilin' does nae hairm, which is mair than can be -said for ony ither dish except sheep's-heid broth." - -When my meal was over I rose to go, and as I did so I offered to pay the -good woman for her hospitality. - -"No, no," she said, as she shook her head. "Maister Burgess paid your -lawin' for ye; and indeed there was nae necessity, for ony frien' o' -that saint o' God is aye welcome to a bed and a sup o' parritch frae -Betty Macfarlane." - -As I had given up all intention of trying to reach Closeburn by the -following Sunday, I thought I might with advantage spend the rest of the -day in rambling round the historic town. Such an opportunity might not -offer again, and I knew that Scotland's story was graven upon the face -of her Capital. Under the cover of the night I would begin my journey -home. So I walked down the Lawn Market, and descended the Canongate -until I came within sight of Holyrood. As I went I admired the lordly -houses which flanked each side of the thoroughfare--some of them gaunt, -grey and forbidding; others finely timbered; others again turreted and -adorned with stone-fretwork that proclaimed the high skill of the -carvers' art. I lingered for a time in front of Holyrood, thinking of -the tragic career of her whose spirit still seemed to haunt the pile. -Then I made my way by the Cowgate to the Grassmarket, where, sombre and -menacing--the symbol of the dark days through which this tortured land -was passing--stood the scaffold. On that forbidding gibbet I knew that -many a brave martyr had met his end. The walls around me had heard the -intrepid challenge of their testimonies, while the grim Castle rock, -towering above, looked down silent and frowning as though it scorned the -cruelties of man to his brother man. - -From the Grassmarket I climbed up a tortuous and steep wynd to the Lawn -Market again. By this time the afternoon was far advanced, and evening -was at hand. In the High Street, not far from the church of St. Giles, -I entered a tavern, and having supped I looked at the clock in the -Church Tower and saw that it was close upon six. I judged it would be -well to set out in another hour. By so doing I should have left the -city behind me and be far in the open country ere it was time to sleep; -so I settled myself comfortably on a chair in the inglenook and called -for another pot of ale. - -When the clock in the church tower struck seven I called for my score, -and, having settled it, made my way out into the High Street. As I came -out of the tavern door two officers passed me. I was less than a couple -of paces behind them as they walked down the street. Had I willed it -so, I could not have failed to catch some fragment of their talk, but my -ears were pricked to a lively attention when I heard one of them say: -"... Among the hills ... Closeburn." I caught a few disjointed words. -"Sabbath ... three or four thousand ... a great occasion ... Claver'se, -Lag, ... something complete ... no miserable failure ... Drumclog ... -stamp out... no quarter ... woman or child." A horror so sudden seized -me that I stood stock still, and the officers, unaware that I had -overheard them, walked on. - -What had I heard? The fell purport of the stray words I had caught -blazed before me in letters of fire. I knew of the great Conventicle -that was to take place among the hills above Closeburn. I knew that -every little cottage and every homestead for miles around that held a -soul who professed allegiance to the Cause would have its witness there. -By some mischance the enemy had learned of the intended gathering, and -had plotted a master-stroke to destroy the Covenanters. - -The Cause was in jeopardy! Destruction threatened it. And I, Walter de -Brydde--one-time moss-trooper, could save it! I alone. My hour had -come. - -The clock struck, and, startled, I awoke to action. - -Forgetful that the news must be carried far, I began to run. Down past -the Tron Kirk and on past Halkerstone Wynd and on down the Canongate I -ran, until as I drew near the Town Port and saw the scarlet colour of -the soldier's uniforms, some gleam of caution returned to me, and I -slowed down to a walking pace lest my speed should excite suspicion. I -shambled past the sentinels unchallenged, but when I had put a -sufficient distance between them and myself, I broke into a run once -more and headed for the hills. As I sped along I made a hasty -calculation. It was now eight o'clock on Friday evening. To prevent -the massacre, I must reach Closeburn not later than midnight on -Saturday. That would give time for a message to be spread broadcast by -willing couriers in the darkness of the night, and faithful men could be -posted to give warning at every cross-road by which the worshippers must -pass as they made their way, in the early dawn, to the appointed -trysting-place. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXVI* - - *FOR THE SAKE OF THE COVENANT* - - -I had twenty-eight hours in which to reach Closeburn--time sufficient to -cover the distance, if I made an average of three miles an hour. And -three miles an hour was well within the compass even of a man lame like -myself. Already I saw my task accomplished, and the joy that filled my -heart lent wings to my feet. With hands clenched, and chest thrown -forward, I raced along until my breathing became a torment and I had to -stop. I leaned against a wall by the roadside panting violently, and as -I rested, soberer thoughts came to me. This was foolishness! - -Not in this way would I ever complete the journey; nor was there need of -such impetuous haste. A moderate speed on the level, a steady struggle -up the hills and all the speed I could command down them would bring me -safely to my goal within the allotted time. I looked back along the way -I had come. Far off I could see the light gleaming in the windows of -the city, and high up, where a great black mass threw its bulk towards -the sky, I saw the red glare of the brazier upon the Castle walls. -Already I had travelled far, and when I had recovered my breath, I took -to the road again. This time I did not run, but walked steadily. - -The moon climbed the heavens, and all the sky was glad with little -stars. A gentle breeze had arisen and white clouds were scurrying -overhead; but the cool of the wind was as refreshing balm and I plodded -steadily on. Hour followed hour, and the moon sank to rest and still I -followed the winding road. The first rosy streaks of dawn were warming -the eastern sky when I sat down to rest. I was well content. My steady -pace had carried me far and though I was weary I was confident. In the -daylight I should be able to make better progress than during the -darkness. As I rested I became aware that the strength of the wind had -increased, and great leaden clouds were beginning to sweep across the -sky. Rain began to fall upon my upturned face. The cooling drops were -welcome; it would be but a passing shower! Thinking thus I rose and -continued my journey. Then the heavens opened and the rain came down in -a flood. Blown by the wind it struck my face and hands with missile -force and to shelter myself I left the road and crawled under a -whin-bush on the hill-side. For a time this gave me protection; but as -the storm increased the rain-drops beat their way through the palisade -of thorns, and poured mercilessly upon me once more. There was nothing -to be gained by resting here. I was losing time. Better up and on! So -I took to the road again. The wind had waxed to a tempest and beat -direct upon me, so that I had to bend my head and put forth all my -strength to fight it. I had not looked for this, but with dogged -determination I clenched my teeth and battled on. - -On I struggled, unable to see more than a few paces ahead of me; for the -rain was like a cloud--so wet that with every step the water streamed -from my shoes. Should I ever reach the end of the journey? I would -though I fell dead! It was for Mary's sake. - -Hour after hour passed, and at last the storm began to abate. The fury -of the rain lessened, and the downpour settled into a drizzle. The sky -began to clear. There were breaks in its leaden vault through which a -white tuft of cloud thrust an infrequent pennon, and by and by the sun -broke through the dull veil that had hidden it, and the rain ceased. - -Still the wind blew upon me with such force that every now and then I -was brought to a standstill. When a lull came between one and the next -more stern blast, I would run a pace or two; but only to be baffled -again when the wind had gathered strength. I cast an anxious look up to -the sky; the sun was visible now, but there was no vigour in his rays. -It seemed as though the rain had quenched his fire, and that instead of -looking into the heart of a furnace I gazed upon a ball of grey ashes. -But what gave me pause and filled me with sudden dread was his place in -the sky. He was already well past the meridian. The steady progress of -the night, in which I had taken such satisfaction, counted for little -set against the small tally of the miles covered since the dawn. The -agony in my heart whipped me to greater effort, and I tried to run. But -the wind seized me, and smote me with mighty buffets so that I had to -desist and content myself by making what poor speed I could. On and on -I trudged--hour after hour boring my way head downwards against the -relentless wind, ashamed to count my paces, for I knew that the tale of -them, as each minute slipped past, was less than a quarter of what it -would have been if fortune had not turned against me. I had left the -moorland track now and was upon a stretch of better road, sheltered in -some fashion by trees upon either side. They broke the sterner fury of -the blast and the better surface of the road made speedier progress -possible. Spurring myself to the effort I sprang forward. Suddenly, to -my joy, I saw on the hill-side above the road a little white cottage. I -dragged myself up the slope, sodden and weary, and as I drew near I -noticed the iron tyre of a cart-wheel leaning against the side of the -house, and near by a rusty anvil. I knocked at the door, which was -opened immediately by a young woman. - -"What's yer pleesure?" she asked. - -"Something to eat--and the time o' day," I answered. - -"It's past five on the nock, an' if ye'll come awa' ben ye can ha'e some -provender." - -She led the way into a large kitchen, and as she busied herself in -setting oat cakes and ale before me I warmed myself by the fire. I was -in no mood for delay, so I ate some of the food hastily, stored a little -in my pockets, drank my ale, and called for my score. As I paid her I -asked the distance to Moffat. - -"Eight miles and a bittock, and the first bit is a' uphill--an awfu' -road: but easy after ye pass the Beef-tub." - -My heart sank, the hour was late--far later than I had thought, and I -had still far to go. - -Bidding my hostess good day I hurried to the door, threw it open--and -walked into the arms of two troopers. Taken unawares I was startled, -but quickly recovering myself I bade them good day and tried to pass -them. - -"No' sae fast, young man--no' sae fast. Ye're in a de'il o' a hurry," -said one of the troopers--a towering brawny giant--as he seized me by -the coat. - -"Unhand me," I cried. "What right have you to interfere with a loyal -subject, engaged on his lawful occasions?" - -"Hear tae him, Sandy," said my captor. "He talks like a mangy lawyer. -'Lawful occasions!' We'll see aboot that. What are ye daein' here?" - -Eager to satisfy the man, and in the hope that by doing so I should be -permitted to continue on my way, I answered: - -"I am a traveller on my way to Dumfries--I have been caught in the -storm, and sought shelter and refreshment in this house"--and I tried to -wrench myself from his grasp. - -"A gey thin tale. Whit think ye, Sandy? As like as no' he's a -Covenanter." And Sandy grunted "Umphm." - -Again I tried to shake myself free--but the giant flung his arms about -me, and lifting me up, struggle how I might, as though I had been a -child he carried me back into the kitchen and thrust me roughly on a -chair. - -The woman of the house looked on open-eyed. - -"Whit ken ye o' this man?" said the trooper, turning towards her, but -all the while keeping a firm hold of me. - -"Naething mair than yersel," she answered. "He cam' tae the door a -bittock syne, and asked for something tae eat--and he peyed his lawin' -like a gentleman." - -"Umphm," growled my tormentor; and Sandy standing beside him answered -"Umphm." - -"Bring us something tae drink, Mirren, Solway waters if ye hae them. -We're fair drookit," said my captor. "As for you," he said, tightening -his grip on my arm, "we'll ha'e to look into your case. Sandy--fetch a -tow." - -Sandy followed the woman into another room, and in a moment returned -with a rope in his hand. - -"What does this mean?" I shouted. "You have no right to interfere with -me--and when I reach Moffat I shall lodge a complaint with the Officer -Commanding." - -"Shut yer jaw," bellowed the giant, and shook his fist at me. - -I sprang up--my clenched left fist smashed into his face, and the blood -streamed from him--but still he held me. - -Sandy sprang to his aid, and though I struggled like one possessed I was -quickly overpowered, flung roughly on the chair and bound there. The -rope that surrounded me, and held my arms close to my sides, was drawn -so tightly that I could hardly breathe. They ran it round the back of -the chair and under the legs shackling each ankle. I was helpless. As -he bound me the giant cursed me soundly, pausing only to spit blood from -his foul mouth. - -"Ye blasted hound! Ye're no' what ye pretend. We'll mak' ye talk in a -wee. Eh, Sandy?" And Sandy, binding my ankles, answered "Umphm." - -When I was tied securely they stood away from me and surveyed their -handiwork. - -"Umphm," said Sandy--as he poured out a glass of Solway waters from the -bottle which the woman had brought, and raised it to his lips. The two -sat down by the fire--the bottle between them--and for a time turned all -their attention to its contents. I tried to move--=but I was gripped as -in a vice. I was in sore case. I cared not what happened to myself, -but there was my message. I alone could prevent the massacre on the -morrow, and now the proud hope I had cherished of doing service to the -Covenant was brought to naught. Was there a God in heaven, that such -things could be? I was not left long to my thoughts. - -Suddenly the giant rose, and standing over me glowered into my eyes as -he shouted: - -"Are ye a Covenanter?" - -Temptation assailed me. If I denied the Covenant, I could with a firmer -claim demand to be set free--and then I might yet carry my message -through. "No" was upon my lips--but it died unspoken there. I heard the -notes of a flute on a heather-clad hill-side: saw again a heap of -smouldering ashes where a home of love had been. I could not deny the -Covenant. - -Firmly I answered "I am"--and in the gathering shadows I saw the radiant -face of Mary smiling upon me--as she blew me a kiss with either hand. - -"Umphm," said Sandy, "I thocht as muckle." - -"So ye're a Covenanter, are ye?" roared the giant. "I'll learn ye! Wull -ye say 'God save the King?'" - -"God save the King," I answered promptly. "I am a loyal subject and a -Covenanter." - -"Ye lie," he shouted. "The Covenanters are a' rebels. Wull ye tak' the -Test?" - -In the cave at the Linn I had heard Hector repeat the involved sentences -of the Test with scorn upon his lips, and I knew that this half-drunken -trooper could not possibly find his way through them; so I answered: - -"If you can put the Test to me you shall have my answer." - -Sandy--with the bottle in his hand--looked over his shoulder and laughed -softly. The giant turned upon him. "Whit the deevil are ye lauchin' -at"--and then turning to me, "I'm nae scholar--and I canna min' the -words, but if I canna pit the Test to you I can pit you tae the -test--and by heaven I will." A look of fiendish cruelty swept over his -hard face. - -"Try him wi' the match," said Sandy. - -"Ay--that'll test him." - -While Sandy busied himself about my fastenings to free my left arm for -the ordeal, the other trooper was trying to make the long match he had -unwound from his head-gear take light. It was damp and would not burn. -I watched in a strange state of abstraction. Only a few minutes ago the -vision of Mary had smiled upon me. Pain and torture were nothing to me -now. Let them do their worst! - -"It winna burn: it's wat," said the giant. Throwing the match on the -floor, he gripped my left arm savagely and pushed back the sleeve of my -coat. - -"Rax me a live peat," he said, and Sandy picked one up with the tongs -and handed it to him. He seized the tongs, and held the peat against my -arm just above the wrist where the blue veins showed. "That'll mak' ye -talk, ye dog," he shouted. But no word escaped my lips. My eyes sought -the distance--and there I saw the face of Mary--twin tears upon her -eyelids. The pain was swallowed up by the joy. - -"He's a dour deevil," growled Sandy. - -"Ay: but we'll ha'e him yelling for mercy yet. The peat's gaen cauld. -Gar it lowe, Sandy." - -Sandy bent his head and blew upon the peat. It began to glow again--but -I did not flinch. - -"Rax me anither," said my tormentor, letting the first fall and relaxing -his grip of my arm. For a moment he turned to watch his companion pick -up another glowing peat--and in that moment I eased the ropes about my -right arm with my left hand. They slipped upwards and my right arm was -free. - -My tormentors did not observe it when they came to me again and applied -the torture to my left arm once more. - -Again Sandy lowered his head to blow upon the peat--and in that instant -my right arm shot out like a steel spring, my fist crashed into his jaw -and he fell in a heap, knocking the legs from under the giant, who fell -heavily upon him. - -"Ye clumsy lout!" he cried, as he rose in drunken fury, and as Sandy lay -motionless he kicked him savagely with his heavy boots in the chest. - -The kitchen door opened softly, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of -the woman's frightened face: then she withdrew. - -"Get up--I tell ye," roared the giant, kicking the recumbent figure -again. - -My blow could have caused him only temporary damage--but this savagery -of the giant would kill him. - -My eyes were on Sandy. His pallid face grew ashen: his chest was raised -from the ground in a curve like a bow as he took a convulsive breath: -blood and froth bubbled at his lips--and he lay still, his ashen pallor -deepening. - -Fear seized the giant. He dropped on his knees beside the body. "Get -up, Sandy my lammie"--he said, drunken tears falling down his cheeks. -"Ye're no' deid. Ye'll be a' richt in a meenute. Get up, lad. Say -ye're no' deid." - -But Sandy lay motionless. - -"You have killed him," I said. - -"You lie," roared the trooper, springing to his feet and facing me. -"You did it--an' ye'll pey for 't." - -He seized me by the throat, and readjusted my fastenings--binding me -cruelly tight. Then he took a long draught from the bottle, and sat -down. I watched him as he took a knife from his pocket, and ran his -thumb along its edge. - -"I'll bluid him like a sheep," he muttered, as he bent down and tried to -sharpen the blade on the hearth-stone. - -I knew I could expect no mercy from this frenzied, half-drunken brute. - -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." - -I did her bidding quickly, pouring out my gratitude with fervent lips. - -As I was about to gag her with her kerchief, she forbade me for a -moment, and said with tears in her eyes: - -"God forgi'e me! My mither was a Covenanter--an'--I mairrit a trooper." - -I bent down reverently and kissed her bound hands. - -"You have done a greater service to the Covenant than you know," I said, -then springing up I dashed from the house into the gathering darkness. - -I had lost two precious hours--but by the mercy of God I was still -alive, and I should carry my message through. - -I raced down the slope to the road, and turned my face to the long -ascent. The wind had abated, and I could make better progress. The -cold air stung my burnt arm, but as I set my mind to my task the pain -ceased to trouble me. - -With hope still rising within me I struggled on--breaking into a steady, -mechanical trot. As the woman had said, the road was very bad, but, -after my strange deliverance from death, nothing could daunt me, and I -fought my way on. The stars were looking down upon me now, and I looked -up at them with a grateful heart. At last I reached the top of the -hill, and the long descent lay before me. I paused for a moment to -regain my breath, and saw far below me that tender light which always -hangs in the sky, when night comes, above the habitations of men, and I -knew that I was looking down on Moffat. As though the light were a -beacon which beckoned me, I started to run down-hill. - -My stiff limbs warmed to their work and soon I was running with some -freedom. On and on ... splashing through the pools of water that lay in -the path, with eyes strained ever towards the gleam in the sky; on, and -on ... with clenched teeth and parted lips through which my hurrying -breath issued with the poignant sound of a sob. On, and on ... the -rhythmic sound of my footsteps throbbing through my brain. Faster now, -for the light was drawing nearer; on, and on ... till just without the -confines of the little town I turned to the right lest the sound of my -racing feet should awake suspicion. Skirting the township cautiously, I -came out upon the road again beyond it. - -On, and on ... fear and desire lending speed to my feet; and behind me -the town clock striking ten. God help me!--a score of miles still lay -before me; had I strength to accomplish the task? The perspiration -broke out upon me, and for very weariness I reeled as I ran. At last I -came to the place where I must leave the highway and take to the open -country. It was harder going thus, but the way was more direct and every -moment was precious. On, and on ... until my mind divorced itself from -my body, and in a mood of abstraction contemplated the running figure -alongside which it sailed so easily. On, and on ... the mind holding -itself aloof and regarding with a kind of pity the struggles of the -tired body that was plunging headlong across the fields. Suddenly I was -conscious that something other than myself was running along beside me -... keeping step with my step, measuring its paces with my paces, neck -and neck with me. What ghostly companion was this? I looked to the -right and left but saw nothing, and, as I looked, the sound of the -attendant footsteps ceased and I heard nothing but the tick-tack of my -own feet. On, and on ... crashing through the hedges, leaping over the -low dykes, stumbling in the ruts of the ploughed fields, wading the -little streams, ... still I pressed on. I was panting wildly now, so -that my breath whistled as the wind whistles through a keyhole in -winter. Nothing mattered: come life, come death, I should carry the -tidings through. Once more the ghostly feet were audible, keeping time -with my own--pit-pat, pit-pat, step for step. I flung my arms to right -and left, but they touched vacancy, and the ghostly footsteps ceased. -On, and on, ... until a heavy languor stole over me and filled me with -the hunger of sleep. My eyelids drooped, so that for an instant I did -not see the ground before me, and I stumbled and almost fell. I sprang -erect and shook myself. Sleep meant death--not for myself, but for -thousands of others who had grown to be dear to me, and on and on I ran. -But the things that a man would do are conditioned by the strength which -God has given him, and the body, though an obedient slave to the mind, -sometimes becomes a tyrant. My limbs were heavy--no longer things of -flesh and blood, but compact of lead. On, and on ... knowing nothing -now but that my task was a sacred one, deaf to the sound of my own -footsteps, blind to the things around me, on and on I reeled till sleep -or something akin to it, seized me, and for a time I raced on -unconscious of what I did. Stumbling, I fell to spring up again wildly -alert. I should win through or die! On and on--and on and on ... till -I sank helpless to the ground. - -I slept: I dreamed:-- - -It was a peaceful Sabbath day. In a hollow among the hills above -Closeburn a great gathering of men and women and children was assembled -to keep the feast. On a low table covered with a fair white cloth stood -the sacred elements. Behind the table I saw my friend of the cave at -the Linn standing with a look of rapture on his face. The gathered -people were singing a psalm, when, suddenly, there was a loud alarm. -The posted sentinels came hot-foot with cruel tidings on their lips. -But it was too late. From north and south and east and west, on horses -at the gallop, poured the dragoons--Claver'se's men, Lag's men, Winram's -men, Dalzell's men, all with the blood-lust in their eyes--and in a -moment that peaceful hollow was a bloody shambles. Muskets rattled on -every side; men, women and children fell. Through and through that -defenceless company the wild troopers rode, spurring their horses to -their sickening task, trampling the women and children underfoot, -shooting the men with their bullets or beating them down with the stocks -of their muskets. Screams and wild blasphemy rent the air that but a -moment before had been fragrant with the melodies of love and adoration. -Lag himself I saw spur his charger over a tangled mass of dead and dying -right at the sacred table. The horse leaped, spurning to the ground the -Bread and Wine, and the man of blood, swinging his sword high, brought -it down upon the head of the sainted minister, who fell cleft to the -chin. And I, by whose failure such deeds of blood had been made -possible, lay bound, a prisoner, hand and foot. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXVII* - - *"OUT OF THE SNARE OF THE FOWLERS"* - - -A blaze of light as though the sun had sprung full armoured to the -height of heaven smote upon my eyes. I opened them, but in that -brilliant glare I could see nothing, though I heard voices about me: - -"Wha' think ye he can be?" - -"He hasna got a kent face," a woman's voice replied. "Some puir gangrel -body nae doot. But what can he be daein' off the high road?" - -I let the light filter through a chink between my eyelids, and when I -could bear its full brightness I opened them and looked around me. A -little group of five people bent over me--an old man, holding a lantern, -an old woman, and three young men whom I took to be their sons. - -As I looked round there came to me out of the depths some memory of the -happenings of the night. I wondered dimly if the tragedy of which I had -been witness were reality, or dream. Who could these people be? Were -they some chance Samaritans who had come upon me bound hand and foot, -and delivered me from the hands of the persecutors? As I wondered I -heard the old woman say to her husband: - -"Think ye he can be a hill-man? sic another as we found in the laigh -field after Rullion Green." - -Hill-man! hill-man! the words burned themselves into my torpid brain. I -gathered all my strength, and raising myself so suddenly that they fell -away from me startled, I cried, "For the love of God, tell me, are you -hill-folks?" - -"What o' that, what o' that?" asked the old man cautiously. - -Then I threw discretion to the winds. "Tell me," I cried, my voice -breaking, "are you hill-men, for I bring tidings that will brook no -delay." - -They gathered round me again and looked at me with anxious eyes. - -"Got wi' it, lad," cried the old man, almost as excited as myself, and -with what speed I could I told them all. Breathlessly they listened. -"God in heaven, save us," groaned the old man as I finished, and then, -turning to his sons he cried: "Boys, it's yours to carry the message -through. Awa' wi' ye! Post men at the cross-roads, scatter the news far -and wide, and the Cause may yet be saved." - -Like hounds from the leash the lads sprang away into the darkness. With -failing sight I saw them go, then I sank back again wearily and knew no -more. - -Long afterwards I was conscious in a dim kind of way of being lifted -from the ground and borne gently over what seemed to be an interminable -distance; but I was too drowsy and fatigued to care what was happening -to me. When I opened my eyes I found myself lying on a soft bed in a -small farm kitchen. A glowing fire was on the hearth and its pleasant -warmth pervaded the room. The good man of the house brought me a drink -of something hot, which put new life in my veins and I was my own man -again. - -I would fain have talked to my rescuers, but they forbade me, and I sank -once more into a drowse, but ere I slept I heard, as I had heard so -often in the old house at Daldowie, the good man opening the Book and -saying, "Let us worship God by singing to His praise a part of the 124th -Psalm." - -I slept deeply, and when I awoke it was late in the Sabbath afternoon. -When they heard me stir the kindly folk showed themselves assiduous in -those little courtesies which mean so much to a weary man. When I -essayed to rise the old man was at my bedside to lend me aid, and when I -had risen he brought me water wherewith to wash myself. The cool liquid -took the stains of travel from my face and hands, and at the same time -purged me of weariness. On my left arm, where the torture had been -applied, was an ugly red sore all blisters at its edges. I looked at it -with a kind of pride. It was the brand of the Covenant upon me. The -old man bound it with a buttered cloth, to my great comfort. - -The blind was drawn down over the window so that the light within was -restful. I took my seat upon the settle and the farmer's wife spread a -meal before me, and as I ate they questioned me. From them I gathered -that when they came upon me lying in a stupor in the fields, they were -themselves upon their way to the hill-meeting. They had some ten miles -to travel, and as they had to measure their speed by the speed of the -good-wife, they had set out soon after midnight. I asked anxiously -whether they had news of what had taken place, and whether their sons -had succeeded in spreading the alarm sufficiently widely to prevent the -Covenanters assembling. To this the old man replied: - -"I dinna ken for certain, but ye may tak' it frae me that the troopers -found naething but an empty nest. We'll be hearin' later on, for the -lads will be back ere long." He stirred the peats with a stick, and -continued: "Man, it's wonderfu', wonderfu'; a' foreordained. If I were -a meenister what a graun' sermon I could mak' o't!" - -By and by night fell. The good-wife lighted the candles, and when -another hour had elapsed the three lads returned. There was joy on -their faces; and there was joy in every heart in that little house when -they told us how their mission had sped. With the help of many others -they had spread a warning so far afield that no Covenanter came within a -mile of the assembly place. Then they told us how, when their task was -fulfilled, they had watched unseen the cavalcades of the dragoons -invading from every point of the compass the quiet sanctuary among the -hills. And they told too, with some glee, of the wrath of the soldiery -when after riding like hell-hounds full tilt from every side they -plunged into the hollow only to find that their prey had escaped them. - -Early next morning I arose, and would have taken my departure, but the -good man forbade me. - -"If ye maun go, ye maun," he said, "but it will be kittle work -travellin' by day. The dragoons are like to be sair upset after the -botchery o' yesterday and nae doot they'll be scourin' the country -lusting for bluid. So, ye'd better bide here till nicht comes and the -hawks are a' sleepin', and ye'll win through to yer journey's end in -safety." - -His words were wise, and, though I knew that my continued absence might -cause Mr. Corsane anxiety, I decided to take his advice. When the night -fell and the moment of farewell came, the old man took me by the hand: - -"God keep ye," he said. "Ye ha'e done a great thing for the Covenant. -Years hence, when these troublous days are a' by, the story will be told -roond mony a fireside o' the great race ye ran and the deliverance ye -brocht to the persecuted." - -With the sound of kindly blessings following me through the darkness, I -set out and, long ere the dawn, was safely concealed once more in the -cave above the Linn. - -Mr. Corsane gave me a hearty welcome. I assured him that I had -delivered his message in good time, and then told him of all the events -which had followed. My story filled him with astonishment. He himself -had been warned by Covenanting sentries who challenged him as he was -stealing in the early dawn towards the trysting-place, and he had -returned to the cave and waited in a tumult of anxiety. But little had -he imagined that I had brought the news. - -"I never doubted your loyalty," he said, "but this deed of yours has -thirled you to the Covenant for ever," and he laid his hands upon my -shoulders and let them rest there for a little space. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXVIII* - - *THE PASSING OF ANDREW AND JEAN* - - -The land was in the iron grip of winter. No longer was there any work -for me in the fields, so that I was driven to spend nights and days in -idleness. For a man to rest from his labours may be a pleasant thing -for one weary, whose heart is at ease; but my inactivity of body served -but to fan the embers of my hopes, and I was tortured by lively flames -of hope which would flare up within me only to expire vacuously choked -by the cold ashes of reality. Mary was dead; my life was desolate! - -On a morning in mid December I crawled out upon the sandstone ledge -above the pool. The air was crisp and dry, so that my breath issued -from my mouth like a cloud of smoke; and, as I breathed, the chill of -the atmosphere bit into my blood. The sky above me was blue, like a -piece of polished and highly tempered steel; and only a few irresolute -beams of sunlight filtered through the gaunt branches of the trees on -the heights above me. The stream, where it poured into the pool, was -festooned with dependent sword-points of ice; and the pool itself, -except in the centre where the slow-moving waters still refused the -fetters of winter, was shackled in ice. A robin was perched on a tree -above me--his buckler the one spark of warmth, his song the one note of -cheer. - -I had paced up and down the narrow ledge several times when I heard the -sound of footsteps. In the clear air they rang like iron upon iron. -Alert, I listened to discover their direction. They came from down the -stream. Someone was making his way along the course of the rivulet -towards the pool. Could it be a dragoon on a quest at a venture, or was -our retreat discovered? Quickly I hurried round the edge of the pool. -There was no time to slip into the cave without discovery--the footsteps -were too close at hand. A spear of ice, and a stout heart could hold -the defile below the pool through which the intruder must pass before he -could reach the cave. If I held the gorge, the minister would have time -to make good his escape. His life was of greater worth than mine. - -A glow pervaded me: the lust of combat was upon me. Life was sweet: but -to die fighting was to die a death worth while, and the poignard of ice -which I held in my hand was a man's weapon. I peeped into the defile: -the further end was blocked by the body of a man who, with face bent -downward, was choosing his footsteps with care. It was no soldier in -the trappings of war--but a countryman. The man raised his face and I -could have shouted for joy: it was Hector! He saw me at once, and waved -a hand to me, and, hot with expectation, I awaited his coming. Soon he -had squeezed his way through, and stood beside me. I offered my hand in -welcome, and as I did so remembered that it still held my murderous -weapon. I dropped it on the instant and it fell into the pool, its -sharp end cutting a star-like hole in the sheet of ice. The packman -laughed as he took my hand. - -"So, so," he said, "ye thocht I was a trooper. A puir weapon yon! Gi'e -me 'Trusty,'" and he struck the rocks with the head of his stick so that -they rang. "And hoo is a' wi' ye?" he continued--"and the meenister?" - -I had no need to reply, for at that moment he emerged from the cave. - -Our first greetings over, we hustled the packman into the cave. We -spread food before him, and as he ate we plied him with questions. One -question was burning in my heart: but I knew the answer, and had not the -courage to put it; and as the minister was hungering for news, I gave -place to him and held my peace. - -How fared the Cause in the west country, and were the hill-men standing -firm? That was the essence of his questioning. And Hector, with eyes -glowing so that they shone like little lamps in the darkness of his -face, told him all. The cruelties of the persecutors had reached their -zenith: but neither shootings, nor still more hideous tortures -threatened, could break the proud spirit of the Covenanters. As he -talked, Hector's voice thrilled until his last triumphant words rang -through the cave like a challenge and a prophecy. - -"Ay," he cried, "though the King's minions heap horror upon horror till -every hill in the South o' Scotland is a heather-clad Golgotha, the men -will stand firm: and generations yet unborn will reap the harvest o' -their sacrifice." - -He ceased, and so deep a silence fell upon us that through the rock wall -I could hear the splash of an icicle as it fell into the pool. The -minister's bowed head was in his hands. Awe and reverence fettered my -tongue. Then Hector spoke again. He had taken his pipe from his -pocket, and was filling it with care. - -"And noo," he said, turning to me, "I ha'e news for you." A question -sprang to my lips, but before I could shape a word Hector held up his -hand. "You maun ask nae questions till my tale is done. You can talk yer -fill by and by: but hear me in silence first." I nodded my head, and he -began. - -"You mind I tellt ye, before I left, that when I went west I should try -to fin' oot what happened at Daldowie. Weel, on the road to Wigtown, I -held away up into the hills, and by and by I cam' to the auld place. It -stood there--what had been a bien hoose and a happy home--a heap o' -ruins, ae gable-end pointin' an angry finger tae the sky. I looked -amang the ruins, for I minded what you had seen there; but I saw -naething but ashes and charred stanes, save that Nature, a wee mair -kindly than man is, had scattered a flooer or twa oot o' her lap in the -by-gaun and they were bloomin' bonnily there. By and by I took the road -again, and though I go as far West as the rocks below Dunskey, where the -untamed waves hammer the cliffs like an angry stallion, I gathered nane -o' the news I was seekin'. But on the hame-comin' I dropped into the -Ship and Anchor at Kirkcudbright, and as I sat ower a pot o' yill I -heard a couple o' troopers haein' high words. What the quarrel was aboot -I dinna ken, but it ended by ane o' them springin' up and ganging oot o' -the door. As he went, he half turned and said, wi' a laugh: 'Ye deserve -what the guid-wife o' Daldowie gied Claver'se.' Whereat the dragoon -left behin' let a roar o' laughter oot o' him and took a lang pull at -his yill. When he set it doon he laughed again, and I jaloused that his -anger had passed. So I drew oot my pipe and tobacco, and I offered him -a fill. He took the weed gledly, and then I drew in to his table and -asked him to ha'e a drink. I ordered 'Solway waters,' for I ken hoo -they can lowse the tongue, and when they cam' I clinked glasses wi' him, -and by way o' settin' suspicion to rest, I drank to the King. Soon I -had him crackin' away merrily. But I didna learn muckle frae him till I -had plied him wi' mair drink, and then his tongue got the better o' his -discretion. Suddenly he said wi' a laugh, 'I deserve what the guid-wife -o' Daldowie gied to Claver'se, dae I? We'll see aboot that, my lad!' and -he laughed again. I had got my opening. - -"'That seems to be a guid joke,' I said. 'If it's worth tellin' I -should like to hear it.' - -"'Oh,' he answered, 'it's a graun' joke; but for guidsake dinna be -lettin' on tae Claver'se I tellt ye. It's a sair point wi' him.' - -"Little by little I got the story frae him in fragments mair or less -disjointed. But since then I've put it thegither, and I'll tell it in -my ain way. - -"Ae morning last April Claver'se and his troopers were oot on the moors -a mile or twa to the west o' Dairy, when they saw twa men comin' towards -them. Ane o' the men was chasin' the other up and doon amang the -moss-hags, and the troopers put spurs to their horses and sune had them -surrounded. When Claver'se looked at them he recognised in ane o' them -a young Covenanter wha' had escaped twa nichts afore frae a barn near -New Galloway where he had been flung after a dose o' the thumbikins. The -other was a much aulder man. The younger o' the twa was clean demented: -and they could get nae sense oot o' him--juist a screed o' haivers -whenever they questioned him. The auld man was as dour as a rock--and -would gie nae account o' himsel', but it was enough that he had been -seen chasin' the daft lad on the moors, belike wi' the intention o' -concealin' him in some hidie hole. Weel, Claver'se was for shootin' the -auld man oot o' hand if he wouldna speak, and said as much; but a' the -answer he got was 'I'm ready, sir. Ye can dae nae mair than kill my -body,' and he took off his bonnet and looked undaunted up at the sky. -Weel, just then ane o' the troopers drew up alangside Claver'se and -spoke to him. He had recognised the man as Andrew Paterson o' Daldowie, -and tellt Claver'se as much. 'O, ho!' said Claver'se, 'the old fox! So -this is the guid-man o' Daldowie. I think we had better tak' him hame -to his ain burrow. Maybe we'll find other game there.' So wi' that -they tied Andrew and the lad to the stirrup leathers o' twa troopers and -made for Daldowie--maybe ten miles awa. - -"As they drew near to Daldowie they saw a woman standin' in the doorway -lookin' into the distance under the shade o' her hand. She dropped her -hand, and made a half turn, and then she saw them comin'. Wi' that she -rushed into the hoose and closed the door: but nae doot she was watchin' -through a crack, for when they were near enough for her to see that her -guid-man was a prisoner, she cam' oot again and stood waitin'. When -they drew up she threw oot her airms, and like a mither that rins tae -keep her bairn frae danger, she ran towards her man, callin', 'Andra! -Andra!' But at a sign frae Claver'se ane o' the dragoons turned his -horse across her path and kept her off. Then Claver'se louped frae his -horse, and tellin' ane o' the dragoons to lay hold on the woman, and -calling half a dozen to follow him, drew his sword and walked in at the -open door. - -"Inside they made an awfu' steer, pokin' here and searchin' there, -nosin' even into the meal barrel and castin' the blankets off the beds -after Claver'se himsel' had driven his sword through and through them. -Then ane o' the troopers spied a ladder in the corner, and up he goes -into the loft, and Claver'se follows him. Then they cam' doon again, -Claver'se leadin' and no' lookin' pleased like. He stalked oot o' the -kitchen into the open air. Juist then the daft laddie let a screech oot -o' him, and Claver'se flung up his heid. 'What the devil is he yelling -about?' he cried. 'I'll stop his girning!' and wi' that he shouted an -order and twa sodgers ran forward and cuttin' the thongs frae his -wrists, dragged him tae the wall o' the hoose. They cast their hands -off him, but stood near enough to keep him frae runnin' away. He looked -at the dragoons wi' a simple look on his face, and then his e'en -wandered away to the blue hills in the distance,--'From whence cometh -mine aid,' he said. But he spoke nae mair, for, wi' a quick 'Make -ready: present: fire!' Claver'se let his sword drop, the muskets -crashed, and the boy fell deid. 'A good riddance,' said Claver'se, -spurning the body with his foot. 'There's enough daft folk in the -world,' and he laughed. - -"There was a sudden turmoil among the men, and the soond o' a woman's -voice. The guid-wife was strugglin' to free hersel', and as she did so -she shouted, 'Inhuman deevils! Is there nae milk o' mercy in yer herts? -What has the puir lad done that ye should murder him?' But a word frae -her husband quieted her, 'Jean,' he said--that was a'; but she stood -quite still and struggled nae mair, though the tears streamed doon her -face. Then Claver'se made a sign and Andra was unbound and led before -him, and at the same time the troopers let go their hold o' the woman -and she cam' and stood beside her man. 'Daldowie,' says Claver'se, 'you -have long been suspected of consorting with and harbouring the hill-men. -I have caught you red-handed to-day in the act of succouring one of -them; and in your house I have found proof that you have sheltered -fugitives from justice. What have you to say for yourself?' Andra -looked his judge straight in the face. 'The facts are against me, sir; -but I ha'e dune naething for which my conscience rebukes me, and I am -ready to answer to God.' - -"'More cant! More cant!' roared Claver'se. 'You have to answer to me, -the representative of the King. God only comes into the question -later,' and he laughed as though he had said a clever thing. 'Will ye -tak' the Test? Will ye swear allegiance to the King?'" - -"'Time was,' said Andra, 'that I would gladly ha'e sworn fealty to the -King in things temporal; but in things spiritual I am answerable to a -Higher than ony Stuart. I was a loyal subject, like a' the hill-folk, -till the Stuarts broke their ain pledged word: and ye canna' expect a -Scot, least o' a' a Galloway man, tae turn aboot like a weather-cock, -when it pleases the King to turn.' - -"'Damnable treason,' shouts Claver'se. 'Don't you know that the King is -above the law, and reigns by Divine Right?' - -"Andra shook his head, but his wife answered: 'Ay, so the Stuarts say, -but they waited till they got to England before they blew that bubble. -Weel they kent there were ower mony jaggy thistles in Scotland for that -bag o' win' tae last long this side o' the border.' - -"'Woman,' says Claver'se, angrily, 'be silent,' and turning to Andra he -said: 'You know you have forfeited your life: many a man has died for -less; but I would not be hard on you. Will you be done with the -Covenanters? Say the word and you are free. Refuse'--and he waved his -hand towards the body o' the lad. Andra followed the gesture wi' his -e'en. Then he looked at Claver'se again--wi' nae sign o' fear on his -face. 'You ken my answer, sir, I canna.' And as Claver'se turned -angrily away the guid-wife threw her airms aboot her husband's neck and -sobbed, 'Oh, Andra, my ain brave man!' The dragoons had loosened their -hold o' him, and he put his airms aboot her, and patted her heid. -'Dinna greet, lassie,' he murmured, 'dinna greet. Death is naething: -only a doorway that lets us ben the Maister's hoose. I'll wait for ye -yonder; the pairtin' will no be lang.' - -"Claver'se had turned to the dragoons and was rapidly gi'eing them -orders. Twa sodgers laid hold on the woman and tried to drag her awa' -frae her man, but wi' her face buried on his shoulder she clung to him -sobbing. Wi' his ain hands he took her airms frae his neck, and haudin' -her face between his palms, kissed her. 'My ain Jean,' he said, 'God -keep you. You ha'e been a guid wife tae me,' and kissing her again he -left her and took his place by the wall o' the hoose. The firing party -was ready. Claver'se half raised his sword to gi'e the signal; then he -checked himsel' and turned to Andra. - -"'An' you will,' he said, 'you may have five minutes to make your peace -with your Maker.' - -"'I thank you,' replied Andra, 'but that's settled lang syne.' -Claver'se's blade rose sharply in the air. 'Ready,' he shouted--and the -sword fell, and as its point struck the ground, Andra Paterson o' -Daldowie passed ower unafraid. - -"The smoke had no' had time to blaw frae the muzzles o' the muskets ere -Jean had broken frae her captors, and flung hersel' on her knees beside -the body o' her man. She raised his heid and held it in her lap: and -bendin' ower kissed his face. 'Andra,' she cried, 'Andra--my ain bonnie -man! Waken, Andra! waken! and speak to me. Andra! Andra! Canna ye -hear me? It's me--Jean, yer ain wee lass: ye mind, Andra, ca'in' me -that lang syne afore Dauvit was born. Andra, speak to me! Juist ae wee -word, Andra!' She paused, and stared wildly at the upturned face. Then -bursting into tears she sobbed, 'Oh, Andra, my ain dear man, the faither -o' my bairns, they ha'e killed ye.' As the tears streamed doon her -cheeks she took her kerchief frae her neck and spread it ower his face. -Then lovingly and tenderly she laid his heid doon and spreadin' her open -hands abune it said, 'Ane o' the elect noo.' - -"Then she rose tae her feet. As she did so she noticed the body o' the -lad, and wringing her hands knelt doon beside it. 'Puir wee laddie,' -she said. 'God comfort your mither, wherever she may be,' and she bent -ower and kissed his broo. Then springing up she faced Claver'se and the -dragoons. He was pacing up and doon restlessly, sword in hand. Clenching -her fists she shook them angrily at him. 'May God in heaven pey ye for -this day's wark. Inhuman fiends! Are ye men born o' women--or spawn o' -the de'il?' and leaping forward sae suddenly that Claver'se hadna time -to throw himsel' on guard, she seized his sword and wrenched it frae his -grip afore he knew that she was on him. She swung up the blade, and -brocht it wi' a crash upon his heid. It was sic a blow as would ha'e -cleft him to the chin, if she had had skill wi' the weapon. But it -turned in her haun' so that she struck him wi' the flat o't, and he fell -senseless to the ground. And then she turned on the troopers--ae woman -against twenty armed men--striking richt and left, stabbing, lunging, -and thrusting till she had scattered the hale troop, aghast at her -onslaught, and the mischief she had dune their leader. But her triumph -was short. Four o' the troopers plunged their spurs into their horses -and rode her down, and as she lay stunned ane o' the troopers -dismounting put his musket to her heid and fired." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXIX* - - *FALSE HOPES* - - -The tears were streaming down my cheeks. - -I could contain myself no longer. "Then, Mary is alive," I cried. -"Thank God! thank God!" - -The packman raised a warning hand, and in a steady voice which, to my -fevered ears, sounded harsh and cold, said: "Haud yer wheesht till I -feenish the story." And with the sudden hope that had sprung up in my -breast quenched like a watered flame, I knitted my hands together and -waited. - -"Weel," he went on, "after they had murdered the guid-wife, the troopers -gathered roond Claver'se anxious-like, for he looked deidly. But when -they had sprinkled water on his face, he began to come tae himsel'. By -and by he opened his e'en and looked aboot him dazed like. - -"'What has happened?' he said; then, memory coming back, he cried: -'Whaur the devil is the old hell-cat? Blow her brains out.' The -sergeant saluted and said, 'Your orders ha'e already been carried out, -sir.' Wi' that Claver'se pulled himsel' thegither and sat up. But he -was a' o' a dither. He couldna staun' by his lane, but there was enough -o' the de'il left in him to gi'e orders to set the steadin' on fire and -burn it to the ground. When the place was a' in a blaze and the roof -had fallen in, he sent off others to round up the cattle and the sheep -and drive them to Kirkcudbright. - -"'Nothing like making a clean job o't,' he said. Then wi' the help o' -the sergeant he mounted his horse, but his heid went licht again and he -couldna sit in the saddle. So there was naething for it but to cairry -him back to heidquarters. The sergeant and maybe a dozen dragoons were -left behind to see that the fire didna gang oot till the bodies were -completely destroyed. The rest set oot for heidquarters, taking it in -turns to cairry Claver'se on a stretcher they had knocked thegither, -while others drove the cattle behin'. - -"That is the story," said Hector, "as the trooper telled it to me. -Though my heart was heavy, I forced up the ghost o' a laugh when he had -feenished and said, 'So that was what the guid-wife o' Daldowie did to -Claver'se. Weel, weel, a bonnie tale!' Then I plied him wi' mair -drink, for there was something else I wanted to ken, aboot which he had -said naething. And when he had primed his pipe aince mair I said -switherin'-like, as though I were tryin' to mind something: 'Let me see. -I think in my traivels I ha'e visited Daldowie. If I'm no wrang I aince -sold a ribbon to a bonnie lass there, wha I took for the dochter. Did -ye see onything o' her when ye were up by?' The trooper shook his heid. - -"'No,' he said, 'I saw naething o' ony bonnie lass, and it was as weel -for her, for in the mood that Claver'se was in he would ha'e made short -work o' her tae. Are ye sure ye're no' mistaken?' he asked. - -"'No, no,' I said, 'I'm no mistaken. If I min' richtly the lassie's -name was Mary.' - -"'Weel,' he replied, 'I saw naething o' her while I was at Daldowie. -But I'm thinkin' that if she happened to be hidin' onywhere aboot she -wad be discovered by the sergeant and the men that were left behin', and -mair than likely they'd mak' a clean job by feenishing her tae. -Hooever,' he said, 'if it'll be ony satisfaction to ye, I'll speir at -ane o' the men wha' was left behin' wi' the sergeant. And if ye're here -the morn, at this time, it will gi'e me pleasure tae drink the health o' -the King wi' ye again and I'll then be able to tell ye what ye want to -ken.' - -"Wi' that he rose, and I pressed anither truss o' Virginia weed in his -hand and promised to wait for him in the inn the next day. So off he -went, but at the door o' the parlour he turned and flung a kiss to the -servin'-maid wha was keekin' through the ither door after him. When I -had had anither pipe, I found a bield bit in a field, and, wi' my heid -on my pack, I settled myself to sleep. I was in great hopes o' hearin' -mair when I met the trooper again: but in the grey dawn I heard the -soond o' horses coming alang the road, and peepin' through the hedge I -saw Claver'se at the heid o' his dragoons makin' for the hills. The -trooper I had cracked wi' was among them. That is the last I ever saw -o' him, and as they didna come back tae the toon that nicht, I didna -learn what he had to tell. But I turned the thing ower in my mind and -said to mysel', 'Ane o' twa things has happened--either Mary cam' back -and was ta'en by the troopers and martyred like her father and mother, -or she escaped and is somewhere in hidin'.' And I said to myself, -'Hector, if the lassie's leevin', it's for you to find her.' So I -shouldered my pack and set oot for the west again. I wandered frae -hoose to hoose, frae cottage to cottage, frae clachan to clachan, aye -wi' the ae quest in my mind, aye wi' the same question on my lips, and -keepin' my ears wide open to hear some whisper if I could o' bonnie Mary -Paterson. - -"I went west as far as the sea. On my road back again I passed here and -there and everywhere. But frae Portpatrick to the brig end o' Dumfries -I saw neither sign nor heard a word o' her." - -He ceased, and a silence fell upon us, so heavy that our hearts were -crushed and not one of us dared speak. At last I rose, and crept out of -the cave. I stood on the ledge above the frozen pool and felt the ice -gather about my heart. Was Mary dead or not? This awful uncertainty -was harder to bear than the knowledge I had believed was mine. I -slipped my hand into the pocket over my heart and drew from it the -fragment of her ring. It lay glistening faintly in the light in my open -hand, and then I could not see it for my tears. Mary was dead! I sat -down and buried my face in my hands. My soul was in the depths. - - - - - *CHAPTER XL* - - *I SEEK A FLOWER* - - -Many a time in the weeks that followed I pondered over Hector's story. -Andrew--dour, stout-hearted, and faithful--and Jean--shrewd, loving, and -whimsical--had borne themselves valiantly in the hour of doom, and the -darkness of the tragedy was illumined by the thought of their high -heroism. My sorrow was flushed with pride, though the pride was akin to -tears; but ever in my mind there was a torturing doubt. Reason urged me -to believe that Mary was dead. But love, and desire which is the child -of love, bade me hope on. - -More than once I laid bare my heart to the minister, and from his wise -words I gained much solace; but, though he would not say so, I knew that -in his heart he believed that Mary had fallen into the hands of the -troopers and been done to death like her father and mother. - -A day came when I could bear the suspense no longer. Inaction served -only to increase my torture of mind. I must seek Mary myself. - -I told my companions what I purposed. With one voice they tried to -dissuade me. They pointed out that such an enterprise was beset with -hazard and might lead to death. Little did they know that death had no -terrors for such a love as mine, and that I would have counted it a -pleasant thing when weighed against the unquenchable torment that burned -in my breast. So I beat down all their objections until, convinced that -I was set in my purpose, they ceased to oppose me and planned means -whereby I might the better carry out my quest. It was from Hector that -the most useful suggestion came. - -"Ye micht," he said, "gang through the country as a packman, but frae -what I mind o' your puir success at New Abbey, you wouldna fill the -pairt." His eyes twinkled. "Besides," he continued, "I feel that I -ha'e a proprietary richt to ony customers there are to be had in -Galloway, and you micht be interferin' wi' my business--an affront I -couldna weel thole. Better pose as a puir gangrel body, wounded, if ye -like, in the wars. Yer game leg is evidence eneuch o' that, and when ye -come to a toon or a wee bit clachan, ye can aye turn an honest penny by -singin' a sang. I mind ye tellin' me Mary was a bonnie singer. Belike -ye min' some o' the songs she sang--dootless weel-kent auld Scots sangs. -If she were to hear ye singin' ane or ither o' them, mair than likely, -oot o' curiosity, she would come oot to see wha it was that was singin' -ane o' her ain sangs. If ye keep yer e'en open as weel as yer ears, wha -kens but what ye may find her. Besides, the disguise o' a puir gangrel -body is hardly likely to be seen through by ony dragoons ye may come -across, for ye can aye, if ye like, if ye imagine there are troopers -aboot, sing a King's song, sic as 'Awa, Whigs, awa!' and they'll never -suspect ye o' bein' a Covenanter. And dinna forget this; if ye ever want -word o' Hector the packman, ask at Phemie McBride's. She'll no hae -forgotten ye, and she'll aye be able to tell ye where ye'll find me. If -ye will gang, gang ye must; but ae last word o' advice I would gi'e -ye--dinna be runnin' yersel' into needless danger and aye remember that -a guid ash stick laid on tae the heid o' a trooper will mony a time -thwart an evil deed devised in his black he'rt. There's nae ither man I -would dae it for, but I'm makin' ye a present o' 'Trusty,'" and he -pressed his own stick into my hand. - -So, just as the darkness had closed in, one January night I set out. -Hector and the minister accompanied me to the edge of the wood and, with -many good wishes and the blessing of the saintly man still ringing in my -ears, I took the road. Before morning broke I was close to Lincluden -Abbey, and, under the shelter of its hoary walls, I lay down and rested -for a while. I slept till the late afternoon and, having refreshed -myself with food, which I procured from a cottage near, I took the road -again in the twilight and, avoiding the town of Dumfries that lay on the -other side of the river, I made for the heart of Galloway. - -Day after day I wandered--hither and thither--not blindly, but of set -purpose. Sometimes I travelled upon the high road, and at other times I -would leave it and take to the less frequented by-paths in order that no -little sequestered cottage might escape me. Here, there and everywhere I -sought--one day close down by the sea, the next far back in the solitary -places of the hills, questing--questing--questing--but ever without -avail. Sometimes, when in a village street I would essay to sing one of -the sweet old songs which I had heard so often fall golden from the lips -of her I loved, memories of happier days would surge over me, and for -very pain my voice would falter and I would cease to sing. - -And though, over and over again, the sound of my singing would bring -women, old and young, to the open doors of their cottages, my hungering -eyes never caught a sight of that face for which they longed. Sometimes -a girl, standing in the doorway, pitying my poor attempt at melody, -would join her voice to mine and lend to my singing a beauty that it -lacked; but though my ears were ever alert for the lute-like voice of -Mary, they were never gladdened by the sound for which they ached. - -And once on a day I stood blinded by tears beside the ruins of Daldowie. - -Day followed day, and still I wandered on. Week after week found my -quest still fruitless, and at last I stood upon the confines of the land -where the sea expends its futile thunder upon the black rocks by -Corsewall point. I had reached the uttermost limit of the journey I had -set myself, and my journey had been in vain. So, with a heavy heart, I -turned, crushing down the sudden desire that had risen within me to make -an end of it all by hurling myself into the sea. The temptation was -sore upon me--for life gaped empty before me--but something within me -shouted "Coward," and I crushed the impulse down. - -On my homeward way I made greater speed than I had done upon my -outgoing. Still I searched, and still my search was vain. At last when -April had come with laughter and tears and all her promise of summer, I -was within sight of Dumfries once more. - -I had cause to remember Dumfries. I knew that within its gates danger -might await me, but danger had ceased to have any terrors for my -stricken heart. At the most, discovery could only mean death, and death -was preferable to a life without her whom I loved. When the town came -within view I quickened my steps and in the late afternoon I descended -the hill that led down to the bridge. As I approached it I was tempted -to turn aside and seek the house of Phemie McBride at once, for I -remembered Hector's parting words; but some impulse to stand again upon -the spot where Fate had descended upon me, all bloody in the uniform of -a Sergeant of Dragoons, drove me onward. - -When I reached the bridge I stepped into the little alcove where -aforetime my destiny had been so strangely moulded, and leaning over -looked down upon the rushing stream. My eyes followed the water as it -flowed into the distance. Suddenly my gaze was arrested by a crowd -which I saw coming along the Sands. At such a distance I was unable to -see clearly, but I could make out mounted men and the gleam from their -trappings told me they were dragoons. In their wake was a crowd, and as -I watched I saw it grow steadily. Men and women and children dashed out -of the streets and alleys which opened on to the Sands and joined the -rabble behind the troopers. Discretion bade me have a care, but -curiosity impelled me and I crossed the bridge and descended to the -Sands. Already a throng of folk who had seen, in the distance, the -approaching company of troopers, had begun to assemble and I mingled -myself with them. The soldiers were advancing at a walking pace and -from this and the presence of the rabble at their heels I knew that they -had prisoners. Ere long the sound of the horses' hoofs was audible and -rumour began to be busy among the people around me. - -"What's a' the steer?" asked a woman who had just joined the crowd, her -shawl slipping back from her head on to her shoulders. Her question was -addressed to the crowd, and out of it somebody made answer. - -"It's the troopers. They say they've ta'en twa Covenanters, a man and a -woman, somewhere ayont the Kingholm." - -Steadily at a march the soldiers approached us. With necks craned -eagerly forward we tried to get a glimpse of the prisoners. - -"Wha are they?" asked a voice; but to this there was no answer, for the -cavalcade was almost upon us. Just as it came to the Port of Vennel the -officer turned in his saddle and rapped out a few words of command. The -company divided into two, the front half coming to a halt, and I saw -that tied to the stirrup leather of one of the troopers was a man. -Wheeling to the right, without pause, the second half of the company -continued its march. The crowd broke and ran across the intervening -space to catch a closer glimpse of the female prisoner. Almost against -my will I was carried on by the surge of the people. I could not see -the woman's face, but the sunlight fell upon her hair, and--God in -heaven! it was chestnut brown, and over her forehead, where the light -struck it, it shone like burnished gold. My heart shouted within me, -but something--was it the finger of God?--was laid upon my lips and they -were still. Rudely flinging men and women aside, I sprang forward that -I might see the woman's face. It was Mary in very deed--Mary, in the -hands of the persecutors, beautiful as a flower, pride in the poise of -her head, courage in her dauntless eyes. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLI* - - *IN THE HANDS OF THE PERSECUTORS* - - -I reined in the impulse that seized me to spring forward and attempt a -rescue. That way lay madness, and the failure of all hope to effect my -purpose. If I adventured it I knew that I should be shot down like a dog -and that Mary would go to her fate unsuccoured. Wisdom lay in waiting -to see how events would shape themselves. If, at the last, I found that -Mary was being taken to Christie's Mount to be martyred on one of the -gibbets there, then I should not stand quietly by and see a merciless -vengeance wreak itself upon her. If I could not rescue her, I should -die with her. - -I mixed with the crowd again and was borne onward as it surged up the -Vennel. In the press I was thrust so near to Mary that, had I stretched -out my hand, I could have touched her, and though my eyes sought her -face and feasted upon it, I tore myself away lest she should see me and -in a moment of recognition betray us both. The cavalcade breasted the -hill up to the High Street and as we went the crowd grew as every shop -door added its unit. Here and there a high window was thrown open -suddenly and the head of a man or woman would appear, with eyes -downcast, to see what was going on in the street below. More than once -I heard a word of pity fall from unseen lips. - -The company swung into the High Street. Eager new-comers thrust -themselves forward and broke the line of my vision so that it was -difficult to keep Mary in sight, but I watched for the aureole of gold -set among her chestnut hair, and seeing it my heart beat high again. - -By and by we came to the Tolbooth and the cavalcade halted. There was a -loud knocking at the door which, in a moment, was thrown wide open, and -two of the dragoons rode in with Mary between them. Then the door was -shut in our faces. The crowd hung uncertain for a little space, then it -began to disperse slowly till only a handful of curious idlers was left -gazing vacantly at the prison. Of them I was one, but though my body -was idle my mind was working at fever heat. Mary was in the Tolbooth! -That meant, at the very least, that no immediate travesty of justice was -to be perpetrated upon her. Perhaps, like the women at Wigtown, she -would be given a trial, and it might come to pass that she would be -found blameless and set free. - -As though in answer to this thought the great oaken door swung open -again. With eyes almost starting from their sockets, I watched to see -her come forth. But no; my hopes that had been soaring in the sky -crashed headlong to the earth. The dragoons that had led her in rode -forth and the door closed behind them. The company formed up and set -out for its quarters and I was left gazing at the door as though a spell -were upon me. Suddenly it flashed upon me that to stand there with eyes -riveted upon the Tolbooth was to draw attention to myself; so I turned -slowly away and walked, as though I were a casual wayfarer, down the -High Street again. By the time I had reached the head of the Vennel my -mind was set. Mary must be saved. I should rescue her or perish in the -attempt. A hive of schemes swarmed in my brain, and my mind was -perplexed and divided. Then I thought of Hector. He, if anyone, could -aid me: but time was precious and where could I find him? Then I -remembered Phemie McBride, and quickening my pace I hurried down the -Vennel. Near the Vennel Port a crowd was assembled and when I came to -the edge of it I found that my way was blocked by the press of the -people. As I stood waiting for a break through which to worm myself, I -overheard two boys talking together on its outskirts: - -"Ay, I'm tellin' ye, I ha'e juist seen a man shot." - -"Get awa'!" - -"Ay." - -"Tell me aboot it." - -"They stood him up on the Sands and six sodgers stood afore him and took -aim at his breist." - -"Was he feart?" - -"De'il a bit!" - -"Get on." - -"He never even trem'led. But ane o' the young sodgers was gey shaky. -Then the captain cried 'Fire' and they a' shot thegither. The man gied -a kin' o' jump in the air and fell in a heap." - -"Deid?" - -"Ay, deid, but no quite, for ane o' his legs gied a bit shake, and -scraped the grun'. Weel, the captain took a lang pistol oot o' his belt -a' covered wi' siller, and bendin' doon pit it to his heid and fired." - -"Behin' his lug?" - -"Ay, behin' his lug." - -"Eh, I wish I had been there!" - -"Weel, never mind, ye'll come the morn wi' me." - -"Whaur tae?" - -"Tae the College pool and see them droonin' the woman." - -"Are they gaun to droon a woman?" - -"Ay, they are that." - -"As shair as daith?" - -"Ay, as shair as daith," and he drew a wet finger across his dirty neck. - -"Hoo will they droon her?" - -"They'll pit her in a poke wi' twa channel stanes and they'll fling her -richt into the pool." - -"Will she sink?" - -"Ay, richt eneuch." - -"I'm comin'." - -"Come on, and I'll show ye the bluid o' the man they shot; maybe we'll -fin' a bullet." - -My fingers itched to be at the throats of these carrion-crows of the -streets, to whom Mary's extremity and mine was nothing more than an -occasion of amusement. - -My heart cried within me--"O my beloved!" and I pulled myself together -and began to force a path through the rabble and by and by succeeded in -reaching the Vennel Port. Quickly I crossed the bridge and made for the -cottage of Phemie McBride. - -I knocked anxiously at the door. Would she remember me and--would she -know where Hector was? As these doubts and fears were racing through my -mind, the door was opened just far enough to allow the good woman to -protrude an inquiring face. She looked at me penetratingly; then -recognition dawned: - -"It's you, is it?" - -"Where's Hector?" I answered brusquely. - -"Come awa' ben," she said, "and see for yersel'," and with that she -threw the door wide open to allow me to enter. I sprang past her, and -there, sitting by the kitchen fire, his pipe aglow and his well-thumbed -copy of Horace in his hand, sat the packman. He sprang to his feet and -grasped me warmly by the hand. - -"Man," he said, "ye couldna ha'e come at a better time. I'm fair -graivelled by this passage in Horace. Can ye gie me the sense o't?" - -"To perdition with Horace," I shouted. "Mary's in the Tolbooth of -Dumfries and I want your help." - -The book fell spinning from his hand and lay face down on the floor. - -"In the Tolbooth o' Dumfries!" he exclaimed. "Wha tellt ye that?" - -"I saw her enter less than an hour ago with my own eyes," I said. - -Hector stooped, and, before replying, picked up his book. "In the -Tolbooth o' Dumfries," he said slowly. "Guid sakes! I thocht the -lassie was deid. Ye're sure it's her?" - -"As sure," I answered, "as I am that I am speaking to you." - -"Weel," he replied, "if that's so Horace maun juist bide a wee. This is -a maitter that wants considerin'. Come awa' to my room," and he led the -way to the chamber in which, close on a year ago, I myself had slept. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLII* - - *IN THE TOLBOOTH OF DUMFRIES* - - -That night, as the town clock spoke the hour of nine with its silver -tongue, any casual wayfarer passing the Tolbooth might have seen an old, -bowed woman knocking timorously at its oaken door. Under the shawl which -covered her head and enveloped her to the feet she held a letter, sealed -with a large seal. After she had knocked for a second time, the door -was partially opened and a hurried conversation took place between her -and the jailer. She handed him the letter and, in order the better to -read it, he admitted her within the door. Its contents satisfied him, -for, at once, he led the way to a cell and taking the great key from a -chain that hung at his belt, he unlocked the door and threw it open. - -"Mary Paterson," he called, "are ye sleeping? Here's yer auntie come to -see ye wi' the special warrant o' the Shirra' himsel'. I never kent the -like o' this afore, but I ha'e his warrant for it sealed wi' his ain -seal." - -There was no response. So, seizing the old woman rudely by the -shoulder, the jailer thrust her forward and closed the door behind her. -As the key grated in the lock he growled through an iron grille set in -the solid wood: "Ye ha'e half an' 'oor thegither: no ae minute langer." - -I listened anxiously until I heard his footsteps die gradually away: -then with arms outstretched I stepped forward into the darkness. - -"Mary, Mary," I cried, in a loud whisper, and out of the darkness a -voice spoke: - -"What trick is this? Wha are ye? I ha'e nae aunt that would visit me. -In a' the world I am alane." - -The sadness of that dear voice, once sweet with witchery, unmanned me, -but I knew that every minute was precious and that there was need to -make haste. "Mary," I said, "it is Walter, your own beloved." - -There was a pause, then a sob, and the sweet voice said brokenly: "It -canna be. My loved ane is deid lang syne. Are ye someane come here for -his ain ill ends?" - -"Mary," I said, "where are you? Come to me! come and lay your hand on -my face and you will know that it is I indeed." - -There was a movement in the cell, and in the darkness a little hand -touched me timidly. I seized it in both my own, and smothered it with -kisses. Then I drew a shrinking figure towards me and took Mary, my own -loved one, in my arms. She nestled to me sobbing gently, for she knew -that I was in very deed her lover come again. - -"Beloved!" I whispered. "Little flower of the heather." Oh the rapture -of that long embrace for which my heart had hungered through so many -weary months! "Dear heart," I whispered, with my lips set close to her -little ear, "I have come to save you. Be brave, do what I bid you and -all will be well." - -"To save me?" she said. "Oh, it's no' possible." - -"Yes," I answered, "all things are possible to love." - -Quickly, in whispers, for the minutes were rapidly fleeing, I explained -my plans to her. Wrapped in the great shawl with which I had disguised -myself, she was to impersonate the old woman who had come to visit her, -and, when the jailer returned, to quit the dungeon with him and make her -way to freedom and to safety. - -"Once you are out of the Tolbooth," I said, "hurry to the Townhead Port. -By the side of the Moat Hill you will find an old man waiting for you. -He will be smoking a pipe. Trust him; and he will take you to a place -of safety." - -I wrapped the shawl about her. It covered her, from head to foot. Then -she clung to me once more while I hurriedly whispered the little words -of love with which my heart was full, and heard her sweet whispers in -return. Suddenly she disengaged herself from my arms, and seizing me by -the hand, said: - -"My love, my love, it canna be. Why did I no' think o' it afore. I am -escaping, and you are to be left behin'. No, I wunna, I canna dae it." - -"What a foolish little Mary you are!" I murmured, as I clasped her to me -once again. "Feel this," and I guided her fingers along the rough edge -of a file I had concealed about me. "Within an hour of your escape I -shall be with you. There is only one iron bar to file." I turned her -head and made her look at the little window set in the wall high up near -the roof of the cell, through which the uncertain light of the moon sent -a faint beam. "I knew all about this cell before I came into it. The -friend to whom I am sending you has been here himself. He remembered -that there was but one bar to the window. He it was who told me how I -should escape. So, sweetheart, be brave. On you all depends. If you -love me, do what I ask and we shall both soon be free." - -She gave her promise as the silence was broken by the sound of the -approaching footsteps of the jailer. - -"Be brave," I whispered, as I kissed her lips. She clung to me in a -brief storm of sobbing, but let her arms fall as the key grated in the -lock. The door was thrown open, and the light of a lamp trembled -athwart the darkness. - -"Come on, auld wife," growled the jailer: "the time's up. Ha'e ye ta'en -yer fareweel o' the lass? I jalouse you'll no' see her again till she's -swingin' at the end o' a tow." - -There was no answer but a burst of sobbing from Mary, who turned from -me. I sank back into the darkness of the cell, while she walked bowed -as though with age and sorrow towards the open door. She passed -through, the door clanged behind her and the key grated in the lock. -With ears pressed tight against the door I listened eagerly to the sound -of their retreating footsteps. Would she escape, or would some mishap -reveal her to the jailer? My heart, that was in a tumult of suspense, -bounded for joy when at last I heard the massive oak door close with a -hollow clang on the doorposts. My loved one was free, and I--well, what -did it matter? I had held her in my arms once again: I had kissed her -sweet lips and with that memory to uphold me I could go bravely to my -death. But hope beats high in the heart of youth. I ran my finger over -the stout file which I had brought with me. In an hour--or at most -two--I should be at liberty. - -I had learned from Hector that the jailer would make a round of the -Tolbooth at ten o'clock, now near at hand. On the last stroke of the -hour on the town clock a beam of light came through the grille in the -door and a voice said: "Is a' richt wi' ye?" I answered in a whisper. -Whether all was right or not the jailer did not trouble to ascertain, -for, with a grunt, the light was withdrawn from the grille and the sound -of his footsteps faded away in the distance. I threw off the woman's -garments that encumbered me. - -The moment had come for action. The window, with its solitary bar, was -set high above my head, and groping anxiously over the wall below for -any means by which I might raise myself up to it, I found a few chinks, -but none of them large enough for the purpose. Rapidly and noiselessly -I scooped some of the mortar from between several of the great stones, -and in a few minutes had succeeded in clambering up to the window and -laying hold of the upright bar with my left hand. The wall was a thick -one, and the outer sill of the window sloped down at a sharp angle from -the bar. I recognised that once the bar was severed I should have -little difficulty in squeezing myself through the window. Confidently I -set to work, beginning at the top of the bar and filing on the inner -side. I soon discovered that the iron was weather-beaten and rusty, and -as the dust of it fell upon my left hand, tightly clasped about the base -of the stanchion, I rejoiced to find that my task was proving easier -than I anticipated. But when the bar was filed nearly half through at -the top, the cramped position in which I was compelled to work began to -weary me, and I dropped down upon the floor of the cell to rest. When I -climbed up again, I passed the file to the outer side of the bar and set -to work on it at the base. My hope was that when I had filed the -stanchion half through, top and bottom, I might be able to break it. -The tool bit into the iron, and I worked feverishly. Suddenly there was -a snap--the handle of the file was left in my hand--the blade slid down -over the sloping sill ere I could catch it, and I heard it drop with a -tinkle in the street below. - -For a moment I hung there in despair. I was left with nothing but my -naked hands, and what could they do against a stout iron stanchion and -thick stone walls. I threw my whole weight upon the bar and sought to -break it through; but strive as I might it would neither bend nor break. -A second time I tried, but still without avail. Its sharp edges tore my -hands so that they were wet with blood, but, hardly conscious of -physical pain, I continued to struggle with it. My efforts were -fruitless, and from sheer exhaustion I was compelled to desist. I hung -for a moment on the edge of the sill, and then dropped down into the -cell. My shaking legs refused to support me and I sank in a heap on the -ground, bathed in perspiration, with panting breath and parched tongue. -As I lay there I remembered how I often watched a bird beating its wings -vainly against the bars of its cage, and a great pity for all wild -things made captive rose within me. Picking myself up I groped my way -round till I reached the door. I felt for the grille. Its bars were -thin and rickety, but even if they were removed my arm alone would -scarcely go through that tiny aperture. I began to examine the door, -passing my hands carefully over it in the hope of finding the lock. The -lock was upon the other side! Escape in this direction was impossible, -so I fumbled my way round until I stood beneath the window once more. I -climbed up to make another attack upon the stanchion. Still it resisted -me, and, at last, for very weariness I was compelled to desist and drop -down to the floor again. The town clock struck one. A few short -hours--I could count them up on the fingers of one hand--and I should be -discovered, and discovery meant death. Well, Mary, my Mary, was safe, -and my sacrifice was a very little price to pay for that. I had held -her in my arms; I was content to die. As I sat in the dark, memory -after memory of the things that had befallen me chased each other -through my brain. Some were memories of unspeakable happiness, others -were memories touched by pain, but even those of pain were made fragrant -by the knowledge that my loved one was free. - -In Hector's keeping she would be safe from harm. Hector--warm-hearted, -beloved adventurer--I could trust her to him. - -Once again the silence was broken as the town clock pealed out the hour -of two. As its last note was dying I heard a muffled thud above me. I -looked up quickly, but could see nothing except the faint beam of light -which came through the window, blocked by that tantalising bar. What -had the sound been? Was it some phantasm of my disordered brain? My -senses were alert again, and I dragged myself once more up to the -window. I peered out. Across the street I could see the roofs of the -houses, but of the street itself I could catch no glimpse. - -My ears had deceived me; there was nothing to be seen or heard. I had -taken hold of the iron stanchion to steady myself, and the grip of my -hand upon it awoke in me a fresh desire to put it to the test. Perhaps -it needed only one more effort to break it! I would try. With legs -wide apart I planted both my feet flat against the wall, and, bracing -the muscles of my thighs until they were tight as bowstrings, I flung -the whole weight of my body upon my outstretched arms, and, with breath -held, pulled. Suddenly the beam of light that came through the window -was broken by a moving shadow, as though a bird had flown across it, and -almost in the same instant something struck me sharply on the chin, then -fell between my extended limbs to the floor. In an instant I had -dropped down into the cell and on hands and knees was groping for the -missile. As I did so, something touched my face, and putting my hand -out I caught a piece of cord. This guided me at once to the object of my -search, and seizing it I discovered, to my amazement, that it was a -book. The cord was firmly tied about it so that I could not open it; -but there was no need for that. Its size and the smoothness of its -leather cover told me that it was the copy of Horace which was Hector's -constant companion. The darkness about me glistened with a thousand -stars. Hope sprang on tip-toe in my heart again. Hector was just -outside, and I should yet escape. - -The cord ran up from the volume into the air towards the window, and, -instinctively, I began to pull it in. From the weight of it I knew that -there was something upon the other end. Foot by foot, yard by yard, as -a seaman passes a cable through his hands, I hauled in the string until -I heard a little metallic click as the object attached to it struck the -stanchion set in the window, and the string became taut. Seizing the -cord in my teeth, I scrambled up the wall. There on the sloping sill, -one edge touching the iron bar, lay my file. I gripped it and would -have fallen to work upon the stanchion at once, but I saw that I had not -yet come to the end of the cord, which ran over the outer edge of the -sill and disappeared from sight. So, unlooping the file from the -running knot in which it was held, I continued to draw in the cord. As -it came up I saw it thicken and knew that my faithful henchman in the -street below was sending me a rope. Placing the file between my teeth, -I hauled the rope in feverishly till at last the lower end of it was in -my grip. I dropped it into the cell behind me and with new strength, -but with infinite care, I set myself again to my task upon the bar. Now -at the bottom, and now at the top I worked, the iron dust falling in -little jets and trickling over the sill. Was it fancy, or was I working -with greater skill?--the file seemed to bite more deeply and more easily -into the iron. First on one side of the bar, then on the other, I -worked, changing from top to bottom, or from bottom to top, as too long -work in one position cramped me. Rasp, rasp ... I felt the bar vibrate -like a violin string in the hand that held it. Rasp, rasp, rasp ... and -a puff of wind from the outside blew the iron dust into my mouth and -eyes. What cared I for that? Rasp, rasp, rasp ... and the top of the -bar was cut so thin that I could break it through. I gripped the file in -my teeth and, seizing the stanchion high up with both my hands, threw -all my weight upon it. It bent just above its base, but did not break, -and where its iron fibres were at tensest strain in the bottom of the -groove which I had already cut, I set the file to work once more. The -iron gave like crumbling bread before the teeth of the file, till the -bar was so thin that with one hand I could bend it in whichever -direction I pleased. One strong pull towards me, one mighty thrust -outwards, and the stanchion broke with a snap so sudden that the hand -which held it shot out through the window. I steadied myself with my -left hand on the inner edge of the sill; then I dropped down on tip-toe -and seized the rope. As I did so, my fingers touched the volume which -had brought me to safety. Breaking the string which bound it, I slipped -it into my pocket. It would never do to leave it, neither would it do -to leave behind me the disguise I had worn. I gathered up the bundle -and tied it tightly about with the cord, the end of which I took in my -teeth. Then with the rope round my neck I swarmed up the wall to the -window. To my joy, when I reached it, I found that in my efforts to -break the bar I had bent the lower end inwards. The stump, thus curved, -would give a securer hold to the rope upon which I was about to trust -myself. It seemed hardly strong enough to bear my weight, but its -length was ample, far greater than I should need. So I doubled it over -the stump of the stanchion and having passed it out over the sill, began -to worm myself through the window. Slowly and painfully I pushed my way -through, and at last my head and the upper part of my body were beyond -the aperture. I bent forward, gripping the rope as far off as my arms -could reach, and throwing my weight down upon my hands so that the rope -was taut, I wriggled myself through until I felt my toes were touching -the inner edge of the sill. - -Now had the moment come for all my courage. Slowly moving my hands one -beyond another, I disengaged my feet from the inner edge of the sill and -for a moment hung head downwards. Would the rope hold? If not, I -should crash upon the pavement beneath me, a broken, lifeless mass. But -it held! As I felt my toes slipping down the slope of the sill, I -twisted my body to one side so that my feet and legs described a -half-circle, and for a moment I swung to and fro against the wall like -the pendulum of a clock. Then I lowered myself quickly. Before the -last of the rope had run through my hands my feet were upon the ground, -and I was free. Somewhere a voice, close beside me, whispered, "No sae -bad. No sae bad." Turning, I saw Hector. He patted me on the back, -and then whispered anxiously, "I hope you ha'ena forgot to bring my -Horace?" I could have screamed with laughter, but all I did was to nod -my head with vigour. Then I took the cord from between my teeth and -proceeded to haul upon it. The bundle at its end caught for a moment as -it was passing through the window, and then fell, a dark mass out of the -heights above, and I caught it as it fell. Hastily I put it into -Hector's hands, and seizing the lower end of the rope jerked it -once--twice--thrice. The loop above disengaged itself from the -stanchion, and in its fall struck me upon the upturned face. - -The town-clock struck once. "Half-fower," whispered Hector. "For God's -sake let us hurry." Quickly I coiled the rope up into a hank. Hector -seized me by the arm and half dragged me across the street to a close -mouth. When I tried to thank him he stopped me. - -"There's nae need o' that. Awa' wi' ye to Lincluden. Haste ye! Below -the big window ye'll fin' a flicht o' steps. The second moves when ye -step on it: but never mind--that's naething. The fifth seems firm: but -it's no'. I'm the only man that kens that. Shove hard at the left-hand -bottom corner--and crawl in when it swings roun', and stop there till I -come for ye. Mary's a' richt and in safe hands. Dinna fash yersel' -aboot her; but gi'e me the rope. I lifted it off the Provost's -drying-green, and though I may be a liar, I'm no' a thief yet and I maun -put it back. Awa' wi' ye like a hare." - -I needed no second bidding. Hurrying along under the shadow of the -houses, I soon found myself in a little lane which ran down to the edge -of the water. I made for the Staked Ford, crossed the river hot-foot -there, and hot-foot raced on my way. Dawn had not yet begun to break -when I reached the Abbey. Once within the shelter of its walls I had no -difficulty in finding the steps of which Hector had told me. The second -moved as I trod upon it, but I remembered his caution and hastened to -the bottom. Then I turned, and kneeling on the last step I pushed hard -against the fifth as he had bidden me, and it swung round. I crawled -into the cavity beneath it and, turning, drew the step into place again. -Then on my hands and knees, for there was not sufficient room to do -more, I crawled on until I found myself in a spacious passage. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLIII* - - *BY THE TOWER OF LINCLUDEN* - - -Under my feet was dry crisp sand, and knowing that I was in perfect -safety I lay down at full length. I could sleep here undisturbed. Mary -was in good hands: I had Hector's word for that, and ere long I knew -that I should see her again and be able to claim her for my very own. -When I was able to tear my thoughts away from the enchanted dreams of -our reunion, I fell upon sullen doubt. We should be in daily peril so -long as we continued to remain in Scotland. There was nothing for it -but to escape from this tortured land. But how? I knew the ports were -watched, and I had heard how the roads that led to the border were -patrolled by the dragoons. Mary's escape and mine would spur the -persecutors to measures more stern. At whatever risk, we must attempt -to get to England. There lay safety. And then I thought of Hector. -Hector, the resourceful, the indomitable, would find a way; and with -this thought in my mind, I settled down to sleep. - -How long I slept I cannot tell, but when I awoke and felt the sand -beneath me and, reaching out, touched upon either hand rough walls of -stone, I thought for a moment that I had been buried alive. Then I -remembered where I was. - -I crawled along the passage until I was beneath the steps. A faint -little feather of light came through the chinks between them and from -its tenuousness I judged that it was night. I must have slept all -through the day. Cautiously I swung round the step and crawled out -until I stood within the precincts of the Abbey beneath the Gothic -window. - -The sky was studded with stars. I judged that I might with safety go -further afield to stretch my limbs, so I stole out of the Abbey and -walked across the level lawn until I came to the edge of the river. It -moved silently through the darkness, so slowly as to seem asleep, and I -thought of my own quiet Avon. I walked along the bank to the point where -the Cluden steals silently into the bosom of the shining Nith, to flow -on with it, one and indivisible, to the sea. - -I followed the course of the stream downward until the black, still -surface of the College pool lay at my feet. As I stood there I listened -to the faint murmur of the river as it flowed at the foot of the banks -beneath. There was love in its language, and I, whose heart was aglow -with love, could hear and understand. The Nith was whispering to the -Cluden, adrowse in its arms, such little tender messages as soon I -should be whispering to my beloved. I drifted away upon the soft wings -of reverie to a land of dreams, but I was brought back suddenly by -hearing afar off the sound of the town clock. I counted its strokes. It -was midnight. Midnight! and there was no sign of Hector; nor had I yet -seen Mary! What could have happened to them? Had disaster befallen -them, and were all the high hopes which I had formed doomed yet to be -brought to the ground? I dared not think so, and, to rid myself of my -fears, I threw off my clothing and with a running leap plunged head -foremost into the College Pool. The coldness of the water stung me like -a lash, but there was refreshment in it, and with hope once more on -tip-toe, I yielded myself to the enjoyment of the moment, and swam until -the stiffness left my limbs. Then I made for the bank again, and when I -had dressed sought my hiding-place. Sometime ere dawn, I imagined, -Hector would come to me, with news of Mary. With this hope in my mind I -sat in my gloomy vault waiting patiently. Hour after hour went by, and -still he did not come, and at last sleep overcame me and I sank into -dreamland again. When love sits on the throne of a man's heart, -dreamland is his empire, and on winged feet I wandered with Mary at my -side, through the meads, flower-dappled, of that bewitching land. Then I -woke again, and realised that it was a dream and that nothing surrounded -me but darkness. - -Once more I crawled beneath the stair and peeped out. It was broad day, -but still Hector had not come. Then fear seized me. Had he fallen into -the hands of Lag and been done to death? Was the price of my freedom to -be his life, and if he had been taken, where was Mary? I had his -assurance that she was in a place of safety. There was comfort in that -knowledge. But the comfort was alloyed by the thought that I had no -knowledge whatever of her whereabouts and that she was lost to me. I -was almost tempted to throw caution to the winds, and quit my -hiding-place in broad daylight to go in search of them both. I -stretched out my hand to seize the step and swing it back, and then -discretion returned to me and I refrained. Any rashness now might bring -to nothing all we had accomplished. I must wait. There was nothing for -it but patience and unwavering trust. Every hour that dragged its weary -length along was leaden with torpor. Would the day never come to an -end? Hector, I knew, was not likely to come to me save under the screen -of the darkness, and the darkness seemed very far off. The longest day, -however, draws sometime to a close, and at last the rays of light -stealing through the chinks in the staircase ceased to be burnished -spears and were transmuted into uncertain plumes of smoke. The hour of -twilight had come; soon darkness would envelop the earth, and with the -darkness Hector might come. I crawled out of the confined space in which -I was lying and sought the deeper part of the passage. As I did so, I -heard a grating sound. Someone was moving the step. It must be Hector! -Yet in that moment of tense expectation I kept a grip upon myself and -did not move. If, instead of Hector, it should prove to be some -murderous pursuer on my track, I knew that in this darkness, to which my -eyes through long imprisonment had become accustomed, I should have the -advantage and might fall upon him unawares. A voice spoke and my fears -were set at naught. The packman had come! - -"Are you there?" he asked. - -"Yes," I answered. - -"Ha'e you got my Horace?" - -"Confound Horace and all his works! Where is Mary?" - -"Mary, the bonnie lass! she's a' richt. Ye micht trust me for that. -Ye'll be seein' her in less than half an 'oor. Where's my book?" - -I handed him the volume, and though I could not see him I guessed from -the sound of the leaves fluttering through his fingers that he was -examining it carefully. - -"It seems to be nane the waur, except that the corner o' ane o' its -braids is broken. Man, it's a lucky thing for you that I'm a scholar, -and carry Horace wi' me. When I got tired o' waitin' for ye at the -trysting-place, I thocht that something must ha'e gane wrang, so I gaed -doon to the Tolbooth to ha'e a look for mysel'. I got a terrible shock -when I struck my foot on the file you had dropped. I thocht a' was up -then; but it didna tak' me lang to mak' up my mind. At first I thocht -o' flingin' the file through the window, then I thocht that if I missed -it would mak' an unco' clatter and micht waken somebody, so I fell back -upon Horace and he served. I put the book through the window at the -second shot, which is no' bad for an auld man, as ye will dootless -admit; and here ye are in safety. Mony a time Horace has fetched me oot -o' the dungeons o' despondency, but I never kent him help a body oot o' -the Dumfries Tolbooth afore." - -The garrulous fellow would doubtless have continued longer in a like -strain, but I would have none of it. My heart was crying for my loved -one. "Tell me," I exclaimed, "where is Mary?" - -"Come on," he said with a laugh, "and see for yoursel'." - -He led the way out into the open and I followed close behind him. As we -emerged a man approached us out of the darkness. I started and laid a -hand upon Hector's arm. - -"There's naething to fear," he said. "It's only the minister frae the -cave at the Linn. He's come to mairry you." - -"To marry me," I exclaimed. "Who has arranged it?" - -"I ha'e nae doot," answered Hector, "Mary and you arranged it lang syne -on the braes at Daldowie. A' I ha'e dune is to mak' your arrangements -possible." - -My heart was full. - -The minister greeted me warmly, and together the three of us made for -the summit of the little knoll beside the Abbey. While Mr. Corsane was -congratulating me upon my escape and upon the rescue of Mary, the -packman had turned his back upon us and was gazing earnestly towards the -mouth of the Cluden. As we talked he interrupted us suddenly by saying: - -"They're coming noo, I can see them." Along the edge of the bank below -us, three figures were moving. Soon they had begun to ascend the knoll. - -"Mary's there," said Hector, "and the twa wi' her are the good-man o' -Nunholm and his better three-quarters." - -I sprang towards the advancing figures and calling "Mary," clasped her -in my arms. There are moments too sacred for speech. I could only kiss -her. Then linking my arm through hers I helped her to the top of the -mound. - -There in the aisle of the trees with the light of the kindly stars -filtering through and falling on the ground with a holier radiance than -ever streamed through the east window of a cathedral, the minister made -us one. He could not unite our hearts. That had been done long ago. -He could only join our hands. - -Hector, as ever, proved himself to be a friend in need, for, when the -moment came for me to place a ring upon Mary's finger, I realised with a -pang that I had none. But Hector slipped one into my hesitating hand, -whispering, "It was meant for the widda." The simple service was soon -over, but ere he gave us his blessing the minister said: - -"In quieter times, when I, please God, am restored to my parish, your -marriage will be registered in the records of my church at Minniehive: -meantime I declare you man and wife in the sight of God and according to -the laws of this realm." Then he raised his hand to bless us. - -I turned to embrace my wife; but Hector was before me. He kissed her -loudly upon both cheeks, and as he yielded her shrinking form to me -said: "Nae need o' my salve there. They're as saft as the damask rose." - -"For ever, dearest," I whispered, as she clung to me. - -"My ain dear man," she breathed; and on her warm cheek close pressed -against my own I felt a tear. I folded her in my arms. - -"My children," said the minister, drawing near is, "I must leave you -now, and get me back to my hiding-place: but may He who brought joy to -the wedding feast at Cana of Galilee company with you all the days of -your lives. Good-bye." He turned, and was gone. - -"Now," said Hector, "we maun hurry. We ha'e a lang road to travel afore -daybreak. Come on." - -Together we began to hasten down the hill, and soon were at the edge of -the river close to the mouth of the Cluden. The good wife of Nunholm -and her husband led the way. I took Mary in my arms and carried her -through the water behind them. No man ever bore a burden more precious. -Her arms were about my neck. In mid-stream I paused and, bending, -kissed her. I had forgotten Hector behind us. - -He sighed. "Ay. It mak's me jealous. I wish the widda was here. But -ye've a hale life-time o' that afore ye, so haste ye, for we're no oot -o' danger yet." - -Mary smiled proudly up at me in the moonlight. "Nae danger maitters noo. -But let us haste." - -When we came to the bank on the other side, the farmer led the way to a -hedge and we passed through a gap into a field across which we hurried -together. In a few minutes we found ourselves beside a little -farm-house. - -"Come awa' ben," said the farmer's wife, throwing the door open. "It's -no' a very grand wedding feast, but it'll dae to set you on the road, -and it shall never be said that the guid-wife o' Nunholm lacks in -hospitality." - -We entered the kitchen and found an ample supper awaiting us. Mary had -endeared herself, and little wonder, to these good folks during the two -days she had spent with them, and they were full of anxiety for her -safety. - -We made all the haste we could through the meal, and when it was nearly -over the door was thrown wide to the wall and a shock-headed lad thrust -his body in. The farmer turned to him: "Is a' richt, Ebenezer?" he -asked. - -"Ay, faither, there's no' a trooper between here and Dumfries." - -We finished our meal, and bade the good wife and her husband an -affectionate farewell, the former insisting on Mary's wrapping herself -in her own best plaid. - -"Ye've a long road to travel, lassie," she said, "and ye maunna catch -cauld. Tak' it as a keepsake, and if ye're ever back in these pairts, -dinna forget tae come and see me." - -I thanked the good man and his wife for their kindness to us, and, -Hector leading, we went out into the night. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLIV* - - *"QUO VADIS, PETRE?"* - - -Ere the darkness had given place to the dawn we three were lying in a -copse of hazel bushes not far from the Castle of Caerlaverock within a -stone's throw of the sea. On leaving Nunholm we had made a detour so as -to avoid the town, and struck the road to Glencaple far outside its -boundaries. - -The journey, made in stealth, had been without adventure. Hector led -the way; Mary and I followed close behind him arm in arm. We had spoken -little; Mary and I hardly at all, for the touch of her arm in mine, -tender as a caress, was more eloquent than speech; but Hector found time -to tell all he had done since the moment of my escape from the Tolbooth. - -For him the intervening hours had been crowded. He had gone to the cave -at the Linn to fetch the minister to marry us: but he had also devised a -means to help us back to England, and it was for this end that he had -brought us to the place where we were. - -"There was juist ae thing I failed to do, for I hadna the time," he -said. "I intended to speir again at the widda, for I should ha'e been a -prood man tae ha'e been mairried at the same time as yoursels. But the -widda maun juist bide my time. She's kept me waitin' lang enough. -She'll maybe appreciate me a' the mair if I keep her waitin' in turn. -Nae doot she'll miss me, for I'm comin' wi' ye as far as the Isle o' -Man. Ye see this affair will mak' a terrible steer in the toon o' -Dumfries; and it will be safer for me to be oot o' the road till the -storm blaws by. Forby, it will gi'e me the chance o' introducin' my -magical salve to the Island. Anthony Kerruish, the maister o' the -_Sea-mew_, tells me that it is no kent there, and besides if I had a -quate six months in the island I micht get on wi' that _magnum opus_ o' -mine." - -Mary and I were delighted to learn that he was coming with us, for well -we knew that he could stay behind only at grave risk. As we thanked -him, with full hearts, for all he had done, he held up a deprecating -hand. - -"Hoots," he said, "I've dune naething: and in ony case I took my fee o' -Mistress Bryden's cheeks." He laughed quietly as he stole out of the -copse. - -Dawn was breaking. The dark shadow of Criffel was turning to a ghostly -grey, and on the face of the water we could see, about half a mile away, -a little barque lying at anchor. Hector lit a candle, and taking off -his bonnet passed it in front of the light twice. Then he blew the -candle out. His signal had been seen; a little answering light flashed -for a moment on the deck of the barque, and was gone. Then a man dropped -into the boat that nestled under the lee of the barque, and began to -pull towards the shore. As he drove the boat on to the sand we slipped -out of our shelter. I took Mary in my arms, and, wading out into the -tawny water, I placed her in the boat. Then I jumped in. Hector, close -behind me, flung a leg into the boat: then I heard him sigh so deeply -that I thought he had bruised himself. I turned, and saw him withdraw -his leg, and seize the boat by the prow. With a mighty shove he sent -her off the sand into the deep water, and stood erect gazing after her. - -"Good-bye," he said, with a tremor in his voice, as he took off his -bonnet. - -"Good-bye?" I exclaimed doubtingly. "What do you mean? I thought you -were coming with us?" - -"So I was," he answered. "But I remembered Peter: and I'm gaun back. -My work's no' feenished yet." And with that he splashed out of the -water and disappeared into the copse. - -But we saw him again. When we were safely on board the barque, and the -anchor was up, and the skipper and his men were setting their sails to -the breeze, Mary and I stood on the poop and looked anxiously back to -the little wood by the water-side. A figure came out of the shadows and -waved a hand. We waved back in answer, and the figure disappeared. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLV* - - *ON THE WINGS OF THE SEA-MEW* - - -The wind and the tides favoured us, and the little barque took to the -sea like the bird whose name she bore. - -Before us a rosy path, painted by the rising sun, stretched into the -distance. The soft winds of the dawn filled the brown sails and carried -us onward, and the little waves patted the sides of our boat as though -they were the hands of the sea-maidens, come from out of the deep to -cheer us on our way. - -We sat together in the stern of the boat, our feet resting on a heap of -tarry cordage. I had wrapped her plaid about her to keep my Mary -warm--and under its folds I had made her hands captive in one of mine. - -"I can hardly believe it," she said. "It is amaist ower guid to be -true: to ha'e you by my side, my ain man, when I thocht you were deid." - -"And I," I answered, "thought that I had lost you for ever. Many a -time, of a night, I have looked up at the stars and chosen the brightest -of them, and called it Mary's star: because I thought it must be your -dwelling-place. And all the while you were not dead at all." - -"And were you really very, very sorry when you thocht that I was deid?" -she asked, with a twinkle in her eyes. - -"Mary!" I exclaimed, "how can you?" And as there was no one to see but -a following gull which hung above us, I kissed her. "But tell me," I -continued, "what happened to you after we parted on the moors--and how -came I to find this among the ashes of Daldowie," and I drew out the -fragment of her ring and showed it to her. - -"My ring!" she cried. "The ring you gave me! Did you fin' it there? -Oh, laddie!" and she nestled against me so tenderly that, in that happy -moment, the weary months of pain through which I had lived seemed as -nothing. - -Then she told me what had befallen her. She had gone to the -hiding-place, but found no trace of her father; and after seeking for -him far and wide, but without avail, she had decided to return home. On -her way back she discovered troopers out upon the moor between herself -and home, and she had been compelled to hide for the night among the -heather. It was not until late on the following afternoon that she had -ventured to steal back to Daldowie, only to find her home in ashes. As -I had done, when I returned upon the day following, she had found three -skeletons among the ruins, and, with horror of heart, she had counted -that one of them was mine. - -"I leaped," she said, "among the ashes, and though they burned me -cruelly, I brushed them aside frae the face that I thought was yours to -see your smile again. But a' I saw was red embers and fleshless bones. -Oh, sweetheart--how I cried!" And she buried her head upon my shoulder -and sobbed for a moment. Then she raised her face and smiled. - -"You maun think me silly. I'm greetin' noo for joy, I cried then for -sorrow. As mither used to say--'Women are kittle cattle'--aren't we?" -and she smiled, until the light in her sweet eyes dried the tears as the -sun dries the dew from the heather bells. "And I suppose," she added, -"that's when I lost my ring--though I didna miss it till I had left -Daldowie far behin' me." - -"And where have you been," I asked, "since then? Both Hector and I -searched the length and breadth of Galloway for you, but without avail." - -"Oh, fie," she said. "Ha'e you no' been tellin' me that you thocht I -was in the Kingdom of Heaven--and you looked for me in the Kingdom o' -Galloway," and in the playful notes of her voice I heard the echo of her -mother's. - -"Where was I?" she continued. "Weel, I was within three miles o' -Dumfries a' the time. Ye see, when I left Daldowie, I didna ken where -tae go. I ran for miles and miles ower the hills, till I could run nae -langer; and then the dark fell, and I lay doon among the heather and -cried mysel' to sleep. But when the mornin' cam' I sat up and said to -mysel', 'Mary Paterson--you maunna be a fool.' I spoke it oot lood--and -it sounded sae like mither's voice that I began to greet again, and I -went on greetin' till I could greet nae mair, and then I felt better." -She looked at me roguishly. "And after that," she went on, "I set oot -for Dumfries. I thocht if I could reach the Solway I micht wade across -it to England, but--I'm thinkin' noo that I've seen it, I would ha'e -been drooned in the attempt." She laughed, and the gull above us, with -its yellow legs apart, and its tail stretched tensely fan-wise, dropped -down and touched the sea with its beak, and having seized its prey, -wheeled round on wide wings and floated above us again. - -"Food I got frae kindly cotters, and when at last I reached Dumfries I -set oot to mak' for Glencaple. But when half-way there I sat doon by the -road and began to think, and then for the first time I missed my ring, -and thinkin' o' the day when you put it on my finger and o' a' the love -you bore me, I fair broke doon and cried like a bairn. I was greetin' -sae sair that I didna notice a lady dressed in black until she was -standing beside me. Very gently she asked me what ailed me, and the -look in her face made me feel that she had kent sorrow herse?--so I -tellt her everything. Before I was finished she was greetin' as sair as -mysel', and then she slipped her airm through mine and drew me to my -feet and kissed me. 'I am but a poor widow,' she said, 'whose husband -and sons have died for the Covenant: but the widow's cruse never runs -dry, and you are welcome to a share of whatever the Lord sends me.' She -led me to her bonnie wee hoose, set in a plantin' o' beech trees on the -Glencaple road, and she has been a mother to me, and I a daughter to her -ever since. Sometimes we would shelter fugitive hill-men--and often I -ha'e ta'en them food--and it was for that, for I was caught red-handed, -that I was made prisoner and thrown into the Tolbooth." - -"And that," I said, taking up the tale, "is how you come now to be -sitting, my wife, beside me." I kissed her beneath her little -shell-like ear. - -"Behave yoursel'," she said with mock sternness. "The captain will see -you!" - -"And what if he does?" I asked, as I repeated the offence. - -"Did you see me on the road to the Tolbooth?" she continued. - -"Yes," I said, "that is where I saw you. Just when hope seemed utterly -dead--you came." - -The woman in her spoke: "Did I look feart?" she asked. - -"Not a bit; you looked as brave as you are." - -She laughed as she replied, "I'm gled I didna show it, for mither would -ha'e been ashamed o' me if she knew, but in my hert I was as frichtened -as a bairn." - -"Never mind," I said, "you have nothing to fear now. You are mine for -ever." - -"For ever," she answered. "That's a lang, lang time; are ye sure ye'll -never get tired o' me?" - -"Sweetheart," I answered fervently, "long ago you told me to love you -for your soul. I have learned to do so, and such a love can never die"; -and as the captain's back was turned and there was neither sea-gull nor -sailor-man to see, I took her winsome face in both my hands and -smothered her with kisses. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLVI* - - *SUNSHINE AFTER STORM* - - -The morning after we had waved our farewell to Hector saw us safe in the -Isle of Man. Here, through the kindness of the skipper of the -_Sea-mew_, we found a lodging until such time as he could arrange for us -a passage to England on some barque that was sailing thither. Two days -later we were on board the _Kitty-wake_, which carried us safely to the -port of Liverpool. On the outskirts of the town, in the little village -of Walton, in a cottage behind the old church we found a lodging with -the good woman to whom the master of the _Kitty-wake_ had commended us. - -Now that I was back in England I determined to seek a reconciliation -with my uncle and guardian. With some trepidation I wrote him a letter -telling him of all that had befallen me, asking his pardon for the -anxiety I must have caused him, and craving permission to bring my wife -to see him in the old home. It was a hard letter to write, hard and -perplexing, and when it was completed I was far from satisfied with it. -But Mary, who helped me with wise words, assured me that unless his -heart were of adamant it would melt him. So I dispatched it, and waited -anxiously for a reply. A fortnight passed, and there was no answer; but -one morning when the third week was drawing to a close a post-boy on -horseback knocked loudly at the cottage door and I heard him ask: "Does -Walter de Brydde, Esquire, live here?" I rushed to the door and -received the missive from his hand. "Four shillings to pay, sir," he -said. Gladly I paid the fee, and gave him something wherewith to slake -his thirst at the nearest tavern. Raising the butt of his crop to his -cap, he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and was off. - -I hastened into Mary's room. The letter was heavily sealed with red wax -and the superscription upon it was in writing that I did not know. All -excitement, I broke the seal. The letter was from the firm of notaries -which for generations had conducted the affairs of our family. They -begged to inform me that my letter had been handed to them in their -capacity as notaries in charge of my uncle's affairs. They regretted to -announce that some seven months ago he and his lady had died of a fever -within a few days of each other, the wife predeceasing her husband. As -my uncle had died without issue, they had the honour to inform me that -the estates passed to me as the next heir male. They noted with -satisfaction that I had taken unto myself a wife and they looked forward -with pleasure to making the acquaintance of my lady at no distant date. -They took the liberty of enclosing for my immediate necessities a draft -upon their agents in Old Hall Street in the city of Liverpool, and they -trusted that as early as should be convenient to myself and my good lady -we would return to Warwick and take up our residence in the old manor. -They ventured to hope that the long and amicable relations which had -existed between my family and their firm would continue. They assured -me of their devoted services at all times, and they had the honour to -subscribe themselves my humble and obedient servants. - -We read the surprising document with heads pressed close together, -amazement fettering our tongues. Suddenly Mary drew away, and clasping -her hands, exclaimed: - -"I'm sorry." - -"Sorry?" I said. "Why? The silly old man and his wife were nothing to -you." - -"Oh no, it's no' that. I cam' to you a tocherless lass wi' naething to -gi'e ye but my love--and noo ye're rich." - -"Sweetheart!" I cried: and dropping the letter with the draft upon the -table, I took her in my arms and drew her towards me. "Your love is -more to me than all the riches of the Spanish Main. Gold is but dross: -love is of God, and eternal." - -She slipped an arm about my neck, and laid her head upon my shoulder. - -"Ye can kiss me," she said--and added roguishly as she smiled at me--"if -ye like." - -So it came to pass that within a fortnight of receiving the letter we -arrived at Warwick, making the journey, as became our state, in a hired -carriage with postilions. The needle-women of Liverpool had done their -work well, and as I looked at the dainty figure, all frills and -furbelows, beside me in the carriage I almost felt that I had lost the -Mary I had learned to love at Daldowie. But the light in the pools of -her eyes, the aureole above her forehead, and the smile on her -bewitching face as she said, "Now, behave yersel'. Ye maunna crush my -new goon," told me it was Mary still. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLVII* - - *THE END; AND A BEGINNING* - - -A year has passed, and once again it is the month of May. My little -flower of the heather, transported from the hill-sides of Galloway and -set in the kindlier atmosphere of this southern clime, has blossomed -into a flower of rare beauty. She has not a peer among the ladies of -Warwick, and that is saying much. - -Sometimes, as we sit together on the green lawn that slopes down to the -quiet Avon, and think of all the things that befell in the days that are -dead, we wonder if they were all a dream. Yet in spite of what she -suffered among them, Mary sometimes whispers to me that her heart is -sick for the grey hills of Galloway, for the sting of the wind on her -cheeks, for the cry of the whaup in her ears; and I find it hard to -comfort her. But I think she will never again be sick at heart for the -hills of heather, for a new joy has come into her life and mine. A week -ago the wonder happened. - -When, in the early dawn, the good nurse brought me the news as I paced -in a fever up and down my study floor, I was all ardent, as any man -would be, to see my Mary and her child on the instant. But the nurse -bade me curb my impatience, telling me that Mary was asleep. So I made -my way out to the lawn, and, leaning on the retaining wall, gazed down -upon the Avon. Early roses wet with dew were pouring their incense into -the still air, and I plucked me a handful for Mary. As I stood by the -wall with the flowers in my hand I chanced to look up the river towards -the bridge, and on it I saw a man upon whose shoulders was a pack. -Lighting my pipe, I sat down upon the garden seat with the heap of roses -beside me. As I sat there I heard a little voice that I had never heard -before. Through the open window, my child was joining its little cry to -that of a jubilant bird, and my heart was glad within me and the whole -sun-kissed earth was ringing with melody. O Mary mine! - -The sound of footsteps upon the carriage-drive made me turn, and I -saw--Hector. - -I rushed to him with hands outstretched. "Hector!" I cried, and shook -him warmly by the hand. - -"Ay, it's me richt eneuch. I got your letter. Ye were wise to write in -Latin--but, man, your construction's awfu'--gey near damnable. Ye -should mak' mair use o' the ablative absolute. I was pleased tae hear -frae ye, though, and things being mair settled up yonder I juist thocht -I'd tak' a daunner into England to pit you richt on ane or twa points o' -syntax. An' hoo's your good lady?" - -"Mary is splendid," I said. "She has just this morning given birth to a -daughter." - -"My best respects to her and my felicitations upon this great event; but -I'm sorry--I'll juist tak' the road again and gang awa' hame. I couldna -ha'e come at a waur time." - -"My dear Hector, what do you mean? Mary would never forgive me if I let -you go." And, dropping into the language which I knew he loved, I -slipped my arm through his and said, "Come awa' intae the hoose." - -To-night I have been penning the final pages of this my book, with -Hector sitting at his ease in a leathern chair reading a volume from the -well-stocked shelves of the study. And I--because my hand was weary, or -because my heart was aching for a sight of Mary--stole up to her room a -moment since. She was lying in the great carved oaken bed, with the -light from the candles in their silver sconces falling upon her dear -face and the glory of her hair as it lay outspread on the -lavender-scented pillow. I bent over her, and slipping an arm under her -shoulders kissed her, and she pushed down the white coverlet with her -pretty hand to let me peep at our daughter lying asleep in the fold of -her arm. - -"Isn't she bonnie?" she whispered. "I think we'll ca' her Jean." - -"Flower o' the heather and little heather-bell," I said, and gathered -them both in my arms. - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - _*BY THE SAME AUTHOR*_ - - - *THE ADVENTURE OF DEATH* - - -An uplifting and strengthening book, free from gloom, and written with -literary charm. _Fifth Impression_ - - - *THE ADVENTURE OF LIFE* - - -"Eloquent and popular talks, such as have been commended to many renders -by Dr. Mackenna's 'Adventure of Death.'"--_The Times. Second -Impression_ - - - *BRACKEN AND THISTLEDOWN* - - -"A work of singular charm, gracious in the spirit pervading it, pawky in -its humour, and bright and keen in its delineation of character. The -book should make a very wide appeal."--_Liverpool Post. Third -Impression_ - - - *THROUGH FLOOD AND FIRE* - - -"Mr. Mackenna is a true son of Scott and (dare it be said?) much more -likely to appeal to the younger generation than the master. He has the -power of vivid story-telling, a remarkable gift for atmosphere and his -people are real human stuff."--_Daily Chronicle_ - - - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLOWER O' THE HEATHER *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46769 - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so -the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be -used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific -permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, -complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly -any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances -and research. They may be modified and printed and given away - you may -do practically _anything_ in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - - - -The Full Project Gutenberg License - - -_Please read this before you distribute or use this work._ - -To protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or -any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg(tm) License available with this file or online at -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use & Redistributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works - - -*1.A.* By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the -terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all -copies of Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works in your possession. If -you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg(tm) electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -*1.B.* "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things -that you can do with most Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works even -without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph -1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg(tm) electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -*1.C.* The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of -Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works. Nearly all the individual works -in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and -you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent -you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating -derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project -Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the -Project Gutenberg(tm) mission of promoting free access to electronic -works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg(tm) works in compliance with -the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg(tm) name -associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this -agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full -Project Gutenberg(tm) License when you share it without charge with -others. - - -*1.D.* The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg(tm) work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -*1.E.* Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -*1.E.1.* The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg(tm) License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg(tm) work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United - States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with - almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away - or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License - included with this eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org . - If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to - check the laws of the country where you are located before using - this ebook. - -*1.E.2.* If an individual Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain -a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright -holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United -States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or -providing access to a work with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" -associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with -the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission -for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg(tm) trademark as set -forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -*1.E.3.* If an individual Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic work is -posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and -distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and -any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg(tm) License for all works posted -with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of -this work. - -*1.E.4.* Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project -Gutenberg(tm) License terms from this work, or any files containing a -part of this work or any other work associated with Project -Gutenberg(tm). - -*1.E.5.* Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg(tm) License. - -*1.E.6.* You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg(tm) work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg(tm) web site -(http://www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or -expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a -means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include -the full Project Gutenberg(tm) License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -*1.E.7.* Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg(tm) works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -*1.E.8.* You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works -provided that - - - You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg(tm) works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg(tm) trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - - - You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg(tm) - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg(tm) - works. - - - You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - - - You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg(tm) works. - - -*1.E.9.* If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg(tm) electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg(tm) -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3. below. - -*1.F.* - -*1.F.1.* Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg(tm) collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your -equipment. - -*1.F.2.* LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg(tm) trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg(tm) electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. -YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, -BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN -PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND -ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR -ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES -EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE. - -*1.F.3.* LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -*1.F.4.* Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -*1.F.5.* Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -*1.F.6.* INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg(tm) -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg(tm) work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg(tm) - - -Project Gutenberg(tm) is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg(tm)'s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg(tm) collection will remain -freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and -permanent future for Project Gutenberg(tm) and future generations. To -learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and -how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the -Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org . - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state -of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue -Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification number is -64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf . Contributions to the -Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the -full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its volunteers -and employees are scattered throughout numerous locations. Its business -office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, -(801) 596-1887, email business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at http://www.pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - - -Project Gutenberg(tm) depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where -we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state -visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any -statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside -the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways -including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, -please visit: http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic -works. - - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg(tm) -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg(tm) eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg(tm) eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's eBook -number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, -compressed (zipped), HTML and others. - -Corrected _editions_ of our eBooks replace the old file and take over -the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. -_Versions_ based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving -new filenames and etext numbers. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg(tm), -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |