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diff --git a/old/53164-0.txt b/old/53164-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 87b699b..0000000 --- a/old/53164-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9537 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Standard Bearer, by S. R. Crockett - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Standard Bearer - -Author: S. R. Crockett - -Release Date: September 28, 2016 [EBook #53164] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STANDARD BEARER *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif, MWS and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - THE STANDARD BEARER - - BOOKS BY S. R. CROCKETT. - - Uniform edition. Each, 12 mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - Lads’ Love. - - _Illustrated._ - - In this fresh and charming story, which in some respects recalls “The - Lilac Sunbonnet,” Mr. Crockett returns to Galloway and pictures the - humor and pathos of the life which he knows so well. - - [Illustration: text decoration] - - Cleg Kelly, Arab of the City. - - His Progress and Adventures. - - _Illustrated._ - - “A masterpiece which Mark Twain himself has never rivaled.... If ever - there was an ideal character in fiction it is this heroic - ragamuffin.”--_London Daily Chronicle._ - - “In no one of his books does Mr. Crockett give us a brighter or more -graphic picture of contemporary Scotch life than in ‘Cleg Kelly.’ It is - one of the great books.”--_Boston Advertiser._ - - [Illustration: text decoration] - - Bog-Myrtle and Peat. - - “Here are idyls, epics, dramas of human life written in words that -thrill and burn.... All are set down in words that are fit, chaste, and -noble. Each is a poem that has the immortal flavor.”--_Boston Courier._ - - [Illustration: text decoration] - - The Lilac Sunbonnet. - - “A love story pure and simple--one of the old-fashioned, wholesome, -sunshiny kind, with a pure-minded, sound-hearted hero, and a heroine who -is merely a good and beautiful woman; and if any other love story half - so sweet has been written this year it has escaped our notice.”--_New - York Times._ - - NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. - - - - - THE STANDARD BEARER - - BY - - S. R. CROCKETT - - AUTHOR OF - THE LILAC SUNBONNET, BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT, - CLEG KELLY, LADS’ LOVE, THE RAIDERS, ETC. - - [Illustration: colophon] - - NEW YORK - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1898 - - COPYRIGHT, 1897, 1898, - BY S. R. CROCKETT. - - _GRATEFULLY AND RESPECTFULLY - I DEDICATE - TO THE GOOD AND KINDLY FOLK - OF MY NATIVE PARISH OF BALMAGHIE - THIS RENDERING OF - STRANGE HAPPENINGS AMONG THEIR FOREBEARS, - OF WHICH THEY HAVE - NOT YET QUITE LOST THE MEMORY._ - - - - -THE FOREWORD. - - -A book iron-grey and chill is this that I have written, the tale of -times when the passions of men were still working like a yeasty sea -after the storms of the Great Killing. If these pages should chance to -be read when the leaves are greening, they may taste somewhat -unseasonably in the mouth. For in these days the things of the spirit -had lost their old authority without gaining a new graciousness, and -save for one man the ancient war-cry of “God and the Kirk” had become -degraded to “The Kirk and God.” - -This is the story of the one man whose weak and uncertain hand held -aloft the Banner of Blue that I have striven to tell--his failures -mostly, his loves and hates, his few bright days and his many dark -nights. Yet withal I have found green vales of rest between wherein the -swallow swept and the cuckoo called to her mate the cry of love and -spring. - -Who would know further and better of the certainty of these things must -procure and read A Cameronian Apostle, by my excellent friend, the -Reverend H. M. B. Reid, presently minister of the parish wherein these -things were done, in whose faithful and sympathetic narrative they will -find many things better told than I can tell them. The book may be had -of the Messrs. Gardiner, of Paisley, in Scotland. - -Yet even in this imperfect narrative of strange events there may be -heard the beating of a man’s heart, weak or strong, now arrogant, and -now abased, not according to the fear of man or even of the glory of -God, but more according to the kindness which dwelt in woman’s eyes. - -For there is but one thing stronger in the world than the love of woman. -And that is not of this world. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -CHAPTER PAGE - -I.--THE YEAR TERRIBLE 1 - -II.--THE BLOOD OF THE MARTYRS 15 - -III.--THE LITTLE LADY OF EARLSTOUN 22 - -IV.--MY SISTER ANNA 30 - -V.--I CONSTRUCT A RAFT 42 - -VI.--ACROSS THE MOONLIGHT 52 - -VII.--MY BROTHER HOB 60 - -VIII.--THE MUSTER OF THE HILL FOLK 69 - -IX.--I MEET MARY GORDON FOR THE SECOND TIME 76 - -X.--THE BLUE BANNER IS UP 85 - -XI.--THE RED GRANT 93 - -XII.--THE LASS IN THE KIRKYARD 105 - -XIII.--MY LADY OF PRIDE 112 - -XIV.--THE TALE OF MESS HAIRRY 120 - -XV.--ALEXANDER-JONITA 129 - -XVI.--THE CORBIES AT THE FEAST 137 - -XVII.--THE BONNY LASS OF EARLSTOUN 144 - -XVIII.--ONE WAY OF LOVE 154 - -XIX.--ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE 169 - -XX.--MUTTERINGS OF STORM 185 - -XXI.--THE EYES OF A MAID 193 - -XXII.--THE ANGER OF ALEXANDER-JONITA 204 - -XXIII.--AT BAY 215 - -XXIV.--MARY GORDON’S LAST WORD 225 - -XXV.--BEHIND THE BROOM 233 - -XXVI.--JEAN GEMMELL’S BARGAIN WITH GOD 240 - -XXVII.--RUMOUR OF WAR 252 - -XXVIII.--ALEXANDER-JONITA’S VICTORY 262 - -XXIX.--THE ELDERS OF THE HILL FOLK 269 - -XXX.--SILENCE IS GOLDEN 275 - -XXXI.--THE FALL OF EARLSTOUN 286 - -XXXII.--LOVE OR DUTY 293 - -XXXIII.--THE DEMONIAC IN THE GARRET 304 - -XXXIV.--THE CURSING OF THE PRESBYTERY 310 - -XXXV.--LIKE THE SPIRIT OF A LITTLE CHILD 317 - -XXXVI.--THE STONE OF STUMBLING 325 - -XXXVII.--FARE YOU WELL! 331 - -XXXVIII.--“I LOVE YOU, QUINTIN!” 338 - -XXXIX.--THE LAST ROARING OF THE BULL 350 - - - - -THE STANDARD BEARER. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE YEAR TERRIBLE. - - -This is what I, Quintin MacClellan, saw on the grassy summit of the -Bennan--a thing which, being seen and overpast in an hour, changed all -my life, and so in time by the grace of God and the chafe of -circumstances made me for good or evil the man I am. - -I was a herd laddie at the time, like David, keeping my father’s flocks -and kicking up my heels among the collie tykes, with many another -shepherd-boy in the wide moorish parishes of Minnigaff, Dalry and the -Kells. - -Now my father (and his father before him) had been all his life -“indweller” in the hill farm of Ardarroch which sits on the purple -braeface above the loch of Ken, with a little circumambient yard -enclosed by cattle-offices and a dozen red-stemmed fir trees, in which -the winds and the birds sing after their kind, winter and summer. - -A sweet and grateful spot do I now remember that Ardarroch to be, and in -these later days when I have tried so mickle of bliss and teen, and -wearied my life out in so many wanderings and strivings, my heart still -goes out kindly to the well-beloved place of my bairn-play. - -It was the high summer of the fatal year 1685, when I saw the sight -which put an end to my childhood. Well do I mind it that year, for -amongst others, my father had to go for a while into hiding--not that he -was any over-strenuous Covenant man, but solely because he had never in -his life refused bite and sup to any neighbour hard pressed, nor yet to -any decent chiel who might scarcely be able to give an account of the -quarrel he had with the Tyrant’s laws. - -So, during his absence, my brothers and I had the work of the farm to -attend to. No dawn of day sifting from the east through the greenery of -the great sloughing beeches and firs about the door ever found any of -the three of us in our beds. For me, I was up and away to the -hills--where sometimes in the full lambing time I would spend all night -on the heathery fells or among the lirks and hidden dells of the -mountain fastnesses. - -And oh, but it was pleasant work and I liked it well! The breathing -airs; the wide, starry arch I looked up into, when night had drawn her -night-cap low down over the girdling blue-black hills; the moon glinting -on the breast of Loch Ken; the moor-birds, whaup and snipe, plover and -wild duck cheeping and chummering in their nests, while the wood-doves’ -moan rose plaintive from every copse and covert--it was a fit birthplace -for a young lad’s soul. Though indeed at that time none was farther from -guessing it than Quintin MacClellan. For as I went hither and thither I -pondered on nothing except the fine hunger the hills gave me, and the -glorious draughts of whey and buttermilk my mother would serve out to me -on my return, calling me meantime the greatest and silliest of her -calves, besides tweaking my ears at the milk-house door if she could -catch me ere I set my bare legs twinkling down the loaning. - -For the time being I say nothing more of my father, “douce John of -Ardarroch,” as all the parish called him, save that he was a moderate -man and no high-flier as he would have described himself--yet out of -whom his wife (and my good mother) had, by the constant dropping of -argument, made a Covenant man, and even a fairly consistent follower of -the Hill Folk. Neither will I bide to speak of my brothers Hob and -David, for their names and characters will have occasion to appear as I -write down my own strange history. Nor yet can I pause to tell of the -sweetness and grace of my sister Anna, whose brown eyes held a charm -which even my boyish and brotherly insensibility acknowledged and -delighted in, being my elder by half-a-dozen years, and growing up -amongst us rough louts of the heather like a white rose in the stocky -corner of an herb-garden. - -For I must tell of myself and what befell me on the Bennan top the -twenty-first day of June--high Midsummer Day of the Year Terrible, and -of all that it brought to me. - -I had heard, indeed, often enough of chasings, of prisonments, of men -and women sent away over-seas to the cruel plantations, of the boot and -the thumbscrew, of the blood of slain men reddening the heather behind -dyke-backs. There was indeed little talk of anything else throughout all -the land of the South and West. But it so chanced that our House of -Ardarroch, being set high up on the side of Bennan, and with no -prominent Covenanters near by to be a mark for the fury of the -persecutor, we MacClellans had thus far escaped unquestioned and -scathless. - -Once, indeed, Lidderdale of the Isle, with twenty men, had made us a -visitation and inquired somewhat curiously of us, and specially of my -mother, whom we had entertained on such a night and whom on such -another. After this occasion it was judged expedient that my father -should keep wide of his own house for a while, lest the strict laws -against intercommuning[1] should lay him by the heels in the gaol of -Kirkcudbright. - -But to the young and healthy--so long at least as there is clothing for -the back, good filling for the hungry belly, and no startling and -personal evil befal--tales of ill, unseen and unproven, fall on the ear -like the clatter of ancient head-shaking beldames croaking to each -other by unswept ingle-nooks. At least, so it was with me. - -But to my tale of Midsummer Day of the Terrible Year. - -I had been out, since earliest morn, over the rough rigs of heather -looking tentily to my sheep, for I had been “hefting” (as the business -is called in our Galloway land) a double score of lambs which had just -been brought from a neighbouring lowland farm to summer upon our scanty -upland pastures. Now it is the nature of sheep to return if they can to -their mother-hill, or, at least, to stray further and further seeking -some well-known landmark. So, till such new-comers grow satisfied and -“heft” (or attach) themselves to the soil, they must be watched -carefully both night and day. - -I was at this time thirteen years of my age, well nourished and light of -foot as a mountain goat. Indeed, there was not a goat in the herd that I -could not run down and grip by the neck. And when Hob, my elder brother, -would take after me because of some mischief I had wrought, I warrant he -had a long chase and a sore sweat before he caught me, if I got but ten -yards’ start and the heather free before me. - -This day I had a couple of fine muckle scones in my pocket, which my -mother had given me, besides one I had purloined for myself when she was -not looking, but which my sister Anna had seen me take and silently -shaken her head. That, however, I minded not a fly. Also I snatched up a -little square book from the window-sill, hoping that in it I might find -some entertainment to while away the hours in the bield of some granite -stone or behind some bush of heather. But I found it to be the collect -of Mr. Samuel Rutherford, his letters from Aberdeen and Anwoth, and at -first I counted the reading of it dull enough work. But afterwards, -because of the names of kenned places in our Galloway and also the fine -well-smacking Scottish words in it, I liked it none so ill. - -Ashie and Gray, my dogs, sat on either side of me. Brother and sister -they were, of one year and litter, yet diverse as any human brother and -sister--Ashie being gay and frisky, ever full of freits and caperings; -his sister Gray, on the other hand, sober as a hill-preaching when -Clavers is out on the heather looking for it. - -As for Ashie, he nipped himself in the flank and pursued after his own -tail as if he had taken some ill-will at it. But old-maidish Gray sat -erect, cocking her short ears and keeping a sharp eye on the “hefting” -lambs, which went aimlessly straying and cropping below, seeking in vain -for holms as kindly and pastures as succulent as those of the -valley-crofts from which my father had driven them a day or two before. - -For myself, in the intervals of my reading, I had been singing a merry -stave, one you may be sure that I did not let my mother or my sister -Anna hear. I had learnt it from wild David, who had brought the broad -sheet back with him from Keltonhill Fair. Thus I had been carolling, gay -as the laverock which I watched flirting and pulsing upwards out of the -dun bents of the fell. But after a while the small print of my book and, -perhaps, also the high instructiveness of the matter inclined me towards -sleep. - -The bleating of the sundered lambs desirous of lost motherly udders fell -more soothingly and plaintively upon my ear. It seemed to bring dreams -pleasant and delightful with it. I heard the note sink and change to -that heavenly murmuring that comes with drowsiness, or which, mayhap, is -but the sound of the porter opening the Poppy Gates of sleep--and which -may break yet more delightfully on our ears when the gates that open -for us are the gates of death. - -I suppose that all the afternoon the whaups had piped and “willywhaaed,” -the snipes bleated and whinnied overhead, and that the peewits had -complained to each other of the question boy-beast below them, which ran -on two legs and waved other two so foolishly in the air. But I did not -hear them. My ears were dulled. The moorland sounds melted deliciously -into the very sough and murmur of reposefulness. I was already well on -my way to Drowsieland. I heard my mother sing me a lullaby somewhere -among the tranced fields. Suddenly the cradle-song ceased. Through shut -eyelids I grew conscious of a disturbing influence. Though my face -nestled deep down in the crook of my arm I knew that Ashie and Gray had -all suddenly sat up. - -“_Ouf-f!_” quoth Ashie protestingly, deep in his stomach so that the -sound would carry no further than his master’s ear. - -“_Gur-r-r!_” growled Gray, his sister, yet more softly, the black wicks -of her mouth pulled away from her wicked shining eye-teeth. - -Thinking that the sheep were straying and that it might be as well by a -timely shout to save myself miles and miles of hot chase over the -heather, I sat up, ungraciously discontented to be thus aroused, and yet -more unreasonably angry with the dogs whose watchfulness had recalled me -to the realities of life. As I raised my head, the sounds of the hills -broke on my ear suddenly loud--indeed almost insolently insistant. The -suppressed far-away hush of Dreamland scattered itself like a broken -glass before the brisk clamour of the broad wind-stirred day. - -I glanced at the flock beneath me. They were feeding and straying -quietly enough--rather widely perhaps, but nothing to make a fret about. - -“Restless tykes!” I muttered irritably, striking right and left at the -dogs with my staff. “De’il take you, silly beasts that ye are!” - -“_Ouf-f!_” said Ashie, warningly as before, but from a safer distance, -his nose pointing directly away from the hefting lambs. Gray said -nothing, but uncovered her shining teeth a little further and cocked her -ears more directly towards the summit of the Bennan behind me. - -I looked about me high and low, but still I could see no cause for -alarm. - -“Daft brutes! Silly beasts!” I cried again more crossly than ever. And -with that I was about to consign myself to sleep again, or at least to -seek the pleasant paths of the day-dreamland from which I had been so -abruptly recalled. - -But the dogs with bristling hair, cocked ears and proudly-plumaged tails -were already ten yards up the slope towards the top of the fell, -sniffing belligerently as though they scented an intrusive stranger dog -at the entering in of the sacred enclosure of the farmyard of Ardarroch. - -I was reaching for my stick to deal it liberally between them when a -waft of warm summer wind brought to my ear the sound of the distant -crying of men. Then came the clear, imperative “Crack! Crack!” of musket -shots--first two, and then half-a-dozen close together, sharp and -distinct as an eager schoolboy snapping his finger and thumb to call the -attention of the master to whom he has been forbidden to speak. - -Then, again, on the back of this arrived silence, issuing presently in a -great disturbed clamour of peewit flocks on the table-lands above me, -clouds of them stooping and swooping, screaming and scolding at some -unlicensed and unprincipled intruders by me unseen. - -I knew well what it meant in a moment. The man-hunt was afoot. The folk -of God were once more being pursued like the partridge upon the -mountain. It might be that the blood of my own father was even now -making another crimson blossom of martyr blood upon the moors of -Scotland. - -“Down, down, Ashie!” I cried, but under my breath. “Come in to my foot, -Gray!” And, knowing by the voice that I was much in earnest, very -obediently the dogs slung behind with, however, many little protesting -“_gurrs_” and chest rumblings of muffled rage. - -“It must be Lag himself from the Garry-horn,” I thought; “he will be at -his old work of pursuing the wanderers with bloodhound and troop-horse.” - -Then, with the craft which had perhaps been born in me and which had -certainly been fostered by the years of watching and hiding, of open -hatred and secret suspicion, I crept cautiously up the side of the fell, -taking advantage of every tummock of heather and boss of tall bent -grass. Ashie and Gray crawled after me, stiff with intent hate, but -every whit as flatly prone and as infinitely cautious as their master. - -For they, too, had been born in the Days of Fear, and the spirit of the -game had entered into them ere ever they emerged from the blindness of -puppydom. - -As we ascended, nearer and nearer sounded the turmoil. I heard, as it -were, the sound of men’s voices encouraging each other, as the huntsmen -do on the hillsides when they drive the red fox from his lair. Then came -the baying of dogs and the clattering of irregular musketry. - -Till now the collies and I had been sheltered by the grey clints and -lichened rocks of the Bennan, but now we had to come out into the open. -The last thirty yards of ascent were bare and shelterless, the short, -mossy scalp of turf upon them being clean shaven as if cut with a razor. - -My heart beat fast, I can tell you who read this tale so comfortably by -the ingle-nook. I held it down with my hand as I crept upwards. Ashie -and Gray followed like four-footed guardian angels behind, now dragging -themselves painfully yard by yard upon their bellies, now lying -motionless as stone statues, their moist jowls pressed to the ground -and their dilated nostrils snuffing the air for the intelligence which -only my duller eyes could bring me. - -Yet I knew the risks of the attempt. For as soon as I had left the -shelter of the boulders and scattered clumps of heather and bent, I was -plain to the sight as a fly crawling over the shell of an egg. - -Nevertheless, with a quick rush I reached the top and set my head over. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE BLOOD OF THE MARTYRS. - - -The broad, flat table-top of the Bennan summit spread out before me like -an exercise ground for troops or a racecourse for horses. - -Yet not all barren or desolate, for here and there among the grey -granite peeped forth the bloom of the young heather, making a livelier -purple amid the burnt brown of the short grass, which in its turn was -diversified by the vivid emerald green circling the “quacking-quaas” or -bottomless moss-holes of the bogs beneath. - -Now this is what I saw, lying on my face, with no more than my chin set -over the edge--two men in tattered, peat-stained clothing running for -their lives towards the edge of the little plateau farthest from me. - -Between me and them twenty or thirty dragoons were urging their horses -forward in pursuit, weaving this way and that among the soft lairy -places, and as many more whose steeds had stuck fast in the moss were -coursing the fugitives on foot as though the poor men had been beasts of -the field. - -Every now and then one of the pursuers would stop, set his musket to his -shoulder and blaze away with a loud report and a drift of white smoke, -shouting joyously as at a rare jest whether he hit or missed. And I -thought that the poor lads would make good their escape with such sorry -marksmen. But even whilst I was putting up a prayer for them as I lay -panting upon the manifest edge, a chance shot struck the smaller and -more slender of the wanderers. He stumbled, poor wretch, and fell -forward upon his face. Then, mastering himself, and recognising his -grievous case and how much of mercy he had to look for if his enemies -came up with him, his strong spirit for an instant conquered his bodily -hurt. - -He rose immediately, set his hands one over the other upon his side, -doubtless to stay the welling gap the bullet had riven there, and ran -yet more determinedly after his companion. But close to the further -verge his power went from him. His companion halted and would have come -back to aid him, or more likely to die with him. But the wounded man -threw out his hand in vehement protest. - -“Run, Sandy,” he cried, so loudly and eagerly that I could easily hear -him through all the shouting and pother. “It will do no good. I am sped. -Save yourself--God have mercy--tell Margaret----!” - -But what he would have told Margaret I know not, for even then he spread -out his arms and fell forward on his face in the spongy moss. - -At this his companion turned sharply and ran on by himself, finally -disappearing among the granite boulders amid a brisk crackling of the -soldiers’ pieces. - -But their marksmanship was poor, for though they were near to him, what -with the breathless race and the unevenness of the ground, not a shot -took effect. Nor showed he any sign of scathe when last I saw him, -leaping nimbly from clump to clump of bent, where the green slimy moss -wet with the peat-brew keeps all soft as a quicksand, so that neither -hoof of a charger nor heavy military boot dare venture upon it, though -the bare accustomed foot of one bred to the hills may carry him across -easily enough. So the fugitive, a tall, burly man, cumbered with little -besides a doublet and short hose, disappeared out of my sight, and the -plain was bare save for the disappointed dragoons in their red coats and -the poor man left fallen on his face in the morass. - -I could never see him move hand or foot after he fell; and, indeed, it -was not long that he had the chance. For even as I continued to gaze -fascinated at the scene of blood which so suddenly had broken in upon -the pastoral peace of our Kells hills, I saw a tall, dark soldier, one -evidently of some authority among them, stride up to the fallen man. He -strove to turn him over with his foot, but the moss clung, and he could -not. So without a moment’s hesitation he took a musket from the nearest -dragoon, glanced coolly at the priming of the touch, set the butt to his -shoulder, and with the muzzle within a foot shot the full charge into -the back of the prostrate man. - -At this I could command myself no longer. The pursuit and the shooting -at the fugitives, even the killing when at least they had a chance for -their lives, seemed nothing to this stony-hearted butchery. I gat me up -on my feet, and in a boyish frenzy shouted curses upon the murderer. - -“God shall send thee to hell for this, wicked man, black murderer that -thou art!” I cried, shaking my clenched hand, like the angry impotent -child I was. - -The soldiers who were searching here and there, as it were, for more -victims among the coverts turned their heads my way and gazed, hearing -the voice but seeing no man. Others who stood upon the verge, taking -shots as fast as they could load at the man who had escaped, also -turned. I yelled at them that they were to show themselves brave -soldiers, and shoot me also. The tall, dark buirdly man in the red coat -who had fired into the wounded man cried to them “to take a shot at the -damned young Whig.” But I think the men were all too much surprised at -my bold words to do it, for none moved, so that the speaker was obliged -to snatch a pistol from his own belt, and let fly at me himself. - -The whistle of the pistol ball as it sped harmlessly by waked me as from -a dream. A quick horror took me by the throat. I seemed to see myself -laid face down on the turf and the murderer of the poor wanderer pouring -shot after shot into my back. I felt my knees tremble, and it seemed (as -it often does in a nightmare) that if he pursued I should be unable to -move. But even as I saw the man in red reach for his other pistol the -power came back to my limbs. - -I turned and ran without knowing it, for the next thing I remember was -the scuff of the wind about my ears as I sped recklessly down the -steepest slope, with no feeling that my feet were touching the ground at -all. I saw Ashie and Gray scouring far before me, with their tails -clapped between their legs, for I suppose that their master’s fear had -communicated itself to them. Yet all the time I knew well that a single -false step, a stumble upon a twisted root of burnt heather, a -treacherous clump of grass amid the green slime of the morass, and the -fate of the fallen martyr would be mine. - -But ere I passed quite out of range I heard the rattle of a dropping -fusillade from the edge of the hill above me, as a number of the -soldiers let off their pieces at me, firing, I think, half in sport and -half from a feeling of chagrin that they had let a more important victim -escape them. I heard the _whisk-whisk_ of the balls as they flew wide, -and one whizzed past my ear and buried itself with a vicious spit in the -moss a yard or two before me as I ran--but all harmless, and soon I was -out of range. For I think it was more in cruel jest and with raffish -laughter than with any intent to harm me that the soldiers fired. - -Nevertheless, my boy’s heart was full of wild fear. I had seen murder -done. The wholesome green earth was spotted black with crime. Red motes -danced in the sunshine. The sun himself in the wide blue heavens seemed -turned to blood. - -Then, all suddenly, I thought of my mother, and my heart stood still. It -would soon be the hour at which it was her custom to take out victual to -the little craggy linn where my father was in hiding. So with a new -access of terror I turned towards our house of Ardarroch, and ran to -warn her of what I had seen upon the Bennan top. - -I felt as I sped along that life could never be the same to me again. -From a heedless boy I had grown into a man in one unutterable hour. I -had, of course, heard much of killings, and even as a child the relation -of the cruelties of the Highland Host had impressed me so that the red -glinting of a soldier’s coat would send me into the deepest thickets of -Ardarroch wood. But it was the musket shot poured into the back of the -poor helpless lad on the Bennan that made a lifelong Covenanter of -Quintin MacClellan. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE LITTLE LADY OF EARLSTOUN. - - -But it was not the will of God that I should warn my mother that day; -for even as I ran, threading my way among the scattered boulders and -whin bushes of the lower slopes, I came upon that which surprised me -almost as greatly as the shooting itself. - -Right in my path a little girl was sitting on a green mound like a -deserted ant hillock: She had long yellow hair, and a red cloak was -about her, with a hood to it, which came over her head and partly shaded -her brow. A wooden pail had been placed carefully on the heather at her -feet. Now, what with the perturbation of my spirits and my head being -full of country tales of bogles and elves, at the first glance I took -the maid for one of these, and would have avoided and given her a wide -berth as something much less than canny. - -But she wiped her eyes with her little white hand, and as I looked more -closely I saw that she had been crying, for her face was rubbed red, and -her cheeks all harrowed and begrutten with tears. - -So at that I feared no more, but went nearer. She seemed about seven or -eight, and very well grown for her age. - -“Why do you cry, little maid?” I said to her, standing before her in the -green path. - -For a while she did not answer, but continued to sob. I went near to -comfort her, but she thrust her hand impatiently out at me. - -“Do not touch me, ragged boy,” she said; “it is not for herd laddies to -touch little ladies.” - -And she spoke the words with such mightily offended dignity that on -another occasion I would have laughed. - -Then she commanded herself and dried her eyes on her red cloak. - -“Carry the can and come with me to find my father,” she ordered, -pointing imperiously with her finger as if I had been no better than a -blackamoor slave in the plantations. - -I lifted the wooden pail. It contained, as I think, cakes of oatmeal -with cheese and butter wrapped in green leaves. But the little girl -would not let me so much as look within. - -“These are for my father,” she said; “my father is the greatest man in -the whole world!” - -“But who may your father be, little one?” I asked her, standing stock -still on the green highway with the can in my hand. She was daintily -arranging the cloak about her like a fine lady. She paused, and looked -at me very grave and not a little indignant. - -“That is not for you to know,” she said, with dignity; “follow me with -the pail.” - -So saying she stalked away with dignified carriage in the direction of -the hill-top. A wild fear seized me. One of the two men I had seen -fleeing might be the little girl’s father. Perhaps he into whose -back--ah! at all hazards I must not let her go that way. - -“Could we not rest awhile here,” I suggested, “here behind this bush? -There are wicked men upon the hill, and they might take away the pail -from us.” - -“Then my father would kill them,” she said, shaking her head sagely, but -never stopping a moment on her upward way. “Besides, my mother told me -to take the pail to the hill-top and stand there in my red cloak till my -father should come. But it was so hot and the pail so heavy that----” - -“That you cried?” I said as she stopped. - -“Nay,” she answered with an offended look; “little ladies do not cry. I -was only sorry out loud that my father should be kept waiting so long.” - -“And your mother sent you all this way by yourself; was not that cruel -of her?” I went on to try her. - -“Little ragged boy,” she said, looking at me with a certain compassion, -“you do not know what you are saying. I cannot, indeed, tell you who my -father is, but I am Mary Gordon, and my mother is the Lady of -Earlstoun.” - -So I was speaking to the daughter of Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun, the -most famous Covenanter in Scotland, and, next to my Lord Viscount of -Kenmure, the chief landowner in our countryside. - -“And have you come alone all the way from Earlstoun hither?” I asked in -astonishment, for the distance was at least four or five miles and the -road rough and ill-trodden. - -“Nay,” she made answer, “not so. My mother set me so far upon the way, -and now she waits for me by the bushes yonder, so that I must make haste -and return. We came in a boat to your water-foot down there where the -little bay is and the pretty white sand.” - -And she pointed with her hand to where the peaty water of the moorland -stream mingled with and stained the deep blue of the loch. - -“Haste you, laddie,” she cried sharply a moment after; “my father is not -a one to be kept waiting. He will be impatient and angry. And because he -is so great a man his anger is hard to bide.” - -“You must not go up to the hill-top,” I said, “for there are many bad -men on the Bennan to-day, and they would perhaps kill you.” - -“But my father is there,” said she, stopping and looking at me -reproachfully. “I must go; my mother bade me.” - -And haply at that moment I saw the entire company of soldiers, led by -the man in the red coat, stringing down the farther side of the mountain -in the line of flight by which the second fugitive had made good his -escape. So I judged it might be as well to satisfy the lass and let her -go on to the top. Indeed, short of laying hold of her by force, I knew -not well how to hinder so instant and imperious a dame. - -Besides, I thought that by a little generalship I would be able to keep -her wide of the place where lay the poor body of the slain man. - -So straight up the hill upon which I had seen such terrible things we -went, Ashie and Gray slinking unwillingly and shamefacedly behind. And -as I went I cast an eye to my flock. And it appeared strange to me that -the lambs should still be feeding quietly and peacefully down there, -cropping and straying on the green scattered pastures of Ardarroch. Yet -in the interval all the world had changed to me. - -We reached the summit. - -“Here is the place I was to wait for my father,” said Mary Gordon. “I -must arrange my hair, little boy, for my father loves to see me -well-ordered, though he is indeed himself most careless in his -attiring.” - -She gave vent to a long sigh, as if her father’s delinquencies of -toilette had proved a matter of lifelong sorrow to her. - -“But then, you see, my father is a great man and does as he pleases.” - -She put her hand to her brow and looked under the sun this way and that -over the moor. - -“There are so many evil men hereabout--your father may have gone down -the further side to escape them,” I said. For I desired to withdraw her -gaze from the northern verge of the tableland, where, as I well knew, -lay a poor riven body, which, for all I knew, might be that of the -little maid’s father, silent, shapeless, and for ever at rest. - -“Let us go there, then, and wait,” she said, more placably and in more -docile fashion than she had yet shown. - -So we crossed the short crisp heather, and I walked between her and that -which lay off upon our right hand, so that she should not see it. - -But the dogs Ashie and Gray were almost too much for me. For they had -gone straight to the body of the slain man, and Ashie, ill-conditioned -brute, sat him down as a dog does when he bays the moon, and, stretching -out his neck and head towards the sky, he gave vent to his feelings in a -long howl of agony. Gray snuffed at the body, but contented herself with -a sharp occasional snarl of angry protest. - -“What is that the dogs have found over there?” said the little maid, -looking round me. - -“Some dead sheep or other; there are many of them about,” I answered, -with shameless mendacity. - -“Have your Bennan sheep brown coats?” she asked, innocently enough. - -I looked and saw that the homespun of the man’s attire was plain to be -seen. “My father has been here before me, and has cast his mantle over -the sheep to keep the body from the sun and the flies.” - -For which lie the Lord will, I trust, pardon me, considering the -necessity and that I was but a lad. - -At any rate the maid was satisfied, and we took our way to the northern -edge of the Bennan top. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -MY SISTER ANNA. - - -Wending our way through the tangle of brown morass and grey boulder, we -arrived, the little maid and I, at the extremity of the spur which looks -towards the north. Immediately beneath us, already filling in with the -oozy peat, I saw the ploughing steps of the successful fugitive, where -he had leaped and slid down the soft mossy slopes. There to the right -was the harder path by which the dragoons had led their horses, jibbing -and stumbling as they went. But all were now passed away, and the -landscape from verge to verge was bare and empty save for a few scarlet -dots bobbing and weaving athwart one another down on the lake-shore, as -the soldiers drew near their camp. Even the clamorous peewits had -returned, and were already sweeping and complaining foolishly overhead, -doubtless telling each other the tale of how the noise and -white-blowing smoke had frightened them from their eggs among the -heather. - -The little lass stood awhile and gazed about her. - -“Certainly my father will see me now,” she said, cheerfully enough; “I -am sure he will be looking, and then he will know that all is well when -his little girl is here.” - -And she looked as if she were ready to protect Alexander Gordon of -Earlstoun against Lag and all his troopers. But after a little I saw an -anxious look steal over her face. - -“He is not coming. He does not see his little Mary!” she said, -wistfully. - -Then she ran to the top of the highest knoll, and taking off her red -cloak she waved it, crying out, “Father, father, it is I--little Mary! -Do not be afraid!” - -A pair of screeching wildfowl swooped indignantly nearer, but no other -voice replied. I feared that she might insist upon examining that which -lay under the brown coat, for that it covered either her father or one -of her kinsfolk I was well persuaded. The Bennan top had been without -doubt the hiding-place of many besides Alexander Gordon. But at this -time none were sought for in the Glenkens save the man upon whose head, -because of the late plot anent the King’s life, there was set so great a -price. And, moreover, had the lady of Earlstoun not sent her daughter to -that very place with provender, as being the more likely to win through -to her husband unharmed and unsuspected? - -Suddenly Mary burst into tears. - -“I can not find him!” she cried; “and he will be so hungry, and think -that his little girl dared not come to find him! Besides, all the oaten -cakes that were baked but this morning will be quite spoiled!” - -I tried my best to comfort her, but she would not let me so much as -touch her. And, being an ignorant landward lad, I could not find the -fitting words wherewithal to speak to a maiden gently bred like the -little Mary Gordon. - -At last, however, she dried her tears. “Let us leave the cakes here, and -take the basket and go our way back again. For the lady my mother will -be weary with waiting for me so long by the waterside.” - -So we two went down the hill again very sadly, and as we passed by she -cast her eyes curiously over at the poor lad who lay so still on his -face in the soft lair of the peat moss. - -“That is a strange sheep,” she said; “it looks more like a man lying -asleep.” - -So, passing by, we went down both of us together, and as we pushed a way -through the bracken towards our own house of Ardarroch, I saw my sister -Anna come up the burn-side among the light flickering shadows of the -birch and alder bushes. And when we came nearer to her I saw that she, -too, had been weeping. Now this also went to my heart with a heavy sense -of the beginning of unknown troubles. Ever since, from my sweet sleep of -security on the hillside I had been suddenly flung into the midst of a -troublous sea, there seemed no end to the griefs, like waves that press -behind each other rank behind rank to the horizon. - -“Has my father been taken?” I cried anxiously to Anna, as she came near. -For that was our chief household fear at that time. - -“Nay,” she answered, standing still to look in astonishment at my little -companion; “but there are soldiers in the house, and they have turned -everything this way and that to seek for him, and have also dealt -roughly with my mother.” - -Hearing which, I was for running down to help, but Anna bade me to bide -where I was. I would only do harm, she said. She had been sent to keep -Hob and David on the hill, my mother being well assured that the -soldiers would do her no harm for all the roughness of their talk. - -“And who is this?” said Anna, looking kindly down at little Mary Gordon. - -I expected the little maid to answer as high and quick as she had done -to me; but she stood fixed and intent awhile upon Anna, and then she -went directly up to her and put her hand into that of my sister. There -was ever, indeed, that about Anna which drew all children to her. And -now the proud daughter of the laird of Earlstoun went to her as readily -as a tottering cottar’s bairn. - -“You will take me to my mother, will you not?” she said, nestling -contentedly with her cheek against Anna’s homespun kirtle. - -“That will I, and blithely, lambie!” my sister answered, heartily, “if -ye will tell me who the mother o’ ye may be, and where she bides.” - -But when I had told her, I saw Anna look suddenly blank, and the colour -fade from her face. - -“By the waterside--your mother!” she said, with a kind of fluttering -uncertain apprehension in her voice. For my sister Anna’s voice was -like a stringed instrument, quavering and thrilling to the least thought -of her heart. - -We three turned to go down the hill to the waterside. I caught Anna’s -eye, and, observing by its signalling that she wished to speak with me -apart, I allowed the little girl to precede us on the winding sheep -track, which was all the path leading up the Bennan side. - -“The soldiers had taken her mother away with them in the boat to -question her. They suspected that she came to the water foot to meet her -husband,” whispered Anna. “You must take the little one back to her -folk--or else, if you are afraid to venture, Hob or David will go -instead of you.” - -“Neither Hob nor yet David shall get the chance; I will go myself,” -cried I, firing at the notion that my two brothers could carry out such -a commission better than I. “If you, Anna, will look to the sheep, I -will leave Ashie and Gray behind to help you.” - -“I will indeed gladly stay and see that all is kept in due order,” said -Anna, and I knew that she was as good a herd as any one, and that when -she undertook a thing she would surely perform it. - -So I took leave of my sister, and she gave me some pieces of barley -bread and also a few savoury crumblings she had discovered in the pocket -which was swung on the outside of her short kirtle. - -“I will not go with you; I want to stay with this nice great girl, or -else go home to my mother!” cried the imperious little maid, stamping -her foot and shaking her yellow curls vehemently as if she cherished a -spite against me. - -“Your mother has been obliged to go home without you,” I said, “but she -has left word that you are to come with me, and I will take you home.” - -“I do not believe it; you are nothing but a little, ragged, silly boy,” -she answered, shaking her finger contemptuously at me. - -I appealed to Anna. - -“Is it not so?” I said. - -Anna turned gently to little Mary Gordon. - -“Go with him, childie,” she said; “your mother was compelled to go away -and leave you. My brother will bring you safe. Quintin is a good lad and -will take great care of you. Let him take you home, will you not?” - -And the child looked long up into the deep, untroubled brown eyes of -Anna, my sister, and was vanquished. - -“I will go with the boy anywhere if _you_ bid me,” she said. - - (NOTE AND ADDITION BY ME, HOB MACCLELLAN, - ELDER BROTHER OF THE WRITER.) - -It chances that I, Hob MacClellan, have come into possession of the -papers of Quintin, my brother, and also of many interesting documents -that belonged to him. In time I shall leave them to his son Quintin, but -ere they pass out of my hands it is laid upon me that I insert sundry -observes upon them for the better understanding of what Quintin hath -written. - -For this brother of mine, whom for love I served forty years as a -thirled labourer serves for his meat, whom I kept from a thousand -dangers, whom I guided as a mother doth a bairn that learns to walk, -holding it by the coaties behind--this Quintin whose fame is in all -Scotland was a man too wrapt and godly to be well able to take care of -the things of the moment, and all his life needed one to be in tendance -upon him, and to see that all went forward as it ought. - -My mother and his, a shrewd woman of the borderside stock, Elliot her -name, used often to say, “Hob, keep a firm catch o’ Quintin. For though -he may stir up the world and have the care of all the churches, yet like -a bairn he needs one to draw tight the buckle of his trews, and see that -he goes not to preach in the habit in which he rose from bed!” - -So it came about that I, having no clearness as to leaving him to -himself, abode mostly near him, keeping the door of his chamber, as it -were, on all the great occasions of his life. And Quintin my brother, -though we differed ofttimes, ever paid me in love and the bond of an -unbroken brotherhood. Also what he had I had, hand and siller, bite or -sup, poverty and riches. I tilled his glebe. I brought home his kye and -milked them. I stood at his back in the day of calamity. I was his groom -when first he married so strangely. Yet through all I abode plain dour -Hob MacClellan, to all the parish and wider far--the “minister’s -brother!” - -And there are folk who have held me stupid because that ordinarily I -found little to say, or dull in that I mixed not with their pothouse -jollity, or proud because I could be better company to myself than a -score of clattering fools. - -Not that I despised the friendly converse in the green loaning when a -man meets a man, or a man a bonny lass, nor yet the merry meeting about -the ingle in the heartsome forenights, for I own that at one time my -mind lay greatly that way. - -I have loved good sound jocund mirth all my days; aye, and often learned -that which proved of great advantage at such times, just because folk -had no fear, but would speak freely before me. Whereas, so soon as -Quintin came in, there passed a hush over every face and a silence of -constraint fell upon them, as if he had fetched the two tables of stone -with all the Ten Commandments upon them in his coat-tail pocket. - -Now, though I hold to it that there never was a man in the world like -our Quintin, at least, never since Richard Cameron was put down in -red-running blood on the Moss of Ayr, yet I am free to admit that -Quintin often saw things without that saving salt of humour which would -have given him so much easier a tramp through the whins and thickets of -life. - -But this could not be. Quintin had by nature mother-wit enough, but he -ever took things too hardly, and let them press upon his spirit when he -had better have been on the ice at the channel-stanes than on his knees -in his closet. At least that is my thought of it. - -For some men see the upper side of human affairs, and some the under. -But few there be who see both sides of things. And if any of the -doctrines for which our Quintin fought seemed to me as the thin -wind-clouds streaked like mare’s tails high in the lift, the heartsome -mirth and country _gif-gaf_,[2] which ofttimes made my heart cheerier, -appeared to him but as the crackling of thorns under a pot. - -And so when it shall be that this wondrous narrative of my brother -Quintin’s life (for it is both wondrous and true) is finally set forth -for the edification of men and women, I recommend whoever has the -perusal of it to read over also my few chapters of observes, that he may -understand the true inwardness of the narrative and, as it were, the -ingates as well as the outgates of it. - -Now, for instance, there is this matter of the killing of the man upon -the hill. Quintin hath written all his story, yet never said in three -words that the man was not Muckle Sandy Gordon, the father of the -little lass. He was, in fact, the son of one Edgar of Milnthird, and -reported a clever lad at his trade, which was that of a saddler in -Dumfries. He had in his time great fights with the devil, who beset him -roaring like a lion in the caves of Crichope and other wild glens. But -this John Edgar would always vanquish him till he put on the red coat of -Rob Grier of Lag, that noted persecutor. And so the poor lad got a -settling shot through the back even as Quintin has written. - -And, again, when Quintin says that it was the memory of that day which -set him marching to Edinburgh with me at his elbow, to hold Clavers and -his troop of Lairds and Highlandmen in order--well, in my opinion we -both marched to Edinburgh because my father bade us. And at that time -even Quintin did not disobey his father, though I will say that, having -the soft side of my mother, he got more of his own way even from a bairn -than is good for any one. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -I CONSTRUCT A RAFT. - -[_The Narrative is again from the MS. of Quintin MacClellan._] - - -It was growing dusk when Mary Gordon and I came to the edge of the lake. -Now, Loch Ken, though a narrow and winding piece of water, and more the -extension of the river than, as it were, a lake of set intent, has yet -many broad, still stretches and unexpected inlets, where it is a -paradise for children to play. And these I knew like the way to our well -at Ardarroch. - -As Anna had foretold, we found upon the white sands neither the Lady of -Earlstoun, nor yet the boat in which Mary and she had come from the head -of the loch. We saw, however, the rut which the prow of the boat had -made in taking the pebbles, and the large stone to which it had been -fastened was there. The shingle also was displaced, and all about were -deeply marked footprints like those made by men who bear a heavy burden. - -Then, when I had sat down on a boulder by the water’s edge, I drew the -little maid to my knee, and told her that I must take her home to find -her mother. And also that because the Earlstoun was a long way off, she -must let me carry her sometimes when she grew weary. - -“Is that what Anna would wish?” she asked, for from the first she had -called my sister nothing else. - -I told her that it was, and immediately she put her hand in mine, yet -not willingly nor yet trustingly as she had done to Anna, but rather -with an air of protest and like one who does an irksome but necessary -duty. - -At the point of the loch at which we had arrived the trees crept down -the hillside quite to the edge of the water, so that for the first -quarter of a mile Mary Gordon and I proceeded northwards without ever -needing to show ourselves out in the open. - -Then there comes the narrow pass between the steepest crags of the -Bennan and the water’s edge. We had been moving cautiously through the -trees, and were indeed just about to emerge from the brushwood, when a -rotten stick cracked beneath my foot. Instantly a soldier’s challenge -rang sharply out in front of us. - -“Halt! Who goes there?” - -Though little better than bairns Mary Gordon and I cowered with the -instinctive craft born of years of persecution and concealment. Again -the man cried, “Show yourselves there, or I fire!” - -But as we lay still as death behind the tree he did not think it -necessary to enter the wood--where, indeed, for all he knew a score of -armed and desperate Whigs might have been in hiding. - -Then we could hear his neighbours hail him from the next post and ask -what the matter was. - -“I heard a noise in the wood,” he returned, gruffly enough. - -“A wandering pig or a goat from the hill!” cried his comrade higher up, -cheerily. “There are many of them about.” But the man in front of us was -sullen and did not reply. - -“Sulky dog!” cried the man who had spoken--as it were, in order to close -the conversation pleasantly. - -The sound of his voice caused me to stop and reflect. - -The hail of the second soldier had come distinctly from the rocks of the -Bennan, therefore their commander had established a cordon of sentries -in order to prevent the escape of some noted fugitive. What chance was -there for a couple of children to pass the guarded line? By myself I -might, indeed, have managed. I could well enough have rushed across the -line when the sentry was at the extreme point of his beat, and risked a -bullet as I plunged into the next belt of woodland; but, cumbered with -the care of a maiden of tender years, this was impossible. - -The night had drawn down into a cool, pleasant darkness. Softly Mary -Gordon and I withdrew, taking care that no more rotten sticks should -snap beneath our feet. For I knew that in the present state of the -sentry’s temper we would certainly not escape so easily. - -Presently, at the southern verge of the straggling copse of hazel, and -therefore close to the edge of the lake, we came upon a couple of -sheepfolds. One of these belonged to our own farm of Ardarroch, and the -other to our kindly neighbour, John Fullerton of the Bennan. - -“I am tired--take me home. You promised to take me home!” - -The little maid’s voice was full of pitifulness and tears as she found -herself going further and further from the house of Earlstoun. - -“We cannot pass that way--the soldier men would shoot us,” I answered -her with truth. - -“Then take me to my Auntie Jean,” she persisted, catching at my hand -pettishly, and then throwing it from her, “and my mother will come for -me in the morning.” - -“But where does your Auntie Jean live?” - -“How can I tell--it is such a long way?” she answered. “It is in a house -in the middle of a loch!” - -Now this could only mean in the old tower of Lochinvar. But that was a -yet longer and more difficult road than to the Earlstoun, and the line -of sentries up the Bennan side barred our progress as completely as -ever. - -Nevertheless there was something attractive in the little maid’s idea. -For that ancient strength, alone among all the neighbouring houses, -sheltered no band of troopers. Kenmure, Earlstoun, Gordonston, and even -our own little farm town of Ardarroch were all manned and watched, but -the half-ruinous block-house of Lochinvar set in the midst of its -moorland loch had been left untenanted. Its owner, Walter Gordon, the -famous swordsman, was in exile abroad, so they said, and the place, save -for a room or two, totally disrupted and broken down. - -There was, therefore, no safer refuge for little Mary, if indeed her -aunt dwelt there and we could find our way. Suddenly, as we looked -about, an idea came to me, and, what is not so common, the means of -carrying it out. - -The sheepfolds (or “buchts”) in which we were hiding were walled in with -rough stones from the hill, piled so as to form dry dykes, high and -strong, and the entrances were defended by heavy wooden gates swung upon -posts driven deep into the ground. The gates lifted away easily from -their hinges. Two or three of these would make a secure enough raft if I -could only fasten them together. And even as I set about to find ways -and means, I was conscious of a change. A strange elation took me at the -heart, and ran through my veins like unaccustomed wine. - -I was no longer the careless herd laddie. I had entered life. I knew the -penalty of failure. The man in the brown coat lying prone on his face -up there above me on the crest of the Bennan quite clearly and -sufficiently pointed that moral. - -So, with the little girl close behind me, I searched both sets of -“buchts” from end to end. I found three gates which could be easily -detached from their posts. These I dismounted one after another. - -How, then, was I to get them to the water’s edge, for they were far too -heavy for my puny strength? I could only break a limb from a tree and -draw them down to the loch shore on that, even as I had often helped my -father to bring home his faggots of firewood from the hill upon a -_carr_, or trail-cart of brushwood. - -So we set off for the wood to break our branch. It was not long before I -had one of beech lying upon the ground, with all its wealth of rustling -leaves upon it. But the snap I made in breaking it off from the tree -would certainly have betrayed us, had I not been cautious to keep a -sufficient breadth of wood between us and our surly sentry. - -Trailing this behind us we came again to the “ewe-buchts.” - -It was now no difficult job to transport the raft of gates down to the -water. I gave Mary Gordon a branch to tug at, which made her happier -than anything I had done since Anna committed her to my care, for she -pleased herself with thinking that she did the whole work. - -I was almost on the point of using a hay-rope to bind them together as -the best I could do, when I remembered that in the corner of our own -“buchts” my father kept some well-tarred hempen cord, which I had seen -him place there only the day before he had been compelled to go into -hiding. If it chanced not to be removed, without doubt it would prove -the very thing. - -I found it where he had laid it, in the little shelf-press rudely -constructed in the wall of four blocks of stone split into faces. There -was little enough of it when I rove it out, but I thought I could make -shift with it. It was, at any rate, far better than miles of hay-rope. - -With this I tied the bars closely together by the corners and -cross-bars, and presently had built up a very commodious raft indeed, -though one more than a trifle heavy. It was some time before I hit upon -a plan of launching my top-heavy craft. With the loose “stob” of a -gatepost I managed to lever the crank construction to the edge of a -sloping bank down which she slid so quickly that I had to set my heels -into the grass and hold back with all my might. - -But a moment after, without a splash more than a wild duck might make, -the raft floated high above the water. With the end of the rope in my -hand I climbed on board, but soon found that with my weight the top -“liggate” of my craft was within an inch of the water. Clearly, then, it -could not keep both of us dry. - -But this troubled me little. I had not lived all my life on the shores -of a loch to be afraid of swimming behind a raft on a midsummer night. -For among other ploys Hob and I would often play at a sort of tilting or -tournament, sitting astride of logs and trying to knock each other off -into the water in the warm summer shallows. - -So I placed the little girl upon the raft, cautioning her that as she -hoped to see her mother again, she must in no circumstances make the -least noise nor yet move from the centre of the raft where I had placed -her. Soon she had begun to take an interest in the adventure, and had -forgotten her weariness. She did not, however, again speak of her -mother, but said that she was ready to “go for a sail” with me if I was -quite sure that on the other side she should see her aunt. And this, -speaking somewhat hastily, I promised without condition. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -ACROSS THE MOONLIGHT. - - -For just then I became aware of a quickly growing light behind the -eastern hills. It was the moon rising. I had not thought of this, and -for a moment I was disconcerted. I knew that she would doubtless throw a -sharp light upon the water, and that from the shore the raft would be as -easily seen black against the broad and shining silver streak as if the -time had been midday instead of midnight. - -Then I remembered the branch which I had brought with me from the wood. -I thrust the butt of it through the bars of the gates, and so disposed -the leaves that from the shore they made at once a perfect shelter and a -secure hiding-place for Mary, who sat there in state upon the raft, -proud of going such an adventurous voyage, and perhaps also not a little -elated to be up so late. - -Being already stripped to the shirt and small clothes, I took off the -former also, and dropped silently into the water behind the raft. I -found the water warm, for the hot sun of June had beat upon it all the -long day. A chill wind had sprung up within the last hour, and the -wavelets broke on my back and upon the raft at my chin with a little -jabble of sound. But it blew upon the leaves of the branch which acted -as a sail and sent us so quickly northward that I had to swim sideways -in order to keep in the right line of our voyaging. - -The moon rose as we left the shallows of the shore. She looked coldly -and blankly at us over the black Parton moors on the other side. But all -the same she did us a mighty ill turn. For I knew that in her light the -raft would be apparent to every one on the bank where the soldiers lay. - -I dived instantly and came up on the side furthest from the land. There -I held the raft so that the branch would keep its thickest cover towards -the sentry. - -I could see him now, pacing to and fro in the moonlight across the grey -turf and strip of white sand. He was plain to be seen against the -shining beach, and his helmet sometimes flashed momentarily against the -dark line of the woods behind. So that I knew how plainly he in his -turn must be able to see us, as we crossed the broad silver stream of -moonlight upon the water. - -A camp fire glowed sullenly red among the trees, from which I gathered -that the commander of the soldiers was very much in earnest indeed, in -his resolve to catch his man. For it was but seldom that any of the red -soldiers would consent to lie out at night, preferring instead to -quarter themselves upon the people, to harry their houses and gear, -insult their women folk, and requiring to be called “your Honour” at -every other word. - -Meanwhile, the wind was doing its work, if not swiftly, at least with -deliberate and unhalting steadiness. Mary sat like a statue under the -green bough, and smiled at the dancing ripples. She looked very -beautiful to see, aye, and winsome too, with my shirt-collar turned up -about her ears and the empty sleeves hanging down on either side. - -But I had small time to observe such like, for soon we were crossing the -bright water in front of the soldier. - -He had paced down to the water’s edge and now stood looking out towards -us, leaning upon his musket. I could see the tails of his military coat -blow back in the chill wind from the hills. He hugged himself as if he -had been a-cold. Yet he stood looking so long that I feared he might -suspect something. But after all it was only that he was a contemplative -man, and that the object on the water was as good as anything else to -fix his eyes upon. At any rate, all he did see was a floating branch -being driven northward with the wind. - -Presently, to my immense relief, he shouldered his piece and tramped -away up towards the woods. - -I drew a long breath, and swimming on my back I pushed the raft across -the lake with my head. - -Yet it seemed an age before we took ground on the further side, and I -could carry the brave little maid ashore. She dropped almost instantly -asleep on my shoulder. - -“Have you given Matt his supper?” was her last speech. I thought Matt -must be some pet dog of her’s. In time, however, I found that he was a -certain green caterpillar which she kept in a wooden box and fed upon -cabbage leaves. - -After this there came a long and weary tramp with many rests, and the -infinite weariness of carrying the sleeping maid. She grew heavier and -heavier every moment as I stumbled over the rough moor, so that my back -was well nigh broken before I came to the verge of the little lake with -the tower of Lochinvar in the midst of it. - -Here, in the dawning light, I laid her down under a bush of bog-myrtle, -and swimming to the castle hand over hand I clamoured at the door. - -For a time none answered, and I got a sharp, chilling fear in my stomach -that I had brought the maid to a house uninhabited, but at long and last -a window shot up and a voice hailed me. - -“Who knocks so early at the door of Lochinvar? - -“Who are you that speers?” I returned, giving question for question in -the Scots manner. - -A kindly mellow voice laughed. - -“Surely only an honest country lad would have answered thus,” said the -voice; “but since the times are evil, tell me who’s bairn ye may be?” - -So with that, somewhat reassured, I told very briefly for what cause I -had come. - -The window shut down again, and in a few minutes I heard a foot within -coming slowly along a stone passage. Bolts withdrew, and the door was -opened, creaking and squealing upon unaccustomed hinges. - -A pleasant-faced old lady, wrapped about in a travelling cloak of blue -frieze, stood there. She had a white nightcap on her head, frilled and -goffered much more elaborately than my mother’s at Ardarroch. - -“Ye have brought Sandy Gordon’s daughter to me. Her faither and her -mother are taken, ye tell me. God help them!” she exclaimed. - -So I told her that I knew not as to her father’s taking with any -certainty, for he might have been slain for aught I knew. I told her -also the terrible thing I had been witness to on the top of Bennan, and -the word of the lad in brown when he cried for Margaret. She set her -hand to her heart. - -“Poor lads,” she said, and again, “poor misguided lads!” - -I thought in my heart that that was a strange way to speak of the -martyrs, but it was not for a boy like me to make any objection. - -The woman undid the boat which swung by a chain at the northern side of -the castle secure within a little breakwater of hewn stone. We rowed -across to the loch’s edge, and there, in the first ruddy glow of the -rising sun, with colour on her lips and her lashes lying long and dark -upon her cheek, was the little Mistress Mary, safe under her bush of -bog-myrtle, looking lovely as a fairy, aye, or the queen of the fairies -herself. - -Then I know not what cantrip took me, for at most times, both then and -after, I was an awkward Scots boy, as rough and landward as Ashie or -Gray, my questing collies. But certain it is that I stooped and kissed -her on the cheek as she lay, and when I lifted her would have given her -to her aunt. - -But she stirred a little as I took her in my arms, and with a little -petulant whimper she nestled her head deeper into my neck. My heart -stirred strangely within me at the touch of the light curls on her -forehead. - -She opened her eyes of sleepy blue. “Has Matt had his breakfast?” she -said. And instantly fell to the sleeping again. - -We laid her all comfortably in the stern of the boat. Her aunt stepped -in and took the oars. She did not invite me to follow. - -“Good morrow, lad,” she said, not unkindly, “get you home speedily. I -will see to the child. You have done well by Sandy’s bairn. Come and see -her and me in happier times. I promise you neither she nor I will ever -forget it.” - -And I watched these two as the boat went from me, leaving three long -wakes upon the water, one oily and broad where the keel stirred the -peaty water, and two smaller on either side winking with bubbles where -the oars had dipped. - -And there in the stern I could just see the edge of the blue hood of -frieze, wherein lay the golden head of Mary Gordon. - -She was but a bairn. What did a grown laddie care for bairns? Yet was my -heart heavy within me. - -And that was the last I saw of Mary Gordon for many and many a year. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -MY BROTHER HOB. - - -The years which took me, Quintin MacClellan, from the boyishness of -thirteen to eighteen and manhood were eventful ones for Scotland. The -second Charles had died just when the blast was strongest, and for a -while it looked as if his brother would be the worst of the two. But -because he wished well to the Papists, and could not ease them without -also somewhat benefiting us of the Covenant, the bitterness of the -shower slacked and we had some peace. - -But, as for me, it mattered not greatly. My heart within me was -determined that which it should do. Come storm or peaceful years, come -life or death, I was determined to stand in the forefront and hold up -again the banner which had been dabbled in the blood of Richard Cameron -at Ayrsmoss, and trailed in the dust of victory by the haughty and the -cruel. - -That very year I went to my father, and I asked of him a wage to be -spent in buying me books for my learning. - -“You want to be a minister?” said my father, looking, as he well might, -no little astonished. “Have you gotten the grace of God in your heart?” - -“Nay, father,” I answered him, “that I know not. But nevertheless I have -a desire to know and to learn----” - -But another voice cut into the matter and gravity of our discourse. - -“Bless the lad, and so you shall, Quintin!” cried my mother from the -door. - -I heard my father sigh as though he would have said, “The fat is in the -fire now!” Yet he refrained him and said nothing, standing as was his -custom with his hands deep in the long side flaps of his waistcoat. Then -he showed how hard it was to become a minister, and ever my mother -countered his objections, telling how such-an-one’s son had gone forward -and been successful. - -“And they had none such a comfortable down-sitting nor yet any such -blessing in flocks and herds as you, goodman!” she would say. - -“Nor yet a mother so set and determined in her own way!” cried my father -a little sharply. - -“Nay, now, John,” she made answer; “I did but mention those other lads, -because not one of them is to be compared with our Quintin!” - -My father laughed a little. - -“Well,” he said, “at all events there is time enough. The lad is but -fourteen, and muckle much good water will run under the brigs ere it be -time to send him to the college. But I will speak to Gilbert Semple, the -Edinburgh carrier, to ask his cousin, the goodly minister, what books -are best fitted for a lad who desires to seek learning and college -breeding. And in the meantime the laddie has aye his Bible. I mind what -good Master Rutherford said when he was in Anwoth: ‘If so be ye want -manners e’en read the Bible. For the Bible is no ill-bred book. It will -take you unashamed through an earthly court as well as through the -courts of the Master of Assemblies, through the Star Chamber as well as -through the chamber of the stars.’” - -And though at the time I understood not well then what my father meant, -yet I read in my Bible as I had opportunity, keeping it with one or two -other books in the poke-nook of my plaid whenever I went to the hills. -After a while Gilbert Semple, the carrier, brought me from Edinburgh -certain other volumes--some of Latin and Greek grammar, with one or two -in the mathematics which were a sore puzzle and heartbreak to me, till -there came among us one of the Hill Folk, a well-learned man, who, being -in hiding in a Whig’s hole on the side of Cairn Edward, was glad for the -passing of the time to teach me to thread the stony desolation of verbs -irregular and the quags of the rules of syntax. - -Nevertheless, at this time, I fear there was in me no very rooted or -living desire for the ministry. I longed, it is true, for a wider and -more ample career than the sheep-herding on the hills of Kells could -afford. And in this my mother supported me. Hob and David also, though -they desired not the like for themselves, yet took some credit in a -brother who had it in him to struggle through the narrow and thorn-beset -wicket gate of learning. - -Many a time did our great, stupid, kindly, butter-hearted Hob come to -me, as I lay prone kicking my heels to some dyke-back with my Latin -grammar under my nose, and stand looking over with a kind of awe on his -honest face. - -“Read us a bit,” he would say. - -Whereat very gladly I would screed him off half a page of the rules of -the syntax in the Latin tongue, according to the Dutch pronunciation -which the preacher lad of the Cairn Edward cave had taught me.[3] - -And as I rolled the weighty and sounding words glibly off, Hob would -listen with an air of infinite satisfaction, like one that rolls a sweet -morsel under his tongue. - -“Read that leaf again! It’s a grand-soundin’ ane that! Like ‘And the -Lord said unto Moses’ in the Book of Exodus. Certes, what it is to have -learning!” - -Then very gravely I would read to the foot of the page and stop. - -Hob would stand a moment to digest his meal of the Humanities. - -“Lie ye there, laddie,” he would say; “gather what lear ye can out of -your books. I will look to the hill sheep for you this day!” - -I shall never forget his delight when, after great wrestlings, I taught -him the proper cases of _Penna_, “a pen,” which in time he attained so -great a mastery over that even in his sleep he could be heard muttering, -“_Penna_, a pen; _pennae_, of a pen.” And our David, slinking sulkily in -at a wolf-lope from his night-raking among the Glenkens lasses, would -sometimes bid him to be silent in no kindly tones, at which the burly -Hob, who could have broken slender David over his knee, would only grunt -and turn him over, recommencing monotonously under his breath, “_Penna_, -a pen!” - -My father smiled at all this--but covertly, not believing, I think, that -there was any outgate for me into the ministry. And with the state of -things in Scotland, indeed, I myself saw none. Nevertheless, I had it in -me to try. And if Mr. Linning, Mr. Boyd, Mr. Shields, Mr. Renwick and -others had gotten their learning in Holland, why should not I? - -In return for _Penna_, a pen (_pennae_, of a pen, _et cetera_), Hob -taught me the use of arms, the shooting to the dot of an “i” with a gun -and a pistol, the broad sword and the small sword, having no mercy on me -at all, but abusing me like a sheep-stealer if I failed or grew slack at -the practice. - -“For,” he said, “if ever you are to be a right minister in Scotland, it -is as like that ye will need to lead a charge with Richard Cameron, as -that ye will spend all your time in the making of sermons and delivering -them.” - -So he taught me also single-stick till I was black and blue all over. He -would keep on so long belabouring me that I could only stop him with -some verbal quib, which as soon as it pierced his thick skull would make -him laugh so long and so loudly that the lesson stopped of itself. Yet -for all that he had in after time the mighty assurance to say that it -was I who had no true appreciation of humour. - -One day, when he had basted me most unmercifully, I said to him, “I also -would ask you one thing, Hob, and if you tell me without sleeping on it, -I will give you the silver buckle of my belt.” - -“Say on,” said he, casting an eager eye at the waist-leather which Jean -Gordon had sent me. - -“Wherein have I the advantage over the leopard?” I asked him. - -He thought it over most profoundly. - -“I give it up,” he said at last. “I do not know.” - -“Why,” said I, as if it had been the simplest thing, “because when I -play back-sword with you I can change my spots and Scripture declares -that the leopard cannot.” - -This he understood not at the time, but the next Sabbath morning it came -upon him in the time of worship in the kitchen, and in the midst of the -solemnity he laughed aloud, whereat my father, much incensed, asked him -what ailed him and if his wits had suddenly taken leave of him. - -“It was our Quintin,” dithered Hob, tremulously trying to command his -midriff; “he told me that when I played back-sword with him he could -change his spots and that the leopard could not.” - -“When said he that?” asked my father, with cold suspicion, for I had -been sitting demure as a gib cat at his own elbow. - -“Last Monday in the gloaming, when we were playing at back-sword in the -barn,” said Hob. - -“Thou great fool,” cried my father, “go to the hill breakfastless, and -come not in till ye have learned to behave yourself in the time of -worship.” - -To which Hob responded nothing, but rose and went obediently, -smothering his belated laughter in his broad bonnet of blue. - -He was waiting for me after by the sheep-buchts, when I went out with a -bicker of porridge under my coat. - -“I am sore vexed to have made our father angry,” he said, “but the -answer came upon me suddenly, and in truth it was a proper jest--for, of -course, a leopard could not play back-sword.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE MUSTER OF THE HILL FOLK. - - -Men who know the strange history of the later life of me, Quintin -MacClellan, may wonder that the present narrative discovers so little -concerning my changes of opinion and stresses of spiritual conflict. But -of these things I have written in extension elsewhere, and those who -desire more than a personal narrative know well where to find the -recital of my difficulties, covenantings, and combatings for the cause. - -For myself, the memory of the day on the Bennan top was more than -enough, and made me a high Covenant man for life. So that when I heard -how King James was fled and his son-in-law, William of Orange, landed I -could not contain myself, but bade Hob and David to come with me and -light a beacon-fire on the top of the Millyea, that fair and shapely -mountain. This after severe labour we did, and they say that the light -was seen over a dozen parishes. - -Then there came word to the Glenkens that there was to be a Convention -in Edinburgh of men chosen out of every shire and county, called and -presided over by Duke Hamilton. But it was the bruit of the countryside -that this parliament would turn out even as the others, and be ground -under the heel of the old kingsmen and malignants.[4] - -So about this time there came to see my father two men grave and grey, -their beards blanched with dripping hill-caves and with sleeping out in -the snell winds and biting frosts of many a winter, without better -shelter than some cold moss-hag or the bieldy side of a snow wreath. - -“There is to be a great rising of the Seven Thousand. The whole West is -marching to Edinburgh!” cried in at the door the elder of the two--one -Steel, a noted Covenanter from Lesmahago. - -But the other, when his dark cloak blew back, showed a man of slender -figure, but with a face of calm resolve and indomitable courage--the -proven face of a soldier. He was in a fair uniform--that, as I -afterwards found, of one of the Prince of Orange’s Scots-Dutch -regiments. - -“This,” said Steel to my father, “is Colonel William Gordon, brother of -Earlstoun, who is come directly from the Prince of Orange to represent -his cause in his own country of the West.” - -In a moment a spark lighted in my heart, blazed up and leaped to my -tongue. - -“What,” I cried, “William Gordon--who carried the banner at Sanquhar and -fought shoulder to shoulder with Cameron at Ayrsmoss.” - -For it was my mother’s favourite tale. - -The slender man with the calm soldier-like face smiled quietly and made -me a little bow, the like of which for grace I had never seen in our -land. It had so much of foreign habitude in it, mixed with a simple and -personal kindliness native to the man. - -“Ah,” he said, “I am ten years older since then--I fear me not ten years -wiser.” - -His voice sounded clear and pleasant, yet it was indubitably the voice -of a man to be obeyed. - -“How many sons and limber house-carles can you spare, Ardarroch,” said -he, watching my father’s face, “to march with me to keep the Convention -out of the clutches of my Lord Dundee?” - -“Of the devil’s hound, Clavers, mean ye?” corrected my father suddenly, -the fierce, rooted light of hatred gleaming keen and sharp, like the -blade of a dagger which is drawn just an inch from its sheath and then -returned. “There are three of us on the farm, besides the boy Quintin, -my youngest son. And every one of them shall ride to Edinburgh with you -on their own horses.” - -“Four shall ride, father,” said I, stepping forward. “I am the youngest, -but let me also strike a blow. I am as fit of my body as either Hob or -David there, and have a better desire and goodwill than either of them.” - -“But, lad,” said my father, not ill pleased, “there are your mother and -sister to look after. Bide you here and take care of the house.” - -“There needs none to take care of the house while ye leave us here with -a musket or two and plenty of powder and lead,” cried my mother. “Anna -and I shall be safer, aye, and the fuller of gladness that ye are all in -Edinburgh doing the Lord’s work. Ride ye, therefore, all the four of -you!” - -“Yes,” added Anna, with the sweet stillness of her eye on the ground, -“let Quintin go, father. None would harm us in all the countryside.” - -“Indeed, I think so,” growled my father, “having John MacClellan to -reckon with on our return.” - -Whereat for very thankfulness I took the two women’s hands, and Colonel -Gordon said, “Aye, Ardarroch, give the lad his will. In time past I had -my share of biding by the house while my elders rode to battle, and I -love the boy’s eagerness. He has in him the stuff of good soldiers.” - -And for these words I could have kissed the feet of Colonel William -Gordon. The muster was appointed to be at Earlstoun on the morrow, and -immediately there befell at Ardarroch a great polishing of accoutrement -and grinding of swords, for during the late troubles the arms had been -searched for over and over again. So it befel that they were hidden in -the thatch of outhouse roofs, wrapped in cloths and carried to distant -sandhills to be buried, or laid away in the damp caves of the linns. - -Yet by the time all was brought in we were armed none so ill. My father -had first choice, and then we three lads drew lots for the other -weapons. To me came the longest straw, and I took the musket and a -broad-bladed dagger, because I knew that our madcap David had set his -heart on the basket-hilted sword to swing by his side, and I saw Hob’s -eyes fixed on the pair of excellent horse-pistols which my father had -bought when the effects of Patrick Verner (called “the Traitor”) were -sold in Dumfries. - -At Earlstoun, then, we assembled, but not immediately at the great -house--for that was presently under repair after its occupation by -troops in the troubles--but at a farmhouse near by, where at the time -were abiding Mistress Alexander Gordon and her children, waiting for the -final release of her husband from Blackness Castle. - -When it came to the point of our setting out, there came word from -Colonel Gordon that no more than two of us were to go to Edinburgh on -horseback, owing to the scarcity of forage in the city and the -difficulty of stabling horses. - -“Let us again draw lots!” said my father. - -But we told him that there was no question of that, for that he and -David must ride while Hob and I would march afoot. - -“And if I cannot keep up with the best that our David can ride on Kittle -Kate, I will drown myself in the first six-inch duck-pond upon the road -to Edinburgh!” cried Hob MacClellan. - -So we went down the green loaning of Ardarroch with the women’s tears -yet wet upon our cheeks, and a great opening of larger hopes dominating -the little hollow qualms of parting in our hearts. Wider horizons -beckoned us on. Intents and resolves, new and strange, thrilled us. I -for one felt for the first time altogether a man, and I said within my -heart as I looked at the musket which my father carried for me across -his saddle-bow in order that I might run light, “Gladly will I die for -the sake of the lad whom I saw murdered on the Bennan top!” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -I MEET MARY GORDON FOR THE SECOND TIME. - - -And when we arrived, lo! before the little white farm there was a great -muster. My Lord Kenmure himself rode over to review us. For the -Committee of Estates drawn together by the Duke Hamilton had named him -as responsible for the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright. - -But that which was of greater interest to me than any commission or -enrollment was the appearing of two women upon the doorstep of the -cottage--the Lady of Earlstoun and her daughter Mary. - -Now it is to be remembered that Alexander Gordon’s wife was a sister of -Sir Robert Hamilton, the commander at Bothwell Brig--a man whose -ungovernable temper, and genius for setting one man at variance with his -fellow, had lost us Bothwell Brig and the life of many a brave lad of -the hills. And Mary’s mother, Jean Hamilton, was like her brother in -that somewhat pretentious piety which is of all things the most souring -and embittering. - -So that even my father said--good, honest man, that would speak ill of -none all the days of his life: “If I had a wife like yon woman, I -declare I would e’en turn Malignant and shoot her without warrant of law -or benefit of clergy.” - -Jean Gordon came down off the doorstep and stood in front of us four -MacClellans, looking out upon us with her keen, black eyes, and seeming -as it had been, ready to peck at us with her long nose, which was hooked -like a parrot’s in the middle. - -“Have any of you paid the King’s cess,[5] or had any dealings with the -malignants?” she said, speaking to us as to children taken in a fault. - -“Not save along the barrel of a musket, my lady of Earlstoun!” quoth my -father, drily. - -The stern-visaged woman smiled at the ready answer. - -“E’en stick to that, goodman of Ardarroch--it is the safest commerce -with such ill-favoured cattle!” she said. - -And with that she stepped further on to interrogate some newcomers who -had arrived after us in the yard of the farm. - -But indeed I minded her nothing. For there was a sweeter and fairer -thing to see standing by the cheek of the door--even young Mary Gordon, -the very maid I had once carried so far in my arms, now grown a great -lass and a tall, albeit still slender as a year-old wand of willow by -the water’s edges. Her hair, which had been lint white when I brought -her down the side of Bennan after the shooting of the poor lad, was now -darkening into a golden brown, with thick streaks of a warmer hue, ruddy -as copper, running through it. - -This girl leaned against the doorstep, her shapely head inclined a -little sideways, and her profile clear and cold as the graving on a seal -ring, turned away from me. - -For my life I could not take my eyes off her. - -“I, even I, Quintin MacClellan, have carried that girl in my arms and -thought nothing of it!” I said the words over and over to myself, and -somehow they were exceedingly pleasing to me. - -I had ever sneered at love and love-making before, but (I own it) after -seeing that fair young lass stand by the low entering in of the -farmhouse door, I scoffed no more. - -Yet she seemed all unconscious that I or any other was near her. But it -came to me with power I could not resist, that I should make myself -known to her. And though I expected nothing of remembrance, grace, or -favour, yet--such is the force of compelling love, the love that comes -at the first sight (and I believe in no other kind) that I put all my -pride under my feet, and went forward humbly to speak with her, holding -my bonnet of blue in my hand. - -For as yet we of the Earlstoun levies had fallen into no sort of order, -neither had we been drilled according to the rules of war, but stood -about in scattering groups, waiting for the end of the conference -between my Lord of Kenmure and Colonel William Gordon. - -As I approached, awkwardly enough, the maid turned her eyes upon me with -some surprise, and the light of them shone cold as winter moonlight -glinting upon new-fallen snow. - -I made my best and most dutiful obedience, even as my mother had showed -me, for she was gentle of kin and breeding, far beyond my father. - -“Mistress Mary,” I said, scarce daring to raise my eyes to hers, but -keeping them fixed upon the point of my own rough brogans. “You have -without doubt forgotten me. Yet have I never for an hour forgotten you.” - -I knew all the while that her eyes were burning auger holes into me. But -I could not raise my awkward coltish face to hers. She stood a little -more erect, waiting for me to speak again. I could see so much without -looking. Whereat, after many trials, I mustered up courage to go on. - -“Mind you not the lad who brought you down from the Bennan top so long -ago, and took you under cloud of night to the tower of Lochinvar on the -raft beneath the shelter of beech leaves?” - -I knew there was a kindly interest growing now in her eyes. But, dolt -that I was, I could not meet them a whit the more readily because of -that. - -“I scarcely remember aught of it,” she said, “yet I have been told a -hundred times the tale of your bringing me home to my aunt at Lochinvar. -It is somewhat belated, but I thank you, sir, for your courtesy.” - -“Nay,” said I, “’tis all I have to be thankful for in my poor life, -that I took you safely past the cruel persecutors.” - -She gave me a quick, strange look. - -“Yet now do I not see you ready to ride and persecute in your turn?” - -These words, from the daughter of Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun, who was -scarcely yet liberate from the prison of Blackness, astonished me so -much that I stood speechless. - -“To persecute in my turn?” said I. “Nay, my dear mistress, I go to -uphold the banner of Christ’s Kingdom against those that hate Him.” - -Very scornfully she smiled. - -“In my short life,” she said, “I’ve heard overmuch of such talk. I know -to an ell how much it means. I have a mother, and she has friends and -gossips. To me the triumph of what you call ‘the Kingdom’ means but two -things--the Pharisee exalted and the bigot triumphant. Prince Jacob of -Orange may supplant his father and take the crown; every canting Jack -may fling away the white rose and shout for the Orange lily. But not -I--not I?” - -She flaunted a little white hand suddenly palm upward, like an apple -blossom blown off the branch by the wind. - -To say that I was astounded by this outbreak is to say little. It was -like an earthquake, the trembling and resolving of solid land under my -feet. Alexander Gordon’s child--“the Bull of Earlstoun’s” -daughter--standing openly and boldly for the cause of those who had -prisoned and, perhaps, tortured her father, and brought about the ruin -of her house! - -At last I managed to speak. - -“You are a young maiden,” I said, as quietly as I could, “and you know -nothing of the great occasions of state, the persecutions of twenty-five -years, the blood shed on lonely hillsides, the deaths by yet wearier -sickness, the burials under cloud of night of those who have -suffered----!” - -I would have said more, but that she prevented me imperiously. - -“I know all there is to know,” she cried, almost insolently. “Have I not -broken fast with it, dined with it, taken my Four-hours with it, supped -with it ever since I was of age to hear words spoken? But to my thinking -the root of the matter is that you, and those like you, will not obey -the rightful King, who alone is to be obeyed, whose least word ought to -be sufficient.” - -“But not in religion--not in the things of conscience,” I stammered. - -Again she waved her hand floutingly. - -“’Tis not my idea of loyalty only to be loyal when it suits my whim, -only to obey when obedience is easy and pleasant. The man whom I shall -honour shall know nothing of such summer allegiance as that!” - -She paused a moment and I listened intently. - -“Nay,” she said, “he shall speak and I shall obey. He shall be my King, -even as King James is the sovereign of his people. His word shall be -sacred and his will law.” - -There was a light of something like devout obedience in her eyes. A holy -vestal flame for a moment lighted up her face. I knew it was useless to -argue with her then. - -“Nevertheless,” I answered very meekly, “at least you will not wholly -forget that I brought you to a place of safety, sheltering you in my -arms and venturing into dark waters for your sake!” - -Now though I looked not directly at her, I could see the cold light in -her eyes grow more scornful. - -“You do well to remind me of my obligation. But do not be afraid; you -shall be satisfied. I will speak of you to my father. Doubtless, when he -comes home he will be great with the Usurper and those that bear rule -under him. You shall be rewarded to the top of your desires.” - -Then there rose a hot indignation in my heart that she should thus -wilfully misunderstand me. - -“You do me great wrong, my Lady Mary,” I answered; “I desire no reward -from you or yours, saving only your kindly remembrance, nor yet any -advancement save, if it might be, into your favour.” - -“That,” she said, turning petulantly away, “you will never get till I -see the white rose in your bonnet instead of those Whiggish and rebel -colours.” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE BLUE BANNER IS UP. - - -Now though at first I was grievously astonished that the daughter of -Alexander Gordon and his wife Janet Hamilton should so speak, yet when I -come to consider further of the matter it appears noways so wonderful. - -For her father, when I came to know him, showed himself a great, strong, -kindly, hard-driving “nowt” of a man, with a spiritual conceit equal to -his knowledge of his bodily powers. But, for all his great pretensions, -Sandy Gordon was essentially a man carnal and of the world, ever more -ready to lay on lustily with the arm of the flesh than trust to the -sword of the Spirit. - -The “Bull of Earlstoun” was he right fitly called. - -And with his children his method of training would doubtless be “Believe -this! Receive that other!” Debate and appeal there would be none. So -there is nothing to wonder at in the revolt of a nature every whit as -imperious as that of her father, joined to a woman’s natural whimsies -and set within the periphery of a girl’s slender form. - -And then her mother! - -If Sandy Gordon had proved trying to such a mind as that of Mary Gordon, -what of Janet Hamilton, his wife? - -She had been reared in the strictest sect of the Extremists. Every -breath of difference or opposition to her orthodoxies or those of her -brother Sir Robert was held rank treason to the cause. She had constant -visions, and these visions pointed ever to the cardinal truth that Janet -Hamilton was eternally right and every one else eternally wrong. - -So Alexander Gordon, as often as he was at home, bullied back and forth -concerning Covenants and sufferings, while at other times his wife -worried and yammered, bitter as the east wind and irritant as a thorn in -the flesh, till the girl was driven, as it were, in self-defence into -other and as intolerant extremes. - -Yet when her parents were most angered with her for this perversity, -some sudden pretty wile or quaint bairnliness would set them laughing in -spite of themselves, or a loving word of penitence bring the tears into -their eyes. And while she chose to be good Mary Gordon, the family -rebel, the disgrace of a godly home, would be again their own winsome -little May, with a smile as sweet as the Benediction after sermon on a -summer Sabbath morn, when the lilac and the hawthorn blossom scent all -the kirk. - -But as for me, having had trial of none of these wiles and witchcrafts, -I was grieved indeed to hear one so fair take the part of the cruel -persecutors and murderers of our brethren, the torturers of her father, -the men to whose charge could be laid the pillage and spoiling of the -bonny house of Earlstoun, and the turning of her mother out upon the -inclement pitilessness of a stormy winter. - -But with old and young alike the wearing iteration of a fretful woman’s -yammering tongue will oftentimes drive further and worse than all the -clattering horses and pricking bayonets of persecution. - -Yet even then I thought within me, “Far be it from me that I should ever -dream of winning the heart of so fair and great a lady.” But if by the -wondrous grace of God, so I ever did, I should be none afraid but that -in a little blink of time she would think even as I did. And this was -the beginning of the feeling I had for Mary Gordon. Yet being but little -more than a shepherd lad from off the hills of heather she was to me -almost as one of the angels, and I thought of her not at all as a lad -thinks in his heart of a pretty lass, to whom one day if he prosper he -may even himself in the way of love. - -After a day or two at Earlstoun, spent in drilling and mustering, in -which time I saw nothing more of Mary Gordon, we set off in ordered -companies towards Edinburgh. The word had been brought to us that the -Convention was in great need of support, for that Clavers (whom now they -called my Lord Dundee) was gathering his forces to disperse it, so that -every one of the true Covenant men went daily in fear of their lives. - -Whereupon the whole Seven Thousand of the West and South were called up -by the Elders. And to those among us who had no arms four thousand -muskets and swords were served out, which were sent by the Convention to -the South and West under cover of a panic story that the wild Irishers -had landed and burnt Kirkcudbright. - -Hob and I marched shoulder to shoulder, and our officer was of one name -with us, one Captain Clelland, a young soldier of a good stock who in -Holland had learnt the art of war. But Colonel William Gordon, the uncle -of the lass Mary, commanded all our forces. - -So in time we reached the brow of the hill of Liberton and looked -northward towards the town of Edinburgh, reeling slantways down its -windy ridge, and crowned with the old Imperial coronet of St. Giles -where Knox had preached, while the castle towered in pride over all. - -It was a great day for me when first I saw those grey towers against the -sky. But down in the howe of the Grassmarket there was a place that was -yet dearer--the black ugly gibbet whereon so many saints of God, dear -and precious, had counted their lives but dross that they might win the -crown of faithfulness. And when we marched through the West Port, and -passed it by, it was in our heart to cheer, for we knew that with the -tyrant’s fall all this was at an end. - -But Colonel William Gordon checked us. - -“Rather your bonnets off, lads,” he cried, “and put up a prayer!” - -And so we did. And then we faced about and filed straight up into the -town. And as the sound of our marching echoed through the narrows of the -West Bow, the waiting faithful threw up their windows and blessed us, -hailing us as their saviours. - -Company after company went by, regular and disciplined as soldiers; but -in the Lawmarket, where the great folk dwelt, there were many who peeped -in fear through their barred lattices. - -“The wild Whigs of the West have risen and are marching into Edinburgh!” -so ran the cry. - -We of Colonel Gordon’s Glenkens Foot were set to guard the Parliament -House, and as we waited there, though I carried a hungry belly, yet I -stood with my heart exulting proudly within me to see the downtrodden at -last set on high and those of low estate exalted. - -For the sidewalks and causeways of the High-street were filled with -eager crowds, but the crown of it was kept as bare as for the passing of -a royal procession. And down it towards Holyrood tramped steadily and -ceaselessly, company by company, the soldiers of the Other Kingdom. - -Stalwart men in grey homespun they were, each with his sword belted to -him, his musket over his shoulder, and his store of powder and lead by -his side. Then came squadrons of horses riding two and two, some well -mounted, and others on country nags, but all of them steady in their -saddles as King’s guards. And when these had passed, again company after -company of footmen. - -Never a song or an oath from end to end, not so much as a cheer along -all the ranks as the Hill Men marched grimly in. - -“Tramp! tramp! tramp!” So they passed, as if the line would never end. -And at the head of each company the blue banner of Christ’s -Covenant--the standard that had been trailed in the dust, but that could -never be wholly put down. - -Then after a while among the new flags, bright with silk and blazening, -there came one tattered and stained, ragged at the edges, and pierced -with many holes. There ran a whisper. “It is the flag of Ayrsmoss!” - -And at sight of its torn folds, and the writing of dulled and blistered -gold upon it, “For Christ’s Cause and Covenant,” I felt the tears well -from the heart up to my eyes, and something broke sharply with a little -audible cry in my throat. - -Then an old Covenant man who had been both at Drumclog and the Brig of -Bothwell, turned quickly to me with kindly eyes. - -“Nay, lad,” he said, “rather be glad! The standard that was sunken in a -sea of blood is cleansed and set up again. And now in this our day woe -be to the persecutors! The banner they trailed in the dust behind the -dripping head of Richard Cameron shall wave on the Nether Bow of -Edinburgh, where the corbies picked his eyes and his fair cheeks -blackened in the sun.” - -And so it was, for they set it there betwixt the High-street and the -Canongate, and from that day forth, during all the weeks of the -Convention, the Covenant men held the city quiet as a frighted child -under their hand. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE RED GRANT. - - -It was while we continued to sojourn in Edinburgh for the protection of -the Convention that first I began to turn my mind to the stated ministry -of the Kirk, for I saw well that this soldiering work must ere long come -to an end. And yet all my heart went out towards something better than -the hewing of peats upon the moor and the foddering of oxen in stall. - -Yet for long I could not see how the matter was to be accomplished, for -the Cameronian hill-folk had never had a minister since James Renwick -bade his farewell to sun and moon and Desirable General Meetings down in -the Edinburgh Grassmarket. There was no authority in Scotland capable of -ordaining a Cameronian minister. I knew how impossible it was that I -could go to Holland, as Renwick and Linning and Shields had done, at the -expense of the societies--for the way of some of these men had even now -begun to sour and disgust the elders of the Hill Folk. - -So since no better might be I turned my mind to the ministry of the -Reformed Kirk as it had been established by law, and resolved to spend -my needful seasons as a student of the theologies in the town of -Edinburgh. I spoke to my father of my decision, and he was willing that -I should try the work. - -“I will gladly be at your college charges, Quintin,” he said; “but mind, -lad, it will depend how I sell my sheep, whether ye get muckle to put in -your belly. Yet, perchance, as the auld saw hath it, ‘hungry dogs hunt -best,’ So mayhap that may likewise hold true of the getting of -learning.” - -So in the autumn of that year of the Convention, and some months after -our return, I made me ready to go to college, and to my infinite -surprise Hob, my brother, declared that he would come also. - -“For,” said he, “my father does not need me now at home, at least, not -till the spring and the lambing time.” - -My father demurred a little. But Hob got his way because he had, as I -well saw, my mother behind him. Now Hob was (and is) the best of -brothers--slow, placid, self-contained, with little humour in him, but -filled with a great, quiet faithfulness. And he has abode with me -through many tears and stern trials. - -So in due time to Edinburgh we twain went, and while I trudged it back -and forth to the college Hob bought with his savings a pedlar’s pack, -and travelled town and country with swatches of cloth, taches for the -hair, pins for the dresses of women-folk, and for the men chap-books and -Testaments. But the strange thing is that, slow and silent as our Hob is -at most times, he could make his way with the good wives of the Lothians -as none of those bred to the trade could do. They tell me he was -mightily successful. - -I only know that many a day we two might have gone hungry to bed had it -not been for what Hob brought home, instead of, as it was, having our -kites panged full with good meat, like Tod Lowrie when the lambs are -young on the hill.[6] - -And often when my heart was done with the dull and dowie days, the -hardness of my heart, and the wryness of learning, Hob would come in -with a lightsome quirk on his queer face, or a jest on his tongue, -picked up in some of the outlying villages, so that I could not help but -smile at him, which made the learning all the easier afterward. - -Yet the hardest part of my sore toil at college was the thought that the -more I travailed at the theologies, the less of living religion was in -my soul. Indeed, it was not till I had been back some time among the -common folk who sin and die and are buried, that I began again to taste -the savour of vital religion as of old. For to my thinking there is no -more godless class than just the young collegers in divinity. Nor is -this only a mock, as Hob would have made of it, saying with his queer -smile, “Quintin, what think ye o’ a mission to the heathen divinity -lads--to set the fire o’ hell to their tails, even as Peden the Prophet -bade Richie Cameron do to the border thieves o’ Annandale?” - - -_Connect and Addition to Chapter XI. made in after years by Me, Hob -MacClellan._ - -It is well seen from the foregoing that Quintin, my brother, had no easy -time of it while he was at the college, where they called him -“Separator,” “Hill Whig,” “Young Drumclog,” and other nicknames, some -of which grieved the lad sore. - -Now they were mostly leather-jawed, slack-twisted Geordies from the -Hieland border that so troubled our Quintin--who, though he was not -averse to the sword or the pistol in a good cause, yet would not even be -persuaded to lift his fist to one of these rascals, lest it should cause -religion to be spoken against. But I was held by none of these scruples. - -So it chanced that one night as we came out of the College Wynd in the -early falling winter gloaming, one of these bothy-men from the North -called out an ill name after us--“porridge-fed Galloway pigs,” or -something of the kind. Whereat very gladly I dealt him so sound a buffet -on the angle of his jaw that his head was not set on straight again all -the winter. - -After this we adjourned to settle our differences at the corner of the -plainstones; but Quintin and the other theologians who had characters to -lose took their way home, grieved in spirit. Or so at least I think he -pretended to himself. - -For when I came in to our lodging an hour after his first words were: -“Did ye give him his licks, Hob?” And that question, to which I -answered simply that I had and soundly, did not argue that the ancient -Adam had been fully exorcised from our Quintin. - -All the same the Highlandman was none so easy to handle, being a -red-headed Grant from Speyside, and more inclined to come at you with -his thick skull, like a charging boar of Rothiemurchus, than decently to -stand up with the brave bare knuckles, as we are wont to do in the -South. - -A turn or two at Kelton Hill fair would have done him no harm and taught -him that he must not fight with such an ungodly battering-ram as his -head. I know lads there who would have met him on the crown with the toe -of their brogans. - -But this I scorned, judging it feater to deal him a round-arm blow -behind the ear and leap aside. The first of these discouraged the Grant; -the second dropped him on the causeway dumb and limp. - -“Well done, Galloway!” cried a voice above; “but ye shall answer for -this the morn, every man o’ ye!” - -“Run, lads, run! ’Tis the Regent!” came the answering cry from the -collegers. - -And with that every remaining student lad ran his best in the direction -of his own lodging. - -“Well, sir, have ye killed the Speyside Hielandman?” said the Doctor -from his window, when I remained alone by the fallen chieftain. The -Regent came from the West himself, and, they say, bore the Grants no -love, for all that he was so holy a man. - -“I think not,” I answered doubtfully, “but I’ll take him round to the -infirmary and see!” - -And with that I hoisted up the Red Grant on my shoulders, carried him -down the Infirmary Close, and hammered on the door till the young -chirurgeon who kept the place, thinking me to be drunk, came to threaten -me with the watch. - -Then, the bolts being drawn, I backed the Highlandman into the crack of -the door and discharged him upon the floor. - -“There’s a heap of good college divinity,” I said. “The Regent sent me -to bid ye find out if he be dead or alive.” - -So with no more said we got him on a board, and at the first jag of the -lancet my Grant lad sat him up on end with a loup like a -Jack-in-the-box. But when he saw where he was, and the poor bits of dead -folk that the surgeon laddies had been learning on that day, he fetched -a yell up from the soles of his Highland shoon, and bounced off the -board, crying, “Ye’ll no cut me up as lang as Donald Grant’s a leeving -man, whatever ye may do when he’s dead!” - -And so he took through the door as if the dogs had been after him. - -Then the blood-letting man was for charging me with the cost of his -time, but I bade him apply to Regent Campbell over at the college, -telling him that it was he who had sent me. But whether ever he did so -or not I never heard. - -Now the rarest jest of the whole matter was on the morrow, when Quintin -went to attend his prelection in Hall. The lesson, so he told me, was in -the Latin of Essenius, his Compend, and Quintin was called up. After he -had answered upon his portion, and well, as I presume, for Quintin was -no dullard at his books, Dr. Campbell looked down a little queerly at -him. - -“Can you tell me which is the sixth commandment?” says he. - -“Thou shalt not kill!” answers Quintin, as simple as supping brose. - -“Then, are you a murderer or no--this morning?” - -Quintin, thinking that, after the fashion of the time, the Regent meant -some divinity quirk or puzzle, laid his brains asteep, and answered -that as he had certainly “hated his brother,” in that sense he was -doubtless, like all the rest of the human race, technically and -theologically a murderer. - -“But,” said the Professor, “what of the Highland Grant lad that ye -felled like a bullock yestreen under my window?” - -Now it had never struck me that I was like my brother Quintin in outward -appearance, save in the way that all we black MacClellans are like one -another--long in the nose, bushy in the eyebrows, which mostly reach -over to meet one another. And I grant it that Quintin was ever better -mettle for a lass’s eye than I--though not worth a pail of calf’s feed -in the matter of making love as love ought to be made, which counts more -with women than all fine appearings. - -But for the nonce let that fly stick to the wall; at any rate, sure it -is that the Professor loon had taken me for Quintin. - -Now it will greatly help those who read this chronicle to remember what -Quintin did on this occasion. I would not have cared a doit if he had -said, in the plain hearing of the class, that it was his brother Hob the -Lothian packman who had felled the Red Grant. - -But would the lad betray his brother? No! He rather hung his head, and -said no more than that he heard the Red Grant was not seriously hurt. -For as he said afterwards, “I did not know what such a tribe of angry, -dirked Highlandmen might have done to you, Hob, if they had so much as -guessed it was no colleger’s fist which had taken Donald an inch beneath -the ear. - -“Then,” said the Regent to Quintin, “my warrior of Wild Whigdom, you may -set to the learning of thirty psalms by heart in the original Hebrew. -And after you have said them without the book I will consider of your -letters of certification from this class.” - -To which task my brother owes that familiarity with the Psalms of David -which has often served him to such noble purpose--both when, like -Boanerges, he thundered in the open fields to the listening peoples, and -when at closer range he spoke with his enemies in the gate. For thirty -would not suit this hungrisome Quintin of ours. He must needs learn the -whole hundred and fifty (is it not?) by rote before he went back to the -Regent. - -“Which thirty psalms are ye prepared to recite?” queried the Professor -under the bush of his eyebrows. - -“Any thirty!” answered brave Quintin, unabashed, yet noways uplifted. - - * * * * * - -Now the rest of my brother’s college life may be told in a word. I know -that he had written many chapters upon his struggles and -heart-questionings as to duty and guidance at that time. But whether he -destroyed them himself, or whether they exist in some undiscovered -repository, certain it is that the next portion of his autobiography -which has come into my hands deals with the time of his settlement in -the parish of Balmaghie, where he was to endure so many strange things. - -It is enough to say that year after year Quintin and I returned to the -college with the fall of the leaf, I with my pack upon my back, ever -gaining ready hospitality because of the songs and merry tales in my -wallet. When we journeyed to and fro Quintin abode mostly at the -road-ends and loaning-foots while I went up to chaffer with the -good-wives in the hallans and ben-rooms of the farmhouses. Then, in the -same manner as at first, we fought our way through the dull, iron-grey -months of winter in Auld Reekie. Each spring, as the willow buds furred -and yellowed, saw us returning to the hill-farm again with our books and -packs. And all the while I kept Quintin cheerful company, looking to his -clothes and mending at his stockings and body-gear as he sat over his -books. Mainly it was a happy time, for I knew that the lad would do us -credit. And as my mother said many and many a time, “Our Quintin has -wealth o’ lear and wealth o’ grace, but he hasna as muckle common-sense -as wad seriously blind a midge.” - -So partly because my mother put me through a searching catechism on my -return, and also because I greatly loved the lad, I watched him night -and day, laid his clothes out, dried his rig-and-fur hose, greased his -shoon of home-tanned leather to keep out the searching snow-brew of the -Edinburgh streets. For, save when the frost grips it, sharp and snell, -’tis a terrible place to live in, that town of Edinburgh in the winter -season. - - _Here begins again the narrative of Quintin my - brother._ - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE LASS IN THE KIRKYARD. - - -I had been well-nigh a year about the great house of Girthon as family -chaplain to the laird, when there came a call to accept the ministry of -the Gospel among the people of Balmaghie. It was a parish greatly to my -mind. It lies, as all know, in the heart of Galloway, between the slow, -placid sylvan stretches of the Ken and the rapid, turbulent mill-race of -the Black Water of Dee. - -From a worldly point of view the parish was most desirable. For though -the income in money and grain was not great, nevertheless the whole -amount was equal to the income of most of the smaller lairds in the -neighbourhood. - -Yet for all these things, I trust that those in future times who may -read this my life record will acquit me of the sin of self-seeking. - -I mind well the first time that I preached in the parish which was to be -mine own. I had walked with naught but my Bible in my pocket over the -long, lone hill-road from Girthon to Balmaghie. I had with me no -provender to comfort my stomach by the way, or to speed my feet over the -miles of black heather moors and green morass. - -For the housekeeper, to whom (for reasons into which I need not enter) -everything in the laird’s house of Girthon was committed, was a -fair-faced, hard-natured, ill-hearted woman, who liked not the coming of -a chaplain into the house--as she said, “stirring up the servants to gad -about to preachings, and taking up their time with family worship and -the like foolishness.” - -So she went out of her way to ensure that the chaplains would stay only -until they could obtain quittance of so bare and thankless a service. - -When I arrived at the kirk of Balmaghie, having come all the long -journey from Girthon on foot and fasting, I sat me down on a flat stone -in the kirkyard, near by where the martyrs lie snug and bieldy at the -gable-end. - -So exhausted was I that I know not what I should have done but for a -young lass, comely and well put on, who gave me the farle of oatcake -she had brought with her for her “morning.” - -“You are the young minister who is to preach to us this day?” she said, -going over to the edge of the little wood which at that time bounded the -kirkyard. - -I answered her that I was and that I had walked all the way from the -great house of Girthon that morning--whereat she held up her hands in -utter astonishment. - -“It is just not possible,” she cried. - -And after pitying me a long time with her eyes, and urging me to eat her -“piece” up quickly, she featly stooped down to the water and washed her -feet and ankles, before drawing upon them a pair of white hosen, fair -and thin, and fastening her shoes with the buckles of silver after a -pretty fashion which was just coming in. - -It was yet a full hour and a half before the beginning of the morning -diet of worship, for I had risen betimes and travelled steadily. Now the -kirk of Balmaghie stands in a lonely place, and even the adjoining -little clachan of folk averts itself some distance from it. - -Then being hungry I sat and munched at the lass’s piece, till, with -thinking on my sermon and looking at her by the waterside, I had -well-nigh eaten it every snatch. So when I awoke from my reverie, as -from a deep sleep, I sat with a little bit of bread, the size of my -thumb, in my hand, staring at it as if I had seen a fairlie.[7] - -And what was worse, the lass seeing me thus speechless, and with my jaws -yet working on the last of the crust, went off into peal after peal of -laughter. - -“What for do ye look at me like that, young lad?” she said, when she had -sufficiently commanded herself. - -“I--I have eaten all your midday piece, whiles I was thinking upon my -sermon,” I said. - -“More befitting is it that you should think upon your sermon than of -things lighter and less worthy,” said she, without looking up at me. I -was pleased with her solid answer and felt abashed. - -“But you will go wanting,” I began. - -She gartered one shapely stocking of silk ere she answered me, holding -the riband that was to cincture the other in her mouth, as appears to be -the curious fashion of women. - -“What matter,” she said, presently, as she stroked down her kirtle over -her knee modestly, with an air that took me mightily, it was so full of -distance and respect. “I come not far, but only from the farm town of -Drumglass down there on the meadow’s edge. Ye are welcome to the bit -piece; I am as glad to see ye eat it as of a sunny morn in haytime. You -have come far, and a brave day’s wark we are expecting from you this -Sabbath day.” - -Then, as was my duty, I rebuked her for looking to man for that which -could alone come from the Master and Maker of man. - -She listened very demurely, with her eyes upon the silver buckles of her -shoon, which she had admiringly placed side by side on the grass, when -she set herself down on the low boundary wall of the kirkyard. - -“I ken I am too young and light and foolish to be fit company even for a -young minister,” she said, and there was a blush upon her cheek which -vexed me, though it was bonny enough to look upon. - -“Nay,” answered I quickly; “there you mistake me. I meant no such thing, -bonnie lass. We are all both fond and foolish, minister and maid.” (Well -might I say it, for--God forgive me!--at that very moment my mind ran -more on how the lass looked and on the way she had of tapping the grass -with her foot than on the solemn work of the day.) - -“No, no,” she interrupted, hastily; “I am but a silly lass, poor and -ignorant, and you do well to fault me.” - -Now this put me in a painful predicament, for I still held in my hand -the solitary scraplet left of the young lass’s “piece,” and I must -needs, like a dull, splenetic fool, go on fretting her for a harmless -word. - -She turned away her head a little; nevertheless, I was not so -ill-learned in the ways of maids but that I could see she was crying. - -“What is your name, sweet maid?” I asked, for my heart was wae that I -had grieved her. - -She did not answer me till she had a little recovered herself. - -“Jean Gemmell,” she said, at last, “and my father is the tenant of -Drumglass up by there. He is an elder, and will be here by kirk-time. -The session is holding a meeting at the Manse.” - -I had pulled a Bible from my pocket and was thinking of my sermon by -this time. - -Jean Gemmell rose and stood a moment picking at a flower by the wall. - -“My father will be on your side,” she said, slowly. - -“But,” cried I, in some astonishment, “your father has not yet heard me -preach.” - -“No more have I,” she made answer, smiling on me with her eyes, “but, -nevertheless, my father will be on your side.” - -And she moved away, looking still very kindly upon me. - -I cannot tell whether or no I was helped by this rencounter in my -conduct of the worship that day in the parish kirk of Balmaghie. At any -rate, I went down and walked in the meadows by the side of Dee Water -till the folk gathered and the little cracked bell began to clank and -jow from the kirk on the hill. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -MY LADY OF PRIDE. - - -Within the kirk of Balmaghie there spread from gable to gable a dim sea -of faces, men standing in corners, men holding by windows, men peering -in at the low doorway, while the women cowered upon folded plaids, or -sat closely wedged together upon little creepie stools. So great a -multitude had assembled that day that the bairns who had no voice in the -ministerial call were in danger of being put without to run wild among -the gravestones. But this I forbade, though I doubt not many of the -youthful vagabondage would have preferred such an exodus to the hot and -crowded kirk that day of high summer. - -I was well through my discourse, and entering upon my last “head,” when -I heard a stir at the door. I paused somewhat markedly lest there should -be some unseemly disturbance. But I saw only a great burly red-bearded -gentleman with his hair a little touched with grey. The men about the -porch made room for him with mighty deference. - -Clinging to his arm was a young girl, with a face lily-pale, dark eyes -and wealth of hair. And instead of the bare head and modest snood of the -country maid, or the mutch of the douce matron, there was upon the -lady’s head a brave new-fashioned hat with a white feather. - -I knew them in a moment--Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun and his daughter -Mary. - -I cannot tell if my voice trembled, or whether I showed any signs of the -abounding agitation of my spirit. But certain it is that for a space, -which to me seemed ages, the course of my thought went from me. I spoke -words idle and empty, and it was only by the strongest effort of will -that I recalled myself to the solemn matters in hand. That this should -have happened in my trial sermon vexed me sore. For at that time I knew -not that these disturbances, so great-seeming to the speaker, are -little, if at all, observed by his hearers, who are ever willing to lay -the blame upon their own lack of comprehension rather than upon their -instructor’s want of clearness. - -But the moment after, with a strong uprising of my spirit, I won above -the turmoil of my intellects, and ended with a great outgoing of my -heart, charging those before me to lay aside the evils of their life and -enter upon the better way with zeal and assured confidence. - -And seeing that the people were much moved by my appeal I judged wise to -let them go with what fire of God they had gotten yet burning in their -hearts. I closed therefore quickly, and so dismissed the congregation. - -Then, when I came down to go from the kirk, the people were already -dispersing. The great red-bearded man came forward and put his hand on -my shoulder. - -“Young sir,” he said, “it is true that ye have left the hill-folk, and -with your feet have walked in devious ways. Notwithstanding, if what we -have heard to-day be your message, we shall yet have you on your knees -before the Eldership of the Societies. For the heart of the man who can -thus speak is with us of the wilderness, and not among the flesh-pots of -an Erastian Egypt.” - -At which I shook my head, not seeing how true his words were to prove, -nor yet how soon the Kirk of Scotland was to bow the head, which -hitherto had only bent to her heavenly Lord, to the sceptre of clay and -the rule of a feckless earthly monarch. - -But though I looked wistfully at Mary Gordon, and would have gone -forward to help her upon her horse where it stood tethered at the -kirk-liggate, she passed me by as though she had not seen me, which -surely was not well done of her. Instead she beckoned a young man from -the crowd in the kirkyard, who came forward with his hat in his hand and -convoyed her to her horse with a privileged and courtly air. Then the -three rode off together, Alexander Gordon turning about in his saddle -and crying back to me in his loud, hearty manner, “Haste ye and come -over to the Earlstoun, and we will yet show you the way across the Red -Sea out of the Land of Bondage.” - -And I was left standing there sadly enough, yet for my life I cannot -tell why I should have been sad. For the folk came thronging about me, -shaking me by the hand, and saying that now they had found their -minister and would choose me in spite of laird or prince or presbytery. -For it seems that already some of my sayings had given offence in high -quarters. - -Yet it was as if I heard not these good folk, for (God forgive me) even -at that solemn moment my thoughts were circling about that proud young -lass, who had not deigned me a look even in the hour of triumph, but had -ridden so proudly away with the man who was doubtless her lover. - -Thus I stood awhile dumbly at gaze, without finding a word to say to -any. And the folk, thinking that the spirit of the spoken Word was yet -upon me, drew off a little. - -Then there came a voice in mine ear, low and persuasive, that awoke me -from my dream. - -“This is my father, who would bid ye welcome, and that kindly, to his -house of Drumglass.” - -It was the young maid whose piece I had eaten in the morning. - -The feeling in my heart that I had been shamed and slighted by Mary -Gordon made Mistress Jean Gemmell’s word sweet and agreeable to me. I -turned me about and found myself clasping the hands of a rugged old man -with a broad and honest face, who took snuff freely with one hand, while -he shook mine with the other. - -“I’m prood to see ye, young sir,” he said, “prood to see ye! My dochter -Jean here, a feat and bonny bit lass, has telled me that I am to gie ye -my guid word. And my guid word ye shall hae. And mony o’ the elders and -kirk-members owes siller to auld Drummie; aye, aye, and they shall do as -I say or I shall ken the reason----” - -“But, sir,” I said hastily, “I desire no undue influence to be used. Let -my summons, if it come, be the call of a people of one mind concerning -the fitting man to have the oversight of them in the things of the -spirit.” - -“Of one mind!” exclaimed the old man, taking snuff more freely than -ever. “Ye are dootless a maist learned and college-bred young lad, with -rowth o’ lear and lashin’s o’ grace, but ye dinna ken this pairish o’ -Balmaghie if ye think that ye can ever hae the folk o’ wan mind. Laddie, -the thing’s no possible. There’s as mony minds in Balmaghie as there’s -folk in it. And a mair unruly, camsteery pairish there’s no between -Kirkmaiden and the wild Hieland border. But auld Drummie can guide -them--ow, aye, auld Drummie can work them. He can turn them that owes -him siller round his finger, and they can leaven the congregation--hear -ye that, young man!” - -“If the people of this parish desire me for their minister, they will -send me the call,” answered I, pointedly. For these things, as I have -ever believed, are in a Higher Hand. - -“Doubtless, doubtless,” quoth auld Drummie; “but the Balmaghie folk are -none of the waur o’ a bit spur in their flank like a reesty[8] powny -that winna gang. They mind a minute’s jag frae the law mair nor the hale -grace o’ God for a month, and mind ye that! Gin ye come amang us, lad, -I’ll learn ye a trick or twa aboot the folk o’ Balmaghie that ye will be -the wiser o’. Mind, I hae been here a’ my life, and an elder o’ the kirk -for thirty year!” - -“I am much indebted, sir, for your good intentions, but----” - -“Nae buts,” cried auld Drummie. “I hae my dochter Jean’s word that ye -are a braw callan and deserve the pairish, and the pairish ye shall -hae.” - -“I am much indebted to your daughter,” I made answer. “She succoured me -with bread to eat this morning, when in the kirkyard I was ready to -faint with hunger. Without her kindness I know not how I would have come -through the fatigues of this day’s exercises.” - -“Ow, aye,” said the old man; “that’s just like my dochter Jean. And a -douce ceevil lassock she is. But ye should see my ither dochter afore ye -craw sae croose aboot Jean.” - -“You have another daughter?” I said, politely. - -“Aye,” he cried, with enthusiasm. “Man, where hae ye comed frae that ye -haena heard o’ Alexander-Jonita, the lass wha can tame a wild stallion -that horse-dealers winna tackle, and ride it stride-leg like a man. -There’s no’ a maiden in a’ the country can hand a cannle to -Alexander-Jonita, the dochter o’ Nathan Gemmell of Drumglass, in the -pairish o’ Balmaghie.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -THE TALE OF MESS HAIRRY. - - -So the service being ended for the day, I walked quietly over to -Drumglass with Jean and her father. There I found a house well -furnished, oxen and kine knee-deep in water, meadows, pastures, crofts -of oats and bear in the hollows about the door, and over all such an air -of bien and hospitable comfort that the place beckoned me to abide -there. - -Nathan Gemmell went beside me, regaling me with tales of the ancient -days spoken in the broad and honourable sounding speech of the province. - -“Hear ye, laddie,” he said, “gin ye come to the pairish o’ Balmaghie ye -will need the legs o’ a racer horse, and the airms o’ Brawny Kim, the -smith o’ Carlinwark. Never a chiel has been fit to be the minister o’ -Balmaghie since Auld Mess Hairry died! - -“He was a man--losh me, but he _was_ a man! - -“I tell ye, sir, this pairish needs its releegion tightly threshed into -it wi’ a flail. Sax change-houses doon there hae I kenned oot o’ seven -cot-houses at the Kirk-clachan o’ Shandkfoot, and a swearin’, drinkin’ -set in ilka yin o’ them. - -“And siccan reamin swatrochs of Hollands an’ French brandy, lad! Every -man toomin’ his glass and cryin’ for mair, tossing it ower their -thrapples hand ower fist, as hard as the sweatin’ landlords could open -the barrels. And the ill words and the fechtin’--Lord, callant, ye never -heard the like! They tell me that ye come frae the Kells. A puir -feckless lot they are in the Kells! Nae spirit in their drink. Nae power -or variety in their oaths and cursings! - -“But Balmaghie!---- That was a pairish in the old time, till Mess Hairry -came in the days after John Knox. He had been a Papish priest some-gate -till he had turned his cassock alang wi’ dour black Jock o’ the Hie Kirk -o’ Edinburgh. But Mess Hairry they aye caa’ed him, for a’ that. And -there were some that said he hadna turned that very far, but was a -Papish as great as ever under the black Geneva gown! - -“For he wad whiles gie them swatches o’ the auld ill-tongued Laitin, -till the folk kenned na whether they werena bein’ made back again into -limbs o’ Rome, and their leave never so much as speered. - -“But Pope or reform, mass or sacrament, the pairish cared no a bursten -chanter. Doon at the clachans the stark Hollands flowed like the water -in a running spate, and the holy day o’ the Sabbath was their head time -for the evil wark--that is, till Mess Hairry cam’, and oh, but he was -the maisterfu’ man, as my auld grandfaither used to say. What did -he?--man, I will tell ye. And let it be a lesson to ye, young man, gin -ye come to the pairish o’ Balmaghie. The folk here like a tairgin’ -maisterfu’ man. Hark ye to that! They canna bide chiels that only peep -and mutter. The lads atween the waters o’ Dee and Ken tak’ a man maistly -at his ain valuation, and if a minister thinks na muckle o’ -himself--haith, they will e’en jaloose that he kens best, and no think -muckle o’ him either! - -“At ony rate, the drinking gaed on, as I was tellin’ ye, till yae day it -cam’ to a head. There had been a new cargo brought into the Briggus--it -was afore the days o’ the ill-set customs duties--foul fa’ them and the -officers that wad keep a man frae brewin’ his decent wormfu’, or at -least gar him tak’ the bother o’ doin’ it in the peat-stack or on some -gairy-face instead o’ openly on his kitchen floor. - -“But be that as it may, it was when Mess Hairry was at his fencing -prayer in the kirk on a Sabbath, as it micht be on this day o’ June. He -was just leatherin’ aff the words that fast the folk couldna tell -whether he is giein’ them guid Scots or ill-contrived Laitin, when Mess -Hairry stops and cocks his lug doon the kirk like a collie that hears a -strange fit in the loanin’. - -“The folk listens, too, and then they heard the ower word o’ a gye -coarse sang from the clachan doon by, and the Muckle Miller o’ -Barnboard, Black Coskery, leadin’ it wi’ a voice like the thunder on -Knockcannon. - - ‘The deil cam up to oor loan en’ - Smoored wi’ the reck o’ his black den,’ - -“There was nae mair sermon that day. Mess Hairry gied them but ae word. -I wasna there, for I wasna born; but the granddaddy o’ me was then a -limber loon, and followed after to see what wad befa’. ‘The sermon will -be applied in the clachan this day in the name o’ God and the blessed -saints,’ cried Mess Hairry. - -“So the auld priest claught to him a great oak clickie stick he had -brocht frae some enchanted wood, and doon the kirk road he linkit wi’ -strides that were near sax foot frae tae to heel. Lord, but he swankit -it that day. - -“And ever as he gaed the nearer, louder and louder raise Barnboard’s -chorus, ‘The deil he cam’ to our loan en’’--till ye could hear the verra -window-frames dirl. - -“But Mess Hairry he strode like the angel o’ destruction to the door o’ -the first hoose. The bar was pushed, for it was sermon time, and they -had that muckle respect. But the noise within was fearsome. Mess Hairry -set the broad sole o’ his foot to the hasp, and, man, he drave her in as -if she had been paper. It was a low door as a’ Galloway doors are. The -minister dooked doon his heid, and in he gaed. Nane expected ever to see -him come oot in life again, and a’ the folk were thinking on the -disgrace that the pairish wad come under for killin’ the man that had -been set over them in the things o’ the Lord. For bravely they kenned -that Black Coskery wad never listen to a word o’ advice, but, bein’ -drunk as Dauvid’s soo, wad strike wi’ sword, or shoot wi’ pistol as soon -as drink another gill. - -“There was an awesome pause after Mess Hairry gaed ben. - -“The folk they stood aboot the doors and they held up their hands in -peety. ‘Puir man,’ they said; ‘they are killin’ him the noo. There’s -Black Coskery yellin’ at the rest to keep him doon and finish him where -he lies. Puir man, puir man! What a death to dee, murdered in a -change-hoose on the Lord’s Day o’ Rest, when he micht hae been by -“Thirdly” in his sermon and clearin’ the points o’ doctrine wi’ neither -tinker nor miller fashin’ him! This comes o’ meddlin’ wi’ the cursed -drink.’ - -“Wilder and ever wilder grew the din. It was like baith Keltonhill Fair -and Tongland Sacrament on a wet day. They had shut the doors when the -priest gaed in to keep him close and do for him on the spot. - -“My grand-daddy telled me that there was some ga’ed awa’ for the -bier-trams and the mort-claiths to carry the corpse to the manse to be -ready for his coffining! - -“If they gang on like that there will no be enough left o’ him to hand -thegither till they row him in his shroud! Hear till the wild renegades! - -“And ever the _thresh, thresh_ o’ terrible blows was heard, yells o’ -pain an’ mortal fear. - -“‘Mercy! Mercy! For the Lord’s dear sake, hae mercy!’ - -“The door burst frae its hinges and fell _blaff_ on the road! - -“‘They are bringin’ him oot noo. Puir man, but he will be an awesome -sicht!’ - -“There cam’ a pour o’ men folk frae ’tween the lintels, some bareheaded, -wi’ the red bluid rinnin’ frae aboot their brows, some wi’ the coats -fair torn frae their backs--every man o’ them wild wi’ fear. - -“‘They hae murdered him! Black Coskery has murdered him,’ cried the folk -withoot. ‘And the ither lads are feared o’ the judgment for the bluid o’ -the man o’ God.’ - -“But it wasna that--indeed, far frae that. For on the back o’ the men -skailin’, there cam’ oot o’ the cot-hoose wha but Mess Hairry, and he -had Black Coskery by the feet trailin’ him heid doon oot o’ the door. He -flang him in the ditch like a wat dish-clout. Syne he gied his lang -black coat a bit hitch aboot his loins wi’ a cord, like a butcher that -has mair calves to kill. Then he makes for the next change-hoose. But -they had gotten the warnin’. They never waited to argue, but were oot o’ -the window, carrying wi’ them sash and a’--so they say. - -“And so even thus it was wi’ the lave. The grace o’ God was triumphant -in the Kirk Clachan o’ Ba’maghie that day. - -“They took up a’ that was mortal o’ Black Coskery to the Barnboard on -the bier they had gotten ready for the minister. He got better, but he -was never the same man again; for whenever he let his voice be heard, or -got decently fechtin’ drunk, some callant wad be sure to get ahint a -tree and cry, ‘Rin, Coskery, here’s Mess Hairry.’ He couldna bide that, -but cowered like a weel-lickit messan tyke. - -“When they gaed into the first change-hoose, they say that the floor was -a sicht to see. A’ thing driven to kindlin’ wood; for Mess Hairry had -never waited to gie a word o’ advice, but had keeled ower Black Coskery -wi’ ae stroke o’ his oak clickie on the haffets. Then, faith, he took -the fechtin’ miller by the feet and swung him aboot his head as if he -had been a flail. - -“Never was there sic fechtin’ seen in the Stewartry. The men fell ower -like nine-pins, and were richt glad to crawl to the door. But for a -judgment on them it was close steekit, for they had shut it to be sure -o’ Mess Hairry. - -“They were far ower sure o’ him, and they say that if the hinges had no’ -given way it micht hae been the waur for some o’ them. - -“And that was the way that Mess Hairry preached the Gospel in Ba’maghie. -Ow, it’s him that had the poo’er--at least, that’s what my granddaddy -telled me. - -“Ow, aye’ Ba’maghie needs a maisterfu’ man. But we’ll never see the like -o’ Mess Hairry--rest his soul. He was indeed a miracle o’ grace.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -ALEXANDER-JONITA. - - -We had been steadily approaching the farm-steading of Drumglass, where -it sits pleasantly under the hill looking down over the water-meadows, -the while Nathan Gemmell told me his grandfather’s tale showing how a -man ought to rule the parish of Balmaghie. - -We had gotten almost to the door of the farm when we saw a horse and -rider top the heathery fell to the left, and sweep down upon us at a -tearing gallop. - -The old man, hearing the clatter of stones, turned quickly. - -“Alexander-Jonita!” he exclaimed, shaking his head with fond blame -towards the daring rider, “I declare that lassie will break neck-bone -some o’ thae days. And that will be seen!” - -With dark hair flying in the wind, eyes gleaming like stars, short -kirtle driven back from her knees by the rush of the horse’s stride, -came a girl of eighteen or twenty on the back of a haltered but -saddle-free mare. - -Whether, as her father had boasted, the girl was riding astride, or -whether she sat in the new-fangled way of the city ladies, I cannot -venture to decide. For with a sharp turn of the hempen bridle she reined -her beast within a few yards of us, and so had leaped nimbly to the -ground before the startled senses could take in all the picture. - -“Lassie,” cried the elder, with a not intolerant reproof in his tones, -“where hae ye been that the kirk and the service of God saw ye not this -day?” - -The girl came fearlessly forward, looking me directly in the eyes. The -reins were yet in her hand. - -“Father,” she said, gently enough, but without looking at him, “I had -the marches to ride, the ‘aval’ sheep to turn, the bitten ewes to dress -with tar, the oxen to keep in bound, the horses to water; besides which, -Jean wanted my stockings and Sunday gear to be braw the day at the kirk. -So I had e’en to bide at hame!” - -“Thing shame o’ yoursel’, Alexander-Jonita!” cried her father, “ye are -your mither’s dochter. Ye tak’ not after the douce ways o’ your faither. -Spite o’ a’ excuses, ye should hae been at the kirk.” - -“Is this the young minister lad?” said Alexander-Jonita, looking at me -more with the assured direct gaze of a man than with the customary -bashfulness of a maid. Singularly fearless and forthlooking was her -every glance. - -“Even so,” said her father, “the lad has spoken weel this day!” - -She looked me through and through, till I felt the manhood in me stir to -vexation, not with shyness alone, but for very shame to be thus outfaced -and made into a bairn. - -She spoke again, still, however, keeping her eyes on me. - -“I am no kirk-goer--no, nor yet great kirk-lover. But I ken a man when I -see him,” said the strange maid, holding out her hand frankly. And, -curiously enough, I took it with an odd sense of gratitude and -comradeship. - -“The kirk,” said I, “is not indeed all that it might be, but the kirk -and conventicle alike are the gathering places of those that love the -good way. We are not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together.” - -“Even so, minister!” she said, with some sudden access of gravity, “and -this day I have been preaching the Gospel to the sheep and the oxen, the -kye and the horse-beasts within the bounds of my parish, while ye spake -your good word to human creatures that were maybe somewhat less -grateful.” - -“The folk to whom I spake had immortal souls,” said I, a little -indignant to be thus bearded by a lassie. - -“And how,” she retorted, turning on me quick as a fire-flash, “ken ye -that the beasts have none, or that their spirit goeth downward into the -earth? Have they not bodies also and gratitude? There was a sore -distressed sheep this morning at Tornorrach that looked at me first with -eyes that spake a prayer. But after I had cleansed and dressed the hurt, -it breathed a benediction, sweet as any said in the Kirk of Balmaghie -this day!” - -“Nevertheless it was for men and women, perishing in sin, that Christ -died!” I persisted, not willing to be silenced. - -“How ken ye that?” she said; “did not the same Lord make the sheep on -the hills and the kye in the byres? Will He that watches the sparrow -fall think it wrong to lift a sheep out of a pit on the Sabbath? The -Pharisees are surely not all dead to this day!” - -“E’en let her alane, ye will be as wise,” said her father; “she has -three words to every one that are given to men o’ sense. But she is -withal a good lass and true of speech. Alexander-Jonita, stable your -beast and come ben to wait on the minister in the ben room.”[9] - -The girl moved away, leading her steed, and her father and I went on to -the house of Drumglass. - -When we entered the table was not yet set, and there were no -preparations for a meal. Nathan Gemmell looked about him with a certain -severe darkening expression, which told of a temper not yet altogether -brought into obedience to the spirit. - -“Jean--Jean Gemmell!” he cried, “come hither, lass!” He went and knocked -loudly at the chamber door, which opened at one side of the kitchen. - -“Wherefore have ye not set the table for the meal of meat?” he asked, -frowning upon the maiden whom I had first seen. She stood with meek and -smiling face looking at us from the lintel. Her face was shining and -her hair very becomingly attired, though (as I observed) in a different -fashion from what it had been in the morning by the kirk-gate when she -gave me her piece to stay my hunger. - -“I have been praying upon my knees for a blessing upon the work of this -day in the kirk,” said Jean Gemmell, looking modestly down, “and I -waited for Alexander-Jonita to help me to lay the table.” - -“Were ye not vainly adoring your frail tabernacle? It seems more -likely!” said her father, somewhat cruelly as I thought. - -Then she looked once across at me, and her eyes filled with tears, so -that I was vividly sorry for the maid. But she turned away from her -father’s reproof without a word. - -“We can well afford to wait. There is no haste,” I said, to ease her -hurt if so I could; “this good kind maiden gave me all she had this -morning in the kirk-yard, or I know not how I should have sped at the -preaching work this day!” - -Jean Gemmell paused half-way across the floor, as her father was -employed looking out of the little window to catch a glimpse of -Alexander-Jonita. She lifted her eyes again to mine with a look of -sweet and tender gratitude and understanding which more than thanked me -for the words I had spoken. - -At that moment in came Alexander-Jonita with a free swing like some -stripling gallant of high degree. I own that even at that time I liked -to see her walk. She, at least, was no proud dame like--well, like one -whose eyes abode with me, and the thought of whose averted gaze (God -pardon me!) lay heavy about my heart when I ought to have been thinking -of other and higher things. - -Alexander-Jonita waited for no bidding, but after a glance which took in -at once the empty board and Jean’s smooth dress and well-ordered hair, -she hasted to spread a white cloth on the table, a coverture bleached -and fine as it had been laundered for a prince’s repast. Then to -cupboard and aumrie she went, bringing down and setting in order oaten -bread, sour-milk scones of honest crispness, dried ham-of-mutton which -she sliced very thin before serving--the rarest dainty of Galloway, and -enough to make a hungry man’s mouth water only to think upon. - -Then came in Jean Gemmell, who made shift to help daintily as she found -occasion. But, listening over-closely to the converse of her father and -myself, it chanced that she let fall a platter, which breaking, set her -sister in a quick high mood. So that she ordered the lass to go and sit -down while folk with hands did the work. - -Now this somewhat vexed me, for I could see by the modest, covert way -the girl glanced up at me as she set herself obediently down in the low -window seat that her heart was full to the overflowing. Also something -in the wild girl’s tone mettled me. - -So I said to Jean across the kitchen, “Be of good cheer, maiden. There -was one at Bethany who waited not, but yet chose the better part.” - -“Aye,” cried Alexander-Jonita as she turned from the cupboard with a -plate of butter, “say ye so? I ever kenned that you young ministers -thought excellent things of yourselves, but I dreamed not that ye went -as far as that.” - -Whereat I blushed hotly, to think that I had unwittingly compared myself -to One who sat with Martha and Mary in the house. And after that I was -dumb before the sharp-tongued lass all the time of eating. But under the -table Jean Gemmell put her hand a moment on mine, seeing me fallen -silent and downcast. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -THE CORBIES AT THE FEAST. - - -Now when after all the call came for me to be placed minister of the -parish, and I was placed there with the solemn laying on of the hands of -the Presbytery, I thought in my folly as every young minister does, that -the strivings of my life had come to an end. Whereas, had I known it, -they were but beginning. For the soil was being fattened for the crop of -troubles I was to harvest into a bitter garner ere many years had come -and gone. - -Strait and onerous were the charges the reverend brethren laid upon me. -I had been of the Hill-folk in my youth. So more than once I was -reminded. It might be that I was not yet purged of that evil taint. -Earnestness in labour, sanctity of life, would not avail alone. I must -keep me in subjection to the powers that be. I must purge myself of -partial counsel and preach the Gospel in moderation--with various other -charges which I pass over in silence. - -Yet all the while I had the conceit within me that I knew better than -these men could tell me what I had come to Balmaghie to perform. I -minded me every day of the Bennan top and of the men that had been slain -on the heather--specially on the poor lad in the brown coat. And I was -noways inclined to be over-lenient with those who had wrought the -damage, nor yet with those who had stood by with their hands in their -pockets and whistled while the deed was being done. - -After the ordination, as was the custom, there was a great dinner spread -in a long tent set up by the Kirk Clachan of Shankfoot. - -Here the Presbytery, the elders and such of the leading men of the -parish as were free of scandal (few enough there were of these!) were -entertained at the expense of the session. - -One there was among the brethren who had watched me keenly all the -day--Cameron, the minister of Kirkcudbright, an unctuously smiling man, -but with a sidelong and dubious eye that could not meet yours. He had -the repute of great learning, and was, besides, of highest consideration -among the members, because he was reckoned to be the blood brother of -the famous Richard Cameron, who died at Ayrsmoss in the year of 1680, -and whether that were so or no, at least he did not deny it. - -As for me, I talked mostly to a little wizened, hump-shouldered man, -with a hassock of black hair which came down over his forehead, and -great eyes that looked out on either side of a sharp hawk’s nose. A -peeping, peering, birdlike man I found him to be--one Telfair of -Rerrick, the great authority in the South Country on ghosts and all -manifestations of the devil. - -“Methinks the spirit of evil is once more abroad,” I heard Telfair say -in a shrill falsetto to his next neighbour as they sat at meat. “Rerrick -hath seen nothing like it since the famous affair of the Ringcroft -visitation, so fully recounted in my little pamphlet--which, as you are -aware, has run through several editions, not alone in Scotland, but also -among the wise and learned folk of London. The late King even ordered a -copy for himself, and was pleased to say that he had never read anything -like it in all his life before; and by the grace of God he never would -again. Was not that a compliment from so great a prince?” - -“A compliment indeed,” cried Cameron of Kirkcudbright, nodding his head -ironically, yet watching me all the time as I talked with Nathan Gemmell -of Drumglass; “but what is this new portent?” - -“’Tis but the matter of a bairn-child near the village of Orraland, -which, as all the world knows, is the heart of my parish. A bairn, the -son of very respectable folk, looking out upon the moon, had a vision of -a man in red apparel cutting the moon in two with a sword of flame, -whereat the child screamed and ran in to its mother to tell the marvel. -And as soon as they came to me, I said: ‘There is that to be done to-day -which shall cut the Kirk of God in twain within the bounds of this -Presbytery.’” - -“Truly a marvellous child, and of insight justly prophetic!” said -Cameron, again nodding as he went about the ordering of his dinner and -calling the waiting folk to be quick and set clean platters before the -hungry Presbyters. - -“Now,” said Telfair, looking straight at me, “there hath nothing -happened this week in the Presbytery save the ordaining of this young -man. Think ye that through him there will come this breaking asunder of -the Kirk?” - -Cameron smiled sardonically. - -“How can ye suppose it for a moment? Mr. MacClellan is a youth of -remarkable promise and rumour. We have, indeed, yet to learn whether -there be aught behind this sound and show of religion and respect for -the authority of the Kirk.” - -All this time Drumglass was pouring forth without stint his joy at my -settlement among them. - -“Be never feared for the face o’ man, young sir,” he cried. “Be bold to -declare what ye think and believe, and gif ye ken what ye want and -earnestly pursue it, tak’ auld Drumglass’ word for it, there are few -things that ye may not attain in this world.” - -At long and last the day came to an end. The ministers of the Presbytery -one by one took horse or ferry and so departed. I alone returned with -Nathan Gemmell over to the house of Drumglass. For I was deadly wearied, -and the voice of Nathan uplifted by the way to tell of old things was -like the pleasant lappering of water on the sides of a boat in which one -rocks and dreams. Indeed, I was scarce conscious of a word he said, till -in the gloom of the trees and the creamy evening light, we met the two -lasses, Jean and Alexander-Jonita walking arm in arm. - -As we came within the shadow, they two divided the one from the other, -the wild lass going to her father’s side, Jean being left to come to -mine. - -“I saw you not at the ordination, Alexander-Jonita!” said her father. - -“No,” she answered sharply, “it was a brave day for the nowt to stray -broadcast over the fell, and there was never a man, woman, or bairn -about the house. Well might I remain to keep the evil-doers from the -doors.” - -I felt a soft hand touch mine as if by accident, and a low voice -whispered close to my ear. - -“But I was there. I watched it all, and when I saw you were kneeling -before them all with the hands of the ministers upon your head, I had -almost swooned away!” - -The soft hand was fully in mine now. I was not conscious of having taken -it, but nevertheless it lay trembling a little and yet nestling -contentedly in my palm. And because I was tired and the day had been a -labour and a burden to me, I was comforted that thus Jean’s hand abode -in mine. - -I pressed it and said, perhaps more gently than I ought, “Little one, I -am glad you were there. But the work is a great one for so young and -unworthy as I. It presses hard upon me!” - -“But you have good friends,” said Jean, “friends that--that think of you -always and wish you well.” - -We had fallen a little way behind, and I could hear Alexander-Jonita in -her high clear voice telling her father how she had found a sick sheep -on the Duchrae Craigs and carried it all the way home on her back. - -“What,” cried her father, “ower the heather and the moss-hags?” - -“Aye,” she answered, as if the thing were nothing, “and what is more the -poor beast is like to live and thrive.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -THE BONNY LASS OF EARLSTOUN. - - -So I was settled in my parish, which was a good one as times went. The -manse had recently been put in order. It was a pleasant stone house -which sat in the bieldy hollow beneath the Kirk Knowe of Balmaghie. Snug -and sheltered it lay, an encampment of great beeches sheltering it from -the blasts, and the green-bosomed hills looking down upon it with kindly -tolerant silence. - -The broad Dee Water floated silently by, murmuring a little after the -rains; mostly silent however--the water lapping against the reeds and -fretting the low cavernous banks when the wind blew hard, but on the -whole slipping past with a certain large peace and attentive -stateliness. - -My brother Hob abode with me in the manse of Balmaghie to be my man. It -was great good fortune thus to keep him; and in the coming troublous -days I ken not what I should have done without his good counsel and -strongly willing right hand. My father and mother came over to see me on -the old pony from Ardarroch, my mother riding on a pillion behind my -father, and both of them ready on the sign of the least brae to get off -and walk most of the way, with the bridle over my father’s arm, while my -mother discoursed of the terrible thing it was to have two of your sons -so far from home, strangers, as it were, in a strange land. - -It had not seemed so terrible to her when we went to Edinburgh, both -because she had never been to the city herself, and never intended to -go. On these occasions Hob and I had passed out of sight along the green -road to Balmaclellan on the way to Minnyhive, and there was an end of us -till the spring, save for the little presents which came by the carrier, -and the letters I had to write every fortnight. - -But this parish of Balmaghie! It was a far cry and a coarse road, said -my mother, and she was sure that we both took our lives in our hands -each time that we went across its uncanny pastures. - -Nevertheless, once there, she did not halt nor slacken till she had -taken in hand the furniture and plenishing of the manse, and brought -some kind of order out of the piled and tortured confusion, which had -been the best that Hob and I could attain. - -“Keep us, laddies!” she cried, after the first hopeless look at our -handiwork. “I canna think on either o’ ye takin’ a wife. Yet I’m feared -that a wife ye maun get atween ye. For I canna thole to let ye gang on -this wild gate, wi’ the minister’s meal o’ meat to ready, and only -gomeril Hob to do it.” - -“Then ye’ll let Anna come to bide with us for a while, if ye are so -vexed for us,” I said, to try her. - -“Na, indeed, I canna do that. Anna is needed at hame where she is. -There’s your faither now--he’s grown that bairnly he thinks there can be -nae guid grass in the meadow that Anna’s foot treads not on. The hens -wouldna lay, the kye wouldna let doon their milk withoot Anna. Ardarroch -stands on the braeface because ’tis anchored doon wi’ Anna. Saw ye ever -sic a fyke made aboot a lass?” - -“Quintin has!” said Hob with intention, for which I did not thank him. - -“What!” cried my mother, instantly taking fire, “hae some o’ the -impudent queans o’ Balmaghie been settin’ their caps at him already?” - -“There ye are, mither,” said Hob, “ye speak bravely aboot Quintin -gettin’ married. But as soon as we speak aboot ony lass--_plaff_, ye -gang up like a waft o’ tow thrown in the fire.” - -“I wad like to see the besom that wad make up to my Quintin!” said my -mother, her indignation beginning to simmer down. - -“Then come over to the Drum----” he was beginning. - -“Hob,” said I, sternly, “that is enough.” - -And when I spoke to him thus Hob was amenable enough. - -“Aweel, mither!” continued Hob in an injured tone, “ye speak aboot -mairrying. Quintin there, ye say, is to get mairried. But how can he get -mairried withoot a lass that is fond o’ him? It juist canna be done, at -least no in the parish o’ Balmaghie.” - -It was my intent to accompany my father and mother back to Ardarroch in -name of an escort, but, in truth, chiefly that I might accept the -invitation of the laird of Earlstoun and once more see Mary Gordon, the -lass whose image I had carried so long on my heart. - -For, strange as it may appear, when she went forth from the kirk that -day she left a look behind her which went straight to my heart. It was -like a dart thrown at random which sticks and is lost, yet inly rankles -and will not let itself be forgotten. - -I tried to shut the desire of seeing her again out of my heart. But do -what I could this was not to be. It would rise, coming between me and -the very paper on which I wrote my sermon, before I began to learn to -mandate. When the sun looked over the water in the morning and shone on -the globed pearls of dew in the hollow palms of the broad dockleaves on -the gracious clover blooms, and on the bending heads of the spiked -grasses, I rejoiced to think that he shone also on Earlstoun and the -sunny head of a fairer and more graceful flower. - -God forgive a sinful man! At these times I ought to have been thinking -of something else. But when a man carries such an earthly passion in his -heart, all the panoply of heavenly love is impotent to restrain thoughts -that fly swift as the light from hilltop to hilltop at the sun-rising. - -So I went home for a day or two to Ardarroch, where with a kind of -gratitude I stripped my coat and fell to the building of dykes about the -home park, and the mending of mangers and corn-chests with hammer and -nail, till my mother remonstrated. “Quintin, are ye not ashamed, you -with a parish of hungry souls to be knockin’ at hinges and liftin’ -muckle stanes on the hillsides o’ Ardarroch?” - -But Anna kept close to me all these days, understanding my mood. We had -always loved one another, she and I. I had used to say that it was Anna -who ought to have been the minister; for her eyes were full of a fair -and gracious light, the gentle outshining of a true spirit within. And -as for me, after I had been with her awhile, in that silence of -sympathy, I was a better and a stronger man--at least, one less unfit -for holy office. - -Right gladly would I have taken Anna back with me to the manse of -Balmaghie, but I knew well that she would not go. - -“Quintin,” she was wont to say, “our faither and mither are not so young -as they once were. My faither forgets things whiles, and the herd lads -are not to trust to. David there is for ever on the trot to this -farm-town and that other--to the clachan o’ St. John, to the New Town -of Galloway, or to Balmaclellan--’tis all one to him. He cannot bide at -home after the horses are out of the collar and the chain drops from the -swingle-tree into the furrow.” - -“But some day ye will find a lad for yourself, Anna, and then you will -also be leaving Ardarroch and the auld folk behind ye.” - -My sister smiled a quiet smile and her eyes were far away. - -“Maybe--maybe,” she said, temperately, “but that day is not yet.” - -“Has never a lad come wooin’ ye, Anna? Was there not Johnny of -Ironmacanny, Peter Tait frae the Bogue, or----” - -“Aye,” said Anna, “they cam’ and they gaed away to ither lasses that -were readier to loe them. For I never saw a lad yet that I could like as -well as my great silly brother who should be thinking more concerning -his sermon-making than about putting daft thoughts into the heads of -maidens.” - -After this there was silence between us for a while. We had been sitting -in the barn with both doors open. The wide arch to the front, opening -out into the quadrangle of the courtyard, let in a cool drawing sough -of air, and the smaller door at the back let it out again, and gave us -at the same time a sweet eye-blink into the orchard, where the apples -were hanging mellow and pleasant on the branches, and the leaves hardly -yet loosening themselves for their fall. The light sifted through the -leaves from the westering sun, dappling the grass and wavering upon the -hard-beaten earthen floor of the barn. - -“I am going over by to Earlstoun!” I said to Anna, without looking up. - -Anna and I spoke but half our talks out loud. We had been such close -comrades all our lives that we understood much without needing to clothe -our thoughts in words. - -Apparently Anna did not hear what I said, so I repeated it. - -“Dinna,” was all she answered. - -“And wherefore should I not?” I persisted, argumentatively. “The laird -most kindly invited me, indeed laid it on me like an obligation that I -should come.” - -“Ye are going over to Earlstoun to see the laird?” - -“Why, yes,” I said; “that is, he has a desire to see me. He is the -greatest of all the Covenant men, and we have much in common to speak -about.” - -“To-morrow he will be riding by to the market at Kirkcudbright, where he -has business. Ye can ride with him to the cross roads of Clachan Pluck -and talk all that your heart desires of Kirk and State.” - -“Anna,” said I, seriously, “I tell you again I am going to the house of -Earlstoun to-morrow.” - -In a moment she dropped her pretence of banter. - -“Quintin, ye will only make your heart the sorer, laddie.” - -“And wherefore?” said I. - -“See the sparkle on the water out there,” she said, pointing to the -bosom of Loch Ken far below us, seen through the open door of the barn; -“it’s bonny. But can ye gather it in your hand, or wear it in your -bosom? Dear and delightsome is this good smell of apples and of orchard -freshness, but can ye fold these and carry them with you to the bare -manse of Balmaghie for comfort to your heart? No more can ye take the -haughtiness of the great man’s daughter, the glance of proud eyes, the -heart of one accustomed to obedience, and bring them into subjection to -a poor man’s necessities.” - -“Love can do all,” said I, sententiously. - -“Aye,” she said, “where love is, it can indeed work all things. But I -bid ye remember that love dwells not yet in Mary Gordon’s breast for any -man. Hers is not a heart to bend. For rank or fame she may give herself, -but not for love.” - -“Nevertheless,” said I, “I will go to the house of Earlstoun to-morrow -at ten o’ the clock.” - -Anna rose and laid her hand on mine. - -“I kenned it,” she said, “and little would I think of you, brother of -mine, if ye had ta’en my excellent advice.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -ONE WAY OF LOVE. - - -It was the prime of the morning when I set out for Earlstoun. My mother -called after me to mind my manners, as if I had still been but a herdboy -summoned into the presence of the great. My father asked me when I would -be back. Only Anna said nothing, but her eyes were sad. Well she knew -that I went to give myself an aching heart. - -Now the Ken is a pleasant water, and the road up the Glenkens a fine -road to travel. But I went it that morning heavily--rather, indeed, like -one who goes to the burying of a friend than like a lover setting out to -see his mistress. - -I turned me down through the woods to Earlstoun. There were signs of the -still recent return of the family. Here on the gate of the lodge was the -effaced escutcheon of Colonel Theophilus Oglethorpe, which Alexander -Gordon had not yet had time to replace with the ancient arms of his -family. For indeed it was to Colonel William, Sandy Gordon’s brother, he -who had led us to Edinburgh in the Convention year, that the recovery of -the family estates was due. - -I had not expected any especially kind welcome. The laird of Earlstoun -had been a mighty Covenanter, and now wore his prisonments and -sufferings somewhat ostentatiously, like so many orders of merit. He -would think little of one who was a minister of the uncovenanted Kirk, -and who, though holding the freedom of that Kirk as his heart’s belief, -yet, nevertheless, demeaned him to take the pay of the State. To be -faithful and devoted in service were not enough for Alexander Gordon. To -please him one must do altogether as he had done, think entirely as he -thought. - -Yet I was to be more kindly received than I anticipated. - -It was in the midst of the road where the wood, turning sharp along the -waterside, a narrow path twines and twists through sparkling birches and -trembling alders. The pools slept black beneath as I looked down upon -them from some craggy pinnacle to which the grey hill lichen clung. The -salmon poised themselves motionless, save for a waving fin, below the -fish-leaps, ready for their rush upstream when the floods should come -down brown with peat water from Cairnsmore and the range of Kells. - -All at once, as I stood dreaming, I heard a gay voice lilting at a song. -I wavered a moment in act to flee, my heart almost standing still to -listen. - -For I knew among a thousand the voice of Mary Gordon. But I had no time -to conceal myself. A gleam of white and lilac through the bushes, a -bright reflection as of sunshine on the pool--then the whole day -brightened and she stood before me. - -The song instantly stilled itself on her lips. - -We stood face to face. It seemed to me that she paled a little. But -perhaps it was only that I, who desired so greatly to see any evidence -of emotion, saw part of that which I desired. - -The next moment she came forward with her hand frankly outstretched. - -“I bid you welcome to Earlstoun,” she said. “Alas! that my father should -this day be from home. He is gone to Kirkcudbright. But my mother and I -will show you hospitality till he return. My father hears a great word -of you, he tells us. The country tongue speaks well of your labours.” - -Now it seemed to me that in thus speaking she smiled to herself, and -that put me from answering. I could do naught but be stiffly silent. - -“I thank you, Mistress Mary, for your kind courtesy!” was all that I -found within me to say. For I felt that she must despise me for a -country lout of no manners and ungentle birth. So at least I thought at -the time. - -We passed without speech through the scattering shadows of the birches, -and I saw that her hair (on which she wore no covering) had changed from -its ancient yellow as of ripened corn into a sunny brown. Yet as I -looked furtively, here and there the gentle crispen wavelets seemed to -be touched and flecked with threads of its ancient sheen, a thing which -filled me strangely with a desire to caress with my hand its desirable -beauty--so carnal and wicked are the thoughts of the heart of man. - -But when I saw her so lightsome and dainty, so full of delight and the -admirable joy of living, a sullen sort of anger came over me that I -should chance to love one who could in no wise love me again, nor yet -render me the return which I so greatly desired. - -“You have travelled all the long way from the Manse of Balmaghie?” she -said, suddenly falling back to my side where the path was wider, as if -she, too, felt the pause of constraint. - -“Nay,” I answered, “I have been at Ardarroch with my father and mother -for two days. And to-morrow I must return to the people among whom I -labour.” - -She stole a quick glance at me from beneath her long dark lashes. There -was infinite teasing mischief in the flashing of her eyes. - -“You have an empty manse by the waterside of Dee. Ye will doubtless be -looking for some douce country lass to fill it.” - -The words were kindly enough spoken, yet in the very frankness of the -speech I recognised the distance she was putting between us. But I had -not been trained in the school of quick retorts nor of the light debate -of maidens. For all that I had a will of mine own, and would not permit -that any woman born of woman should play cat’s-cradle with Quintin -MacClellan. - -“Lady,” said I, “there is, indeed, an empty manse down yonder by the -Dee, and I am looking for one to fill it. But I will have none who -cannot love me for myself, and also who will not love the work to which -I have set my hand.” - -She held up her hand in quick merriment. - -“Do not be afraid,” she cried, gaily. “I was not thinking of making you -an offer!” - -And then she laughed so mirthsome a peal that all against my will I was -forced to join her. - -And this mended matters wonderfully. For after that, though I had my own -troubles with her and my heart-breaks as all shall hear, yet never was -she again the haughty maiden of the first sermon and the midsummer kirk -door. - -“They tell me that once ye brought me all the way from the Bennan-top to -the tower of Lochinvar, where our Auntie Jean was biding?” - -“I found no claims to your good-will on that,” said I, mindful of the -day of my first way going to Edinburgh; “but I would fain have you think -well of me now.” - -“Ye are still over great a Whig. Mind that I stand for the White Rose,” -she said, stamping her foot merrily. - -“’Tis a matter ye ken nothing about,” said I, roughly. “Maidens had -better let the affairs of State alone. Methinks the White Rose has -brought little good to you and yours.” - -“I tell you what, Sir Minister,” she cried, mocking me, “there are two -great tubs in the pool below the falls. Do you get into one and I will -take the other. I will fly the white pennon and you the blue. Then let -us each take a staff and tilt at one another. If you upset me, ’pon -honour, I will turn Whig, but if you are ducked in the pond, you must -wear henceforth the colours of the true King. ’Tis an equal bargain. You -agree?” - -But before I could reply we were near by the gate of Earlstoun, and -there came out a lady wrapped in a shawl, and this though the day was -hot and the autumnal air had never an edge upon it. - -“Mother,” cried Mary Gordon, running eagerly to meet her. The lady in -the plaid seemed not to hear, but turned aside by the path which led -along the water to the north. - -The girl ran after her and caught her mother by the arm. - -“Here is Mr. MacClellan, the minister from Balmaghie, come to see my -father,” said she. “Bide, mother, and make him welcome.” - -The lady stopped stiffly till I had come immediately in front of her. - -“You are a minister of the Established and Uncovenanted Kirk?” she -asked me, eyeing me sternly enough. - -I told her that I had been ordained a week before. - -“Then you have indeed broken your faith with the Persecuted Remnant, as -they tell me?” she went on, keeping her eyes blankly upon my face. - -“Nay,” said I; “I have the old ways still at heart and will stand till -death by the faith delivered to the martyrs.” - -“What do ye, then, clad in the rags of the State?” - -Whereat I told the Lady of Earlstoun how that I was with all my heart -resolved to fight the Kirk’s battle for her ancient liberties and for -the power to rule within her own borders. But that if those in authority -gave us not the hearing and liberty we desired, I, for one, would shake -off the dust of the unworthy Kirk of Scotland from my feet--as, indeed, -I was well resolved to do. - -But Mary Gordon broke in on my eager explanation. - -“Mother, mother,” she cried, “come your ways in and entertain the guest. -Let your questionings keep till our father comes from Kirkcudbright. -Assuredly they will have a stormy fortnight of it then. Let the lad now -break bread and cheese.” - -The lady sighed and clasped her hands. - -“I suppose,” she said, “it must even be so; for men are carnal and their -bodies must be fed. Alas, there are but few who care for the health of -their souls! As for me, I was about to retire to the wood that I might -for the hundred three score and ninth time renew my covenanting -engagements.” - -“You must break them very often, mother, that they are ever needing -mending,” said her daughter, not so unkindly as the words look when -written down, but rather carelessly, like one who has been oftentimes -over the same ground and knows the landmarks by heart. - -“Mary, Mary,” answered her mother, “I fear there is no serious or -spiritual interest in you. Your father spoils and humours you. And so -you have grown up--not like that godly lad Alexander Gordon the younger, -who when he was but three years of his age had read the Bible through -nineteen times, and could rattle off the books of the Old and New -Testaments whiles I was counting ten.” - -“Aye, mother,” replied the lass, “and in addition could make faces -behind your back all the time he was doing it!” - -But the lady appeared not to hear her daughter. She continued to clasp -her hands convulsively before her, and to repeat over and over again the -words, “Eh, the blessed laddie--the blessed, blessed laddie!” - -How long we might have stood thus in the glaring sun I know not; but, -without waiting for her mother to take the lead or to go in of her own -accord, Mary Gordon wheeled her round by the arm and led her unresisting -towards the courtyard gate. She accompanied her daughter with the same -weary unconcern and passionless preoccupation she had shown from the -first, twisting and pulling the fringes of the shawl between her -fingers, while her thin lips moved, either in covenant-making or in the -murmured praises of her favourite child. - -The room to which we were brought was a large one with panels of oak -carven at the cornices into quaint and formal ornaments. - -Mary went to the stairhead and cried down as to one in the kitchen: -“Thomas Allen! Thomas Allen!” - -A thin, querulous voice arose from the depths: “Sic a fash! Wha’s come -stravagin’ at this time o’ day? He will be wantin’ victual dootless. I -never saw the like----” - -“Thomas Allen! Haste ye fast, Thomas!” - -“Comin’, mem, comin’! What’s your fret? There’s naebody in the -deid-thraws,[10] is there?” - -As the last words were uttered, an old serving-man, in a blue side-coat -of thirty years before, with threadbare lace falling low at the neck and -hands in a forgotten fashion, appeared at the doorway. His bald and -shining head had still a few lyart locks clinging like white fringes -about the sides. These, however, were not allowed to grow downward in -the natural manner, but were trained as gardeners train fruit trees -against walls that look to the south. They climbed directly upward so -that the head of Thomas Allen was criss-crossed in both directions by -streaks of hair, interlaced like the fingers of one’s hands netted -together. But owing to the natural haste with which Thomas did his work, -these were never all seen in place at one time. Invariably they had -fallen to one side or the other, and being stiffened with candle grease -or other greyish unguent, they stood out at all angles like goose -quills from a scrivener’s inkpot. - -During the perfunctory repast which was finally brought forward and -placed on the table by the reluctant Thomas, Mistress Mary sat directly -opposite to me with her chin resting on her fingers and her elbows on -the table. Her mother, at the upper end of the chamber, occupied herself -in looking out of the window, occasionally clasping her hands in the -urgency of her supplications or giving vent to a pitiful moan which -indicated her sense of the hopeless iniquity of mankind. - -Then with more kindliness than she had ever yet shown me, Mary Gordon -asked of my people of Balmaghie, whether the call had been unanimous, -who abode with me in the manse, and many other questions, to all of -which I answered as well as I could. For the truth is, that the nearness -of so admirable a maid and the directness of her gaze wrought in me a -kind of desperation, so that it was all I could do to keep from telling -her then that I had come to the house of Earlstoun to ask her to be my -wife. - -Not that I had the wildest hope of a favourable answer, but simply from -inexperience at the business of making love to a young lass I blundered -blindly on. Plain ram-stam Hob could have bested me fairly at that. For -he had not talked so long to the good-wives of the Lothians without -getting a well-hung tongue in the head of him. - -I looked sideways at the Lady of Earlstoun. She was mumbling at her -devotions, or perhaps meditating other and more personal covenantings. -Mary Gordon and I were in a manner alone. - -“Mistress Mary,” I said, suddenly leaning towards her, my desperation -getting the better of my natural prudence, “I know that I speak wholly -without hope. But I came to-day to tell you that I love you. I am but a -cotter’s lad, but I have loved you ever since I ferried you, a little -maid, past the muskets of the troopers.” - -I looked straight enough at her now. I could see the colour rise a -little in her cheek, while a strange expression of wonder and pride, -with something that was neither, overspread her face. Up to this point I -might have been warned, but I was not to be holden now. - -“Before I had no right, nor, indeed, any opportunity to tell you this. -But now, as minister of a parish, I have an income that will compare -not unfavourably with that of most of the smaller gentry of the county.” - -The girl nodded, with a swift hardening of the nostril. - -“It will doubtless be a fine income,” she said, with a touch of scorn. -“Did I understand you to offer me your manse and income?” - -“I offer you that which neither dishonours an honest girl to hear or yet -an honest man to speak. I am offering you my best service, the faith and -devotion of a man who truly loves you.” - -“I thank you, sir,” she said, lifting up her head and letting her eyes -dwell on me with some of their former haughtiness; “I am honoured -indeed. Your position, your manse, your glebe! How many acres did you -say it was? Your income, good as that of a laird. And you come offering -all these to Mary Gordon? Sir, I bid you carry your business -transactions to the county market-place. Mary Gordon is not to be bought -and sold. When she loves, she will give herself for love and love alone. -Aye, were it to a poke-laden houseless cadger by the roadside, or a -ploughman staggering between the furrows!” - -And with that she rose and walked swiftly to the door. I could hear her -foot die away through the courtyard; and going blankly to the window, I -watched her slim figure glance between the clumps of trees, now in the -light, now in the shadow, and anon lost in the yellowing depths of the -forest. - -Nor, though I watched all through the long hot afternoon, did she return -till she came home riding upon her father’s horse, with Sandy Gordon -himself walking bareheaded beside his daughter, as if he had been -escorting a queen on her coronation day. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. - -(_Comment and Addition by Hob MacClellan._) - - -Lord! Lord! Was there ever a more bungled affair--a more humiliating -confession. Our poor Quintin--great as he was at the preaching, an -apostle indeed, none in broad Scotland to come within miles of him in -the pulpit--with a lass was simply fair useless. I must e’en tell in a -word how mine own wooing sped, that I may prove there was some airt and -spunk left among the MacClellans. - -For by Quintin’s own showing the girl had no loop-hole left, being wooed -as if she had been so many sacks of corn. She was fairly tied up to -refuse so hopeless and fushionless a suitor. - -But of all this there was no suspicion at the time, neither in the -parish of Balmaghie, or yet even among ourselves at Ardarroch. For -though nothing gets wind so quickly in a parish as the news that the -minister is “seekin”--that is, going from home courting, yet such was my -brother’s repute for piety “within the bounds of the Presbytery,” such -the reverence in which he was held, that the popular voice considered -him altogether trysted to no maiden, but to the ancient and honourable -Kirk of Scotland as she had been in the high days of her pride and -purity. - -“Na,” they would say, “our minister will never taingle himsel’ wi’ -marriage engagements while there is a battle to be fought for the Auld -Banner o’ Blue.” So whereas another might not so much as look over the -wall, my brother might have stolen all the horses before their eyes. - -And I think it was this great popular repute of him which first set his -fellow-ministers against him, far more than any so-called “defections” -and differences either ecclesiastical or political. - -I have seen him at a sacrament at Dalry hold the listening thousands so -that they swayed this way and that like barley shaken by the winds. -Never beheld I the like--the multitude of the folk all bending their -faces to one point--careless young lads from distant farms, -light-headed limmers of lasses, bairns that had been skipping about the -kirk-yard and playing “I spy” among the tombstones while other ministers -were preaching--all now fixed and spellbound when my brother rose to -speak, and his full bell-like voice sounded out from the preaching-tent -over their heads. - -I think that if at any time he had held up his hand and called them to -follow him to battle, every man would have gone forth as unquestionably -as did Cameron’s folk on that fatal day of the Moss of Ayr. - -But I who sat there, with eyes sharpened and made jealous by exceeding -love for my brother, could see clearly the looks of dark suspicion, the -sneers that dwelt on sanctimonious lips, the frowns of envy and ill-will -as Quintin stood up, and the folk poured anxiously inward towards the -preaching-tent to hear him. I noted also the yet deeper anger of those -who succeeded him, when multitudes rose and forsook the meeting because -there was to be no more of the young minister o’ Balmaghie that day. - -Now though it was rather on the point of politics and of the standing of -the kirk, her right to rule herself without interference of the State, -her ancient independence and submission to Christ the only head of the -church, that Quintin was finally persecuted and called in question, yet, -as all men know in Galloway, it was really on account of the popular -acclaim, the bruit of great talents and godliness which he held among -all men, beyond any that ever came into the countryside, and of his -quietness and persistence also in holding his own and keeping a straight -unvarying course amid all threatenings and defections, which brought the -final wrath upon him and constituted the true head and front of his -offending. - -Aye, and men saw that the storm was brewing over him long before it -burst. - -For several of the Galloway ministers had deliberately left the folk of -the mountains for the sake of a comfortable down-sitting in bein and -sheltered parishes. Some of them even owed their learning at the Dutch -Universities to the poor purses of these covenanting societies. - -And so when papers came down from the Privy Council or from the men who, -like Carstairs, posed as little gods and popes infallible, the -Presbytery men greedily signed them, swallowing titles, oaths and -obligations with shut eye and indiscriminate appetite lest unhappily -they would be obliged to consult their consciences. - -Such men as constituted the Presbytery of Kirkcudbright had but one -motto--a clear and useful one indeed at such a time, “Those in power can -do no wrong!” - -So three years went uneasily by, and meantime the parish of Balmaghie -had grown to know and love our Quintin. There was hardly a rascal -drover, a common villain pig-dealer who was not ready to crack a skull -at an ill word said of him even in jest. Men who in time past had -sneered at religion, and had never any good report of ministers, dull -clods with ideals tethered to the midden and the byre, waked up at sight -of him, and would travel miles to hear him preach. - -And thus three happy unstirred years went by. I abode in the manse with -Quintin, and every morning when I arose at break of day to take the -cattle afield, or to set the plough in the glebe, I would see that his -window-blind was withdrawn, his candle alight if it were winter, and -that he had already set him down with his book. Or sometimes when the -summer evening darkened to dusk I would meet him wandering, his hands -clasped behind his back, and his whole soul steeped in meditation by the -whispering rushes of the waterside. - -Yet what a simpleton in worldly things he was; and, mayhap, that was -what made me love him the more. - -For about this time there began a stir and a bruit of the matter of -little Jean Gemmell, a soft-voiced, die-away lass that I would not have -troubled my head about for a moment. She had, truth to tell, set herself -to catch our foolish Quintin, whose heart was in good sooth fully given -to another. And how she did it, let himself tell. But I, that thought -nothing of a lass without spirit, would often warn him to beware. But he -minded me not, smiling and giving the subject the go-by in a certain -sober and serious way he had which somehow silenced me against my will. - -But in between my brother’s ill-starred wooing of the bonny lass of -Earlstoun, and Jean Gemmell’s meek-eyed courtship of him, I also had -been doing somewhat on mine own account. - -At the house of Drumglass there abode one who to my mind was worth all -the haughty damsels of great houses and all the sleek and kittenish -eyes-makers in broad Scotland. - -When first I saw Alexander-Jonita come over the hill, riding a Galloway -sheltie barebacked, her dark hair streaming in the wind, and the pony -speeding over the heather like the black charger of Clavers on the side -of Cairn Edward, I knew that there was no hope for my heart. I had -indeed fancied myself in love before. So much was expected of a lad in -our parts. But Alexander-Jonita was a quest worth some enterprising to -obtain. - -The neighbours, at least the rigidly righteous of them, were inclined to -look somewhat askance upon a lass that went so little to the Kirk, and -companioned more with the dumb things of the field than with her own -kith and kin. But Quintin would ask such whether their own vineyard was -so well kept, their own duty so faultlessly done, that they could afford -to keep a stone ready to cast at Alexander-Jonita. - -I remember the first time that ever I spoke to her words beyond the -common greetings and salutations of lad and lass. - -It was a clear night in early June. I had been over at Ardarroch seeing -my mother, and now having passed high up the Black Water of Dee, I was -making my way across the rugged fells and dark heathery fastnesses to -the manse of Balmaghie. - -The mist was rising about the waterside. It lingered in pools and drifts -in every meadowy hollow, but the purpling hilltops were clear and bare -in the long soft June twilight. - -Suddenly a gun went off, as it seemed in my very ear. I sprang a foot -into the air, for who on honourable business would discharge a musket in -that wild place at such a time. - -But ere I had time to think, above me on the ridge a figure stood black -against the sky--a girl’s shape it was, slim, tall, erect. She carried -something in one hand which trailed on the heather, and a musket was -under her arm, muzzle down. - -I had not yet recovered my breath when a voice came to me. - -“Ah, Hob MacClellan, the ill deil tak’ your courting-jaunts this nicht! -For had ye bidden at hame I would have gotten baith o’ the red foxes -that have been killing our weakly lambs. As it is, I gat but this.” - -And she held up a great dog fox by the brush before throwing the body -into a convenient moss-hole. - -It was Alexander-Jonita, the lass whom our college-bred Quintin had once -called the Diana of Balmaghie. I care not what he called her. Without -question she was the finest lass in the countryside. And that I will -maintain to this day. - -“Are you going home, Jonita?” cried I, for the direction in which she -was proceeding led directly away from the house of Drumglass. - -“No,” she answered carelessly, “I am biding all night in the upper -‘buchts.’ The foxes have been very troublesome of late, and I am -thinning them with the gun. I have the feck of the lambs penned up -there.” - -“And who is with you to help you?” I asked her in astonishment. - -“Only the dogs,” she made answer, shifting the gun from one shoulder to -the other. - -“But, lassie,” I cried, “ye surely do not sleep out on the hills all -your lone like this?” - -“And what for no?” she answered sharply. “What sweeter bed than a truss -of heather? What safer than with two rough tykes of dogs and a good gun -at one’s elbow, with the clear airs blowing over and the sheep lying -snugly about the folds?” - -“But when it rains,” I went on, still doubtfully. - -“Come and see,” she laughed; “we are near the upper ‘buchts’ now!” - -Great stone walls of rough hill boulders, uncut and unquarried, rose -before me. I saw a couple of rough collies sit guardian one at either -side of the little lintelled gate that led within. The warm smell of -gathered sheep, ever kindly and welcome to a hill man, saluted my -nostrils as I came near. A lamb bleated, and in the quiet I could hear -it run pattering to nose its mother. - -Alexander-Jonita led me about the great “bucht” to a niche formed by a -kind of cairn built into the side of a wall of natural rock. Here a sort -of rude shelter had been made with posts driven into the crevices of the -rock and roughly covered with turves of heather round the sides of a -ten-foot enclosure. The floor was of bare dry rock, but along one side -there was arranged a couch of heather tops recently pulled, very soft -and elastic. At first I could not see all this quite clearly in the -increasing darkness, but after a little, bit by bit the plan of the -shelter dawned upon me, as my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. - -“When it rains,” she said, going back to my question, “I set a post in -the middle for a tent pole, spread my plaid over it and fasten it down -at the sides with stones.” - -“Jonita,” said I, “does your sister never come up hither with you?” - -“Who--our Jean!” she cried, astonished, “faith, no! Jean takes better -with the inside of a box-bed and the warmth of the _peat-grieshoch_[11] -on the hearth! And, indeed, the lass is not over-strong. But as for me, -more than the cheeping of the house-mice, I love the chunnering of the -wild fowl in their nests and the bleat of the sheep. These are honey and -sweetness to me.” - -“But, Jonita,” I went on, “surely no girl is strong enough to take -shower and wind-buffet night and day on the wild moors like this. Why, -you make me ashamed, me that am born and bred to the trade.” - -“And what am I?” she asked sharply, “I am over twenty, and yet nothing -but an ignorant lass and careless of seeming otherwise. I am not even -like my sister Jean that can look and nod as if she understood -everything your brother is talking about, knowing all the while naught -of the matter. But, at least, I ken the ways of the hills. Feel that!” - -She thrust her arm suddenly out to me. - -I clasped it in my hands, sitting meantime on a great stone in the -angle, while she stood beside me with the dogs on either side of her. It -was a smooth, well-rounded arm, cool and delicate of skin, that she gave -into my fingers. Her loose sleeve fell back, and if I had dared to -follow my desire, I should have set my lips to it, so delightful did the -touch of it seem to me. But I refrained me, and presently underneath the -satin skin I felt the muscles rise nobly, tense yet easy, clean of curve -and spare flesh, moulded alike for strength and suppleness. - -“I would not like to pull at the swingle-tree with you, my lass,” said -I, “and if it came to a Keltonhill collieshangie I would rather have you -on my side than against me.” - -And I think she was more pleased at that than if I had told her she was -to be a great heiress. - -As I waited there on the rough stones of the sheepfold, and looked at -the slight figure sitting frankly and easily beside me, thinking, as I -knew, no more of the things of love than if she had been a neighbour lad -of the hills, a kind of jealous anger came over me. - -“Jonita,” said I, “had ye never a sweetheart?” - -“A what?” cried Jonita in a tone of as much surprise as if I had asked -her if she had ever possessed an elephant. - -“A lad that loved you as other maids are loved.” - -“I have heard silly boys speak nonsense,” she said, “but I am no -byre-lass to be touselled in corners by every night-raker that would -come visiting at the Drumglass.” - -“Jonita,” I went on, “hath none ever helped you with your sheep on the -hill, run when you wanted him, stopped when you told him, come like a -collie to your foot when he was called?” - -“None, I tell you, has ever sat where you are sitting, Hob MacClellan! -And hear ye this, had I thought you a silly ‘cuif’ like the rest, it -would have been the short day of December and the long again before I -had asked you to view my bower under the rock.” - -“I was only asking, Jonita,” said I; “ye ken that ye are the bonniest -lass in ten parishes, and to me it seemed a strange thing that ye -shouldna hae a lad.” - -“Bah,” said she, “lads are like the pebbles in the brook. They are run -smooth with many experiences, courting here and flattering there. What -care I whether or no this one or that comes chapping at my door? There -are plenty more in the brook. Besides, are there not the hills and the -winds and the clear stars over all, better and more enduring than a -thousand sweethearts?” - -“But,” said I, “the day will come, Jonita, when you may be glad of the -friend’s voice, the kindly eye, the helping hand, the arm beneath the -head----” - -“I did not say that I desired to have no friends,” she said, as it -seemed in the darkness, a little shyly. - -“Will you let me be your friend?” I said, impulsively, taking her hand. - -“I do not know,” said Alexander-Jonita; “I will tell you in the morning. -It is over-dark to-night to see your eyes.” - -“Can you not believe?” said I. “Have you ever heard that I thus offered -friendship to any other maid in all the parish?” - -“You might have offered it to twenty and they taken it every one for -aught I care. But Alexander-Jonita Gemmell accepts no man’s friendship -till she has tried him as a fighter tries a sword.” - -“Then try me, Jonita!” I cried, eagerly. - -“I will,” said she, promptly; “rise this instant from the place where ye -sit, look not upon me, touch me not, say neither good e’en nor yet -good-day, but take the straight road and the ready to the manse of -Balmaghie.” - -The words were scarce out of her mouth when with a leap so quick that -the collies had not even time to rise, I was over the dyke and striding -across the moss and whinstone-crag towards the house by the waterside, -where my brother’s light had long been burning over his books. - -I did not so much as look about me till I was on the crest of the hill. -Then for a single moment I stood looking back into the clear grey bath -of night behind me, where the lass I loved was keeping her watch in the -lonely sheepfold. - -Yet I was pleased with myself too. For though my dismissal had been so -swift and unexpected, I felt that I had not done by any means badly for -myself. - -At least I could call Alexander-Jonita my friend. And there was never a -lad upon all the hills of heather that could do so much. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -MUTTERINGS OF STORM. - -(_The Narrative of Quintin MacClellan resumed._) - - -It was a day of high summer when the anger of mine enemies drew finally -to a head, and that within mine own land of Balmaghie. The Presbytery -were in the habit of meeting at a place a little way from the centre of -the parish, called Cullenoch--or, as one would say in English, “The -Woodlands.” - -In twos or threes they came, riding side by side on their ponies, or -appearing singly out of some pass among the hills. So, as I say, the -Presbytery assembled at Cullenoch, and the master of it, Andrew Cameron -of Kirkcudbright, was there, with his orders from wily Carstaires, the -pope of the restored Kirk of Scotland. - -To this day I can see his aspect as he rose up among the brethren with a -great roll in his hand--solemn, portentous, full of suave, easy words -and empty, sonorous utterances. - -“Fathers and brethren,” he said, looking on us with a comprehending pity -for our feebleness of capacity, “there hath come that from Her Most -Noble and Christian Majesty the Queen Anna, which it behooves us to -treat with all the respect due to one who is at once the Anointed of -God, and also as the fountain of all authority, in some sense also the -Head of the Church!” - -As he finished he laid upon the table a great parchment, and tapped it -impressively with his finger. - -“It is, if I may be permitted the words, the message of God’s vicegerent -upon earth; whom His own finger has especially designed to rule over us. -And I am well assured that no one among the brethren of the Presbytery -will be so ill-advised as not at once to sign this declaration of our -submission and dutiful obedience to our Liege lady in all things.” - -This he uttered soundingly, with much more to the same purpose, standing -up all the time, and glowering about him on the look-out for -contradiction. - -Then, though I was the youngest member of the Presbytery, save one, I -felt that for the ancient liberty of the Kirk and for the sake of the -blood shed on the moors, I could not permit so great a scandal as this -to pass. I rose in my place, whilst Cameron looked steadily upon me, -endeavouring to browbeat me into silence. - -Somewhat thus I spoke: - -“The most learned and reverend brother brings us a paper to sign--a -paper which we have neither seen nor yet heard read. It comes (he tells -us) from the Church’s head, from God’s vicegerent. It is to be received -with hushed breath and bowed knee. ‘The Head of the Church!’ says Mr. -Cameron--ah, brethren, the men who have so lately entered into rest -through warring stress, sealed with their blood the testimony that the -Kirk of God has no head upon earth. The Kirk of Scotland is the Kirk of -Jesus Christ, the alone King and Head of the Church. The Kirk of -Scotland is more noble, high and honourable in herself than any human -government. She alone is God’s vicegerent. She alone has power within -her own borders to rule her own affairs. The Kirk has many faults, but -at least she will surely never permit herself to be ruled again by -Privy Councils and self-seeking state-craft. Is she not the Bride, the -Lamb’s wife? And for me, and for any that may adhere to me, we will sign -no test nor declaration which shall put our free necks beneath the yoke -of any temporal power, nor yet for fear of this or that Queen’s Majesty -deny the Name that is above every name.” - -Whilst these words were put into my heart and spoken by my voice, I -seemed, as it were, taken possession of. A voice prompted me what I was -to speak. I heard the sound of rushing wings, and though I was but -lately a herd-lad on the hills of sheep I knew that the time had come, -which on the day of the Killing on the Bennan Top I had seen afar off. - -Whilst I was speaking, Cameron stood impatiently bending the tips of his -politic fingers upon the document on the table. A dark frown had been -gathering on his brow. - -“This is treason, black treason! It is blank defiance of the Queen’s -authority!” he cried; “I will not listen to such words. It is the voice -of a man who would raise the standard of rebellion, and disturb the -peace of all the parishes of our Kirk, recently and adequately settled -according to the laws of the land.” - -But I had yet a word to say. - -“I am neither rebel nor heretic,” said I; “I am, it is true, the -youngest and the least among you. But even I am old enough to have seen -men shot like running deer for the liberties of the Kirk of God. I have -heard the whistle of the deadly bullet flying at the command of kings -and queens called in their day Heads of the Church. I have seen the -martyr fall, and his blood redden the ooze of the moss hag. We have -heard much of tests and papers to sign, of allegiances to other divine -vicegerents upon earth, even to such Lord’s anointeds as James and -Charles, the father and the uncle of her in whose name the Privy Council -of Scotland now demands this most abject submission. But for myself I -will sign no such undertaking, give countenance to no bond which might -the second time deliver us who have fought for our ancient liberties -with weapons in our hands, bound hand and foot to the powers -temporal--yea, that we might wrest the powers of the spiritual arm from -the Son of God and deliver them to the daughter of James Stuart.” - -“And who are you,” cried Cameron, “thus to teach and instruct men who -were ministers when you were but a bairn, to reprove those who have -wrought in sun and shine, and in gloom and darkness alike, to make the -Kirk of Scotland what she is this day?” - -There was a noise of some approval among the Presbytery. I knew, -however, that I had small sympathy among those present, men fearful of -losing their pleasant livings and fat stipends. Nevertheless, very -humbly I made answer. “It is not Quintin MacClellan, but the word he -speaks that cannot be gainsaid. There is also an old saying that out of -the mouths of babes and sucklings God expects the perfection of praise.” - -“Fool!” cried Cameron, “ye would endanger and cast down the fair fabric -of this Kirk of Scotland, ignorantly pulling down what wiser and better -men have laboriously built up. Ye are but a child throwing stones at -windows and ready to run when the glass splinters. You stand alone among -us, sir--alone in Scotland!” - -“I stand no more alone,” I replied, “than your brother Richard Cameron -did at Ayrsmoss when he rode into the broil and tumult of battle for the -honour of the Covenant. The Banner of Christ’s cause that was trampled -in the peat-brew of the moss of Ayr, is a worthier standard than the -rag of submission which lies upon the table under your hand.” - -Cameron was silent. He liked not the memory of his great brother. I went -on, for the man’s pliable pitifulness angered me. - -“Think you that Richard Cameron would have signed words like these? Aye, -I think he would. But it would have been with his sword, cutting the -vile bond into fragments, giving them to the winds, and strewing them -upon the waters.” - -Then the Presbytery would hear no more, but by instant vote and voice -they put me forth. Yet ere I went from their midst, I cried, “If there -be any that think more of the freedom of God’s Kirk in this land of -Scotland than of their stipends and glebes, let them come forth with -me.” - -And two there were who rose and followed--Reid of Carsphairn, a man -zealous and far-seeing, and one other, a young minister lately come -within the bounds. - -So the door was shut upon us, and they that hated us were left to -concert their measures without let or hindrance. - -And for a moment we three clasped hands without the door. - -“Let us stand by each other and the word of truth,” I said, “and the -truth shall never make us ashamed.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE EYES OF A MAID. - - -Now throughout all the parish, aye, and throughout all Galloway there -arose infinite noise and bruit of this thing. Specially was there the -buzz of anger in the hill parishes, where the men who had lain in the -moss-hags and fought for the ancient liberties dwelt thickest--in -Carsphairn, in the Glenkens, and in mine own Balmaghie. - -As I went over the hill from farm-town to farm-town the herds would cry -down “Well done!” from among the sheep. Old men who had seen the high -days of the Kirk before the fatal home-coming of King Charles; rough, -buirdly men who had done their share of hiding and fighting in the -troubles; young men who, like myself, had heard in their cradles but the -murmur of the fray, came to shake my hand and bid me strengthen my knees -and stick to my testimony. - -“For,” said a venerable elder, one Anthony Lennox of the Duchrae, who -had been a famous man in the sufferings, “this is the very truth for -which we bled. We asked for the kernel, and lo! they have given us the -dry and barren husk. We fought for ‘Christ’s Crown and Covenant,’ and -they have sent us a banner with the device--‘Queen Anne’s Crown and the -Test!’” - -But I think that the women were even more warmly on our side, for the -canker of persecution had eaten deeper into their hearts, that had only -waited and mourned while their men folk were out suffering and fighting. - -“Be ye none feared, laddie,” said Millicent Hannay, an ancient dame who -had stood the thumbikins thrice in the gaol of Kirkcudbright; “the most -part of the ministers may stick like burrs to their manses and glebes, -their tiends and tithings. But if so be, ye are thrust forth into the -wilderness, ye will find manna there--aye, and water from the rock and a -pillar of fire going before to lead you out again.” - -But nowhere was I more warmly welcomed than in the good house of -Drumglass. The herd lads and ploughmen were gathered at the house-end -when I came up the loaning, and even as I passed one of them came -forward with his blue bonnet in his hand. - -“Fear not, sir,” he said, with a kind of bold, self-respecting -diffidence common among our Galloway hinds. “I speak for all our lads -with hearts and hands. We will fight for you. Keep the word of your -testimony, and we will sustain you and stand behind you. If we will -unfurl the blue banner again, we will plant right deep the staff.” - -And from the little group of stalwart men at the barn-end there came a -low murmur of corroboration, “We will uphold you!” - -Strange as it is to-day to think on these things when most men are so -lukewarm for principle. But in those days the embers of the fires of -persecution were yet warm and glowing, and men knew not when they might -again be blown up and fresh fuel added thereto. - -“Come awa’,” cried Nathan Gemmell heartily, from where he sat on the -outer bench of moss-oak by the door-cheek, worn smooth by generations of -sitters, “come awa’, minister, and tell us the news. Faith, it makes me -young-like again to hear there is still a man that thinks on the -Covenants and the blue banner wi’ the denty white cross. And though -they forget the auld flag noo, I hae seen it gang stacherin’ doon the -streets o’ the toon o’ Edinburg wi’ a’ the folk cryin’ ‘Up wi’ the Kirk -an’ doon wi’ the King!’ till there wasna a sodjer-body dare show his -face, nor a King’s man to be found between the Castle and the Holyrood -House. _Hech-how-aye!_ auld Drumglass has seen that. - -“And eke he saw the lads that were pitten doon on the green Pentland -slopes in the saxty-sax start frae the Clachan o’ Saint John wi’ hopes -that were high, sharpening their bits o’ swords and scythes to withstand -the guns o’ Dalzyell. And but few o’ them ever wan back. But what o’ -that? It’s a brave thrang there wad be about heaven’s gates that -day--the souls o’ the righteous thranging and pressing to win through, -the rejoicing of a multitude that had washed their robes and made them -white in the blood o’ the Lamb. - -“Ow, aye, ye wonder at me, that am a carnal man, speakin’ that gate. But -it is juist because I am a man wha’ has been a sore sinner, that I wear -thae things sae near my heart. My time is at hand. Soon, soon will auld -Drumglass, wastrel loon that he is, be thrown oot like a useless root -ower the wa’ and carried feet foremost from out his chamber door. But -if it’s the Lord’s will” (he rose to his feet and shook his oaken staff) -“if it’s the Lord’s will, auld Drumglass wad like to draw the blade frae -the scabbard yince mair, and find the wecht o’ the steel in his hand -while yet his auld numb fingers can meet aboot the basket hilt. - -“Oh, I ken, I ken; ye think the weapons of our warfare are not to be -swords and staves, minister--truth will fight for us, ye say. - -“I daresay ye are right. But gin the hoodie-craws o’ the Presbytery come -wi’ swords and staves to put ye forth from your parish and your kindly -down-sitting, ye will be none the worse of the parcel o’ braw lads ye -saw at the barn-end, every man o’ them wi’ a basket-hilted blade in his -richt hand and a willing Galloway heart thump-thumpin’ high wi’ itching -desire to be at the red coaties o’ the malignants.” - -Then we went in, and there by the fireside, looking very wistfully out -of her meek eyes at me, stood the young lass, Jean Gemmell. She came -forward holding out her hand, saying no word, but the tears still wet on -her lashes--why, I know not. And she listened as her father asked of the -doings at the Presbytery, and looked eager and anxious while I was -answering. Presently Auld Drumglass went forth on some errand about the -work of the ploughlads, and the lass and I were left alone together in -the wide kitchen. - -“And they will indeed put you forth out of house and home?” she asked, -looking at me with sweet, reluctant eyes, the eyes of a mourning dove. -She stood by the angle of the hearth where the broad ingle-seat begins. -I sat on her father’s chair where he had placed me and looked over at -her. A comely lass she was, with her pale cheeks and a blush on them -that went and came responsive to the beating of her heart. - -I had not answered, being busy with looking at her and thinking how I -wished Mistress Mary Gordon had been as gentle and biddable as this -lass. So she asked again, “They will not put you forth from your kirk -and parish, will they?” - -“Nay, that I know not,” I said, smiling; “doubtless they will try.” - -“Oh, I could not listen to another minister after----” - -She stopped and sighed. - -It was in my mind to rebuke her, and to bid her remember that the Word -of God is not confined to any one vessel of clay, but just then she put -her hand to her side, and went withal so pale that I could not find it -in my heart to speak harshly to the young lass. - -Then I told her, being stirred within me by her emotion, of the two who -had stood by me in the Presbytery, and how little hope I had that they -would manfully see it out to the end. - -“’Tis a fight that I must fight alone,” I said. - -For I knew well that it would come to that, and that so soon as the -affair went past mere empty words those two who had stood at my shoulder -would fall behind or be content to bide snugly at home. - -“_Not alone!_” said the young lass, quickly, and moved a step towards me -with her hand held out. Then, with a deep and burning blush, her maiden -modesty checked her, and she stood red like a July rose in the clear -morning. - -She swayed as if she would have fallen, and, leaping up quickly, I -caught her in my arms ere she had time to fall. - -Her eyes were closed. The blood had ebbed from her face and left her -pale to the very lips. I stood with her light weight in my arms, -thrilling strangely, for, God be my judge, never woman had lain there -before. - -Presently she gave a long snatching breath and opened her eyes. I saw -the tears gather in them as her head lay still and lax in the hollow of -my arm. The drops did not fall, but rather gathered slowly like wells -that are fed from beneath. - -“You will not go away?” she said, and at last lifted her lashes, with a -little pearl shining wet on each, like a swallow that has dipped her -wings in a pool. - -Then, because I could not help it, I did that which I had never done to -any woman born of woman: I stooped and kissed the wet sweet eyes. And -then, ere I knew it, with a little cry of frightened joy, the girl’s -arms were about me. She lifted up her face, and kissed me again and -again and yet again. - - * * * * * - -When I came to myself I was conscious of another presence in the -kitchen. I looked up quickly, and there before me, standing with an ash -switch swaying in her hand, was Alexander-Jonita. I had not supposed -that she could have looked so stern. - -“Well?” she said, as if waiting for my explanation. - -“I love your sister,” I replied; for indeed, though I had not thought -thus of the matter before, there seemed nothing else to be said. - -But the face of Alexander-Jonita did not relax. She stood gazing at her -sister, whose head rested quiet and content on my shoulder. - -“Jean,” she said at last, “knowing that which you know, why have you -done this?” - -The girl lifted her head, and looked at Jonita with a kind of glad -defiance. - -“Sister,” she said, “you do not understand love. How should you know -what one would do for love?” - -“You love my sister Jean?” Jonita began again, turning to me with a -sharpness in her words like the pricking of a needle’s point. - -“Yes!” I answered, but perhaps a little uncertainly. - -“Did you know as much when you came into the kitchen?” - -“No,” said I. - -For indeed I knew not what to answer, never having been thus tangled up -with women’s affairs in my life before. - -“I thought not,” said Jonita, curtly. Then to Jean, “How did this come -about?” she said. - -Jean lifted her head, her face being lily-pale and her body swaying a -little to me. - -“I thought he would go away and that I should never see him again!” she -replied, a little pitifully, with the quavering thrill of unshed tears -in her voice. - -“And you did this knowing--what you know!” said Jonita again, sternly. - -“I saw him first,” said Jean, a little obstinately, looking down the -while. - -Her sister flushed crimson. - -“Oh, lassie,” she cried, “ye will drive me mad with your whims and -foolish speeches; what matters who saw him first? Ye ken well that ye -are not fit to be----” - -“She is fit to be my wife,” I said, for I thought that this had gone far -enough; “she is fit to be my wife, and my wife she shall surely be if -she will have me!” - -With a little joyful cry Jean Gemmell’s arms went about my neck, and her -wet face was hidden in my breast. It lay there quiet a moment; then she -lifted it and looked with a proud, still defiance at her sister. - -Alexander-Jonita lifted up her hands in hopeless protest. - -She seemed about to say more, but all suddenly she changed her mind. - -“So be it,” she said. “After all, ’tis none of my business!” - -And with that she turned and went out through the door of the kitchen. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE ANGER OF ALEXANDER-JONITA. - -(_Comment and Addition by Hob MacClellan._) - - -I met my lass Jonita that night by the sheep-fold on the hill. It was -not yet sundown, but the spaces of the heavens had slowly grown large -and vague. The wind also had gradually died away to a breathing -stillness. The scent of the bog-myrtle was in our nostrils, as if the -plant itself leaned against our faces. - -I had been waiting a long time ere I heard her come, lissomly springing -from tuft to tuft of grass and whistling that bonny dance tune, “The -Broom o’ the Cowdenknowes.” But even before I looked up I caught the -trouble in her tones. She whistled more shrilly than usual, and the -liquid fluting of her notes, mellow mostly like those of the blackbird, -had now an angry ring. - -“What is the matter, Alexander-Jonita?” I cried, e’er I had so much as -set eyes on her. - -The whistling ceased at my question. She came near, and leaning her -elbows on the dyke, she regarded me sternly. - -“Then you know something about it?” she said, looking at me between the -eyes, her own narrowed till they glinted wintry and keen as the -gimlet-tool wherewith the joiner bores his holes. - -“Has your father married the dairymaid, or Meg the pony cast a shoe?” I -asked of her, with a lightness I did not feel. - -“Tut,” she cried, “’tis the matter of your brother, as well you know.” - -“What of my brother?” - -“Why, our silly Jean has made eyes at him, and let the salt water fall -on the breast of his black minister’s coat. And now the calf declares -that he loves her!” - -I stood up in sharp surprise. - -“He no more loves her than--than----” - -“Than you love me,” said Alexander-Jonita; “I know--drive on!” - -I did not notice her evil-conditioned jibe. - -“Why, Jonita, he has all his life been in love with the Lady Mary--the -Bull of Earlstoun’s daughter.” - -Alexander-Jonita nodded pensively. - -“Even so I thought,” she said, “but, as I guess, Mary Gordon has sent -him about his business, and so he has been taken with our poor Jean’s -puling pussydom. God forgive me that I should say so much of a dying -woman.” - -“A dying woman!” cried I, “there is nothing the matter with Jean.” - -Alexander-Jonita shook her head. - -“Jean is not long for this world,” she said, “I bid you remember. Saw -you ever the red leap through the white like yon, save when the life -burns fast to the ashes and the pulse beats ever more light and weak?” - -“And how long hath this thing been afoot?” - -“Since the day of your brother’s first preaching, when to save her shoon -Jean must needs go barefoot and wash her feet in the burn that slips -down by the kirkyard wall.” - -“That was the day Quintin first spoke with her, when she gave him her -nooning piece of bread to stay his hunger.” - -“Aye,” said Alexander-Jonita; “better had he gone hungry all -sermon-time than eaten of our Jean’s piece.” - -“For shame, Alexander-Jonita!” I cried, “and a double shame to speak -thus of a lassie that is, by your own tale, dying on her feet--and your -sister forbye. I believe that ye are but jealous!” - -She flamed up in sudden anger. If she had had a knife or a pistol in her -hand, I believe she would have killed me. - -“Get out of our ewe-buchts before I twist your impudent neck, Hob -MacClellan!” she cried. “I care not a docken for any man alive--least of -all for you and your brother. Yet I thought, from what I heard of his -doings at the Presbytery, that he was more of a man than any of you. But -now I see that he is feckless and feeble like the rest.” - -“Ah, Jonita, you snooded folk tame us all. From David the King to Hob -MacClellan there is no man so wise but a woman may tie him in knots -about her little finger.” - -“I thought better of your brother!” she said more mildly, her anger -dying away as suddenly as it had risen, and I think she sighed. - -“But not better of me!” I said. - -She looked at me with contempt, but yet a contempt mightily pleasant. - -“Good e’en to ye, Hob,” she cried. “I was not so far left to myself as -to think about you at all!” - -And with that she took her light plaid over her arm with a saucyish -swirl, and whistling on her dogs, she swung down the hill, carrying, if -you please, her shoulders squared and her head in the air like a young -conceited birkie going to see his sweetheart. - -And then, when the thing became public, what a din there was in the -parish of Balmaghie! Only those who know the position of a young -minister and the interest in his doings can imagine. It was somewhat -thus that the good wives wagged their tongues. - -“To marry Jean Gemmell! Aye, juist poor Jean, the shilpit, pewlin’ brat -that never did a hand’s turn in her life, indoor or oot! Fegs, a bonny -wife she will mak’ to him. Apothecaries’ drugs and red claret wine she -maun hae to leeve on. A bonnie penny it will cost him, gin ever she wins -to the threshold o’ his manse! - -“But she’s no there yet, kimmer! Na--certes no! I mind o’ her mither -weel. Jean was her name, too, juist sich anither ‘_cloyt_’--a feckless, -white-faced bury-me-decent, withoot as muckle spirit as wad gar her turn -a sow oot o’ the kail-yard. And a’ the kin o’ her were like her--no yin -to better anither. There was her uncle Jacob Ahanny a’ the Risk; he -keepit in wi’ the Government in the auld Persecution, and when Clavers -cam’ to the door and asked him what religion he was o’, he said that the -estate had changed hands lately, and that he hadna had time to speer at -the new laird. And at that Clavers laughed and laughed, and it wasna -often that Jockie Graham did the like. Fegs no, kimmers! But he clappit -Jacob on the shooder. ‘Puir craitur,’ quo’ he; ‘ye are no the stuff that -rebels are made o’. Na, there’s nocht o’ Richie Cameron aboot you.’” - -“Aye, faith, do ye tell me, and Jean is to mairry the minister, and him -sae bauld and croose before the Presbytery. What deil’s cantrip can hae -ta’en him?” - -“Hoot, Mary McKeand, I wonder to hear ye. Do ye no ken that the baulder -and greater a man the easier a woman can get round him?” - -“Aweel, even sae I hae heard. I wish oor Jock was a great man, then; I -could maybe, keep him awa’ frae the change-hoose in the clachan. But -the minister, he had far better hae ta’en yon wild sister----” - -“Her? I’se warrant she wadna look at him. She doesna even gang to -Balmaghie Kirk to hear him preach.” - -“Mary McKeand, hae ye come to your age withoot kennin, that the woman -that wad refuse the minister o’ a parish when he speers her, hasna been -born?” - -“Aweel, maybe no! But kimmer harken to me, there’s mony an egg laid in -the nest that never leeved to craw in the morn. Him and her are no -married yet. Hoot na, woman!” - - * * * * * - -And so without further eavesdropping I took my way out of the clachan of -Pluckamin, and left the good wives to arrange my brother’s future. I had -not yet spoken to him on the subject, but I resolved to do so that very -night. - -It was already well upon the grey selvage of the dark when I strode up -the manse-loaning, intent to have the matter out with my brother -forthwith. It was not often that I took it on me to question him; for -after all I was but a landward lout by comparison with him. I understood -little of the high aims and purposes that inspired him, being at best -but a plain country lad with my wits a little sharpened by the -_giff-gaff_ of the pedlar’s trade. But when it came to the push I think -that Quintin had some respect for my opinion--all the more that I so -seldom troubled him with it. - -I found my brother in the little gable-room where he studied, with the -window open that he might hear the sough of the soft-flowing river -beneath, and perhaps also that the drowsy hum of the bees and the -sweet-sour smell of the hives might drift in to him upon the balmy air -of night. - -The minister had a great black-lettered book propped up before him, -which from its upright thick and thin letters (like pea-sticks dibbled -in the ground) I knew to be Hebrew. But I do not think he read in it, -nor gathered much lear for his Sabbath’s sermon. - -He looked up as I came in. - -“Quintin,” said I, directly, lest by waiting I should lose courage, “are -you to marry Jean Gemmell?” - -He kept his eyes straight upon me, as indeed he did ever with whomsoever -he spake. - -“Aye, Hob,” he said, quietly; “have ye any word to say against that?” - -“I do not know that I have,” I answered, “but what will Mary Gordon -say?” - -I could see him wince like one that is touched on an unhealed wound. - -But he recovered himself at once, and said calmly, “She will say -nothing, feel nothing, care nothing.” - -“I am none so sure of that,” said I, looking as straightly at him as -ever he did at me. - -He started up, one hand on the table, his long hair thrown back with a -certain jerk he had when he was touched, which made him look like a -roused lion that stands at bay. “By what right do ye speak thus, Hob -MacClellan?” - -“By the right of that which I know,” said I; “but a man who will pull up -the seed which he has just planted, and cast it away because he finds -not ripened ears, deserves to starve all his life on sprouted and musty -corn.” - -“Riddle me no riddles,” said my brother, knocking on the table with his -palm till the great Hebrew book slid from its prop and fell heavily to -the floor; “this is too terrible a venture. Speak plainly and tell me -all you mean.” - -“Well,” said I, “the matter is not all mine to tell. But you are well -aware that Hob MacClellan can hold his peace, and is no gossip-monger. -I tell you that when you went from Earlstoun the last time the Lady Mary -went to the battlement tower to watch you go, and came down with her -kerchief wringing with her tears.” - -“It is a thing impossible, mad, incredible!” said he, putting his elbow -on the table and his hand to his eyes as if he had been looking into the -glare of an overpowering sun. Yet there was hardly enough light in the -little room for us to see one another by. After a long silence Quintin -turned to me and said, “Tell me how ye came to ken this.” - -“That,” said I, bluntly, “is not a matter that can concern you. But know -it I do, or I should not have troubled you with the matter.” - -At this he gave a wild kind of throat cry that I never heard before. It -was the driven, throttled cry of a man’s agony, once heard, never -forgotten. Would that Mary Gordon had hearkened to it! It is the one -thing no woman can stand. It either melts or terrifies her. But with -another man it is different. - -“Ah, you _have_ troubled me--you have troubled me sore!” he cried. And -with no more than that he left me abruptly and went out into the night. -I looked through the window and saw him marching up and down by the -kirk, on a strip of greensward for which he had ever a liking. It was -pitiful to watch him. He walked fast like one that would have run away -from melancholy thoughts, turning ever when he came opposite the low -tomb-stone of the two martyr Hallidays. He was bareheaded, and I feared -the chilling night dews. So I lifted down his minister’s hat from the -deer’s horn by the hallan door and took it out to him. - -At first he did not see me, being enwrapped in his own meditations, and -it was only when a couple of blackbirds flew scolding out of the lilac -bushes that he heard my foot and turned. - -“Man Hob,” he said, speaking just the plain country speech he used to do -at Ardarroch, before ever he went to the college of Edinburgh, “it’s an -awfu’ thing that a man should care mair for the guid word of a lass than -about the grace o’ God and the Covenanted Kirk of Scotland!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -AT BAY. - -(_The Narrative of Quintin MacClellan is resumed._) - - -Dark was the day, darker the night. The matters which had sundered me -from the Presbytery mended not--nor, indeed, was it possible to mend -them, seeing that they and I served different gods, followed other -purposes. - -It was bleak December when the brethren of the Presbytery arrived to -make an end of me and my work in the parish of Balmaghie. They came with -their minds made up. They alone were my accusers. They were also my sole -judges. As for me, I was as set and determined as they were. I refused -their jurisdiction. I utterly contemned their authority. To me they were -but mites in the cheese, pottle-bellied batteners on the heritage and -patrimony of the Kirk of Scotland. Siller and acres spelled all their -desires, chalders and tiends contained all the rounded tale of their -ambitions. - -But for all that, now that I am older, I can scarce blame them--at -least, not so sorely as once I did. - -For to them I was the youngest of them all, the least in years and -learning, the smallest in influence--save, perhaps, among the Remnant -who still thought about the things of the Kirk and her spiritual -independence. - -I was to the Presbytery of Kirkcudbright but the troubler of Israel, the -disturber of a quiet Zion. Save for poor Quintin MacClellan, the -watchman might have gone from tower to tower along ramparts covered and -defended, and his challenge of “What of the night?” have received its -fitting answer from this point and that about the city, “The morning -cometh! All is well!” - -Yet because of the Lad in the Brown Coat with his dead face sunk in the -Bennan flowe I could not consent to putting the Kirk of Scotland, once -free and independent, under the control, real or nominal, the authority, -overt or latent, of any monarch in Christendom. - -More than to my fathers, more than to my elders it seemed to me that the -old ways were the true ways, and that kings and governments had never -meddled with religion save to lay waste the vineyard and mar the bridal -portion of the Kirk of God. - -But all men know the cause of the struggle and what were the issues. I -will choose to tell rather the tale of a man’s shame and sorrow--his, -indeed, who had taken the Banner of the Covenant into unworthy hands, -yet time after time had let it fall in the dust. Nevertheless, at the -hinder end, I lived to see it set again in a strong base of unhewn -stone, fixed as the foundations of the earth. Nor shall the golden -scroll of it ever be defaced nor the covenant of the King of kings be -broken. - - * * * * * - -So on the day of trial, from all the parishes of the Presbytery east and -west, gathered the men who had constituted themselves my judges--nay, -the men who were already my condemnators. For Cameron had my sentence in -his pocket before ever one of the brethren set a foot over his doorstep, -or threw a leg across the back of his ambling sheltie. - -I had judged it best to be quiet and staid in demeanour, and had gone -about to quiet and persuade the folk of Balmaghie, who were eager to -hold back the hunters from their prey. - -The Presbytery had sent to bid me preach before them, even as the -soldiers of the guard had bidden Christ prophesy unto them, that they -might have occasion to smite Him the oftener on the mouth. So when I -came before them they posed me with interrogatories, threatened me with -penalties, and finally set me to conduct service before them, that they -might either condemn me if I refused, alleging contumacy; or, on the -other hand, if I did as they bade me, they would easily find occasion to -condemn the words of my mouth. - -Then I saw that though there was no way to escape their malice, yet -there was a way to serve the cause. - -So I went up into the pulpit after the folk had been assembled, and -addressed myself to them just as if it had been an ordinary Sabbath day -and the company met only for the worship of God. - -For I minded the word which my good Regent, Dr. Campbell, had spoken to -me in Edinburgh ere I was licensed to preach, or thought that one day I -myself should be the carcase about which the ravens should gather. - -“When ye preach,” said Professor Campbell, “be sure that ye heed not the -five wise men!” - -So I minded that word, and seeing the folk gathered together, I cast my -heavy burden from me, and called them earnestly to the worship of Him -who is above all courts and assemblies. - -Then in came Cameron, the leader of their faction, jowled with -determination and rosy-gilled with good cheer and the claret wine of St. -Mary’s Isle. With him was Boyd, also a renegade from the Society Hill -Folk. For with their scanty funds the men of the moss-hags had sent -these two as students to Holland to gather lear that they might -thereafter be their ministers. But now, when they had gotten them -comfortable down-sittings in plenteous parishes, they turned with the -bitter zest of the turncoat to the hunting of one who adhered to their -own ancient way. - -But though I could have reproached them with this and with much else, I -judged that because they were met in the Kirk of God no tumult should be -made, at least till they had shown the length and breadth and depth of -their malice. - -Then, when at the last I stood single and alone at their bar and was -ready to answer their questions, they could bring nothing against me, -save that I had refused their jurisdiction. Their suborned witnesses -failed them. For there was none in all the parish who wished me ill, and -certainly none that dared testify a word in the midst of the angry -people that day in the Kirk of Balmaghie. - -“Have ye naught to allege against my life and conduct?” I asked of them -at last. “Ye have set false witnesses to follow me from place to place -and wrest my words. Ye have spied here and there in the houses of my -people. Ye have tried to entrap my elders. Is there no least thing that -ye can allege? For three years I have come and gone in and out among -this folk of Balmaghie. I have companioned with you. I have sat in your -meetings. I have not been silent. Ye have watched me with the eyes of -the greedy gled. Ye have harkened and waited and sharpened claws for me -as a cat does at a mouse-hole----” - -“Will ye submit and sign the submission here and now?” interrupted -Cameron, who liked not the threatening murmur of approbation which began -to run like wild-fire among the folk. - -“There is One,” answered I, the words being as it had been given to me, -“whose praise is perfected out of the mouths of babes. It is true that -among you I am like a young child without power or wisdom. Ye are great -and learned, old in years and full of reverence. But this one thing a -young man can do. He can stand by the truth ye have deserted, and lift -again the banner staff ye have cast in the mire. As great Rutherford -hath said, ‘Christ may ride upon a windle straw and not stumble.’” - -Then I turned about to the people, when the Presbytery would have -restrained me from further speech. - -“Ye folk of this parish,” I said, “what think ye of this matter? Shall -your minister be thrust out from among you? Shall he bow the head and -bend the knee? Must he let principle and truth go by the board and -whistle down the wind? I think ye know him better. Aye, truly, this -parish and people would have a bonny bird of him, a brave minister, -indeed--if he submitted before being cleared of that whereof, all -unjustly, his enemies have accused him, setting him up in the presence -of his people like a felon in the dock of judgment!” - -Then indeed there was confusion among the black-coated ravens who had -come to gloat over the feast. I had insulted (so they cried) their -honourable and reverend court. I had refused a too lenient and -condescending accommodation. Thus they prated, as if long words would -balance the beam of an unjust cause. - -But at that moment there came a stir among the folk. I saw the elders of -the congregation appear at the door of the kirk. And as they marched up -the aisle, behind them thronged all the men of the parish, in still, -stern, and compact mass. - -Then a ruling elder read the protest of the common people. It was simple -and clear. The parish was wholly with me, and not with mine enemies. -Almost every man within the bounds had signed the paper whereon was -written the people’s protest. The Presbytery might depose the minister, -but the people would uphold him. Every man in Balmaghie knew well that -their pastor suffered because he had steadfastly preferred truth to -compromise, honour to pelf, conscience to stipend. That the Presbytery -themselves had sworn to uphold that which now they condemned. - -“Are ye who present this paper ordained elders of the Kirk?” asked -Cameron of the leaders, glowering angrily at them. - -“We are,” responded Nathan Gemmell, stoutly. - -“And ye dare to bring a railing accusation against the ministers of your -Presbytery?” - -“We are free men--ruling elders every one. You, on your part, are but -teaching elders, and, save for the usurpation of the State, ye are -noways in authority over us,” was the answer. - -“And who are they for whom ye profess to speak?” continued Cameron, -looking frowningly upon Drumglass and his fellows. - -“They are here to speak for themselves!” cried Nathan Gemmell, and as he -waved his hand, the kirk was filled from end to end with stalwart men, -who stood up rank behind rank, all very grave and quiet. - -I saw the ministers cower together. This was not at all what they had -bargained for. - -“We are plainly to be deforced and overawed,” said Cameron. “Let us -disperse to-day and meet to-morrow in the Kirk of Crossmichael over the -water.” - -And lo! it was done--even as their leader said. They summoned me to -stand at their bar on the morrow in the Kirk of Crossmichael, that I -might receive my doom. - -But quietly, as before, I told them that I refused their court, that I -would in no wise submit to their sentence, but would abide among my -people both to-morrow and all the to-morrows, to do the duty which had -been laid upon me, in spite of anathema, deposition, excommunication. -“For,” said I, “I have a warrant that is higher than yours. So far as I -may, in a man’s weakness and sin, I will be faithful to that mandate, to -my conscience, and to my God.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -MARY GORDON’S LAST WORD. - - -The next day was the 30th of December, a day of bitter frost, so that -the Dee froze over, and the way which had been broken for the boats to -ferry the Presbytery across from the dangerous bounds of Balmaghie was -again filled with floating ice. - -The Kirk of Crossmichael sits, like that of Balmaghie, on a little green -hill above Dee Water. One House of Prayer fronts the other, and the -white kirkyard stones greet each other across the river, telling the one -story of earth to earth. And every Sabbath day across the sluggish -stream two songs of praise go up to heaven in united aspiration towards -one Eternal father. - -But this 30th of December there was for Quintin MacClellan small -community of lofty fellowship across the water in Crossmichael. It was -to me of all days the day bitterest and blackest. I have indeed good -cause to remember it. - -Right well was I advised that, so far as the ministers of the Presbytery -were concerned, there was no hope of any outcome favourable to me. They -had only been scared from their prey for a moment by the stern -threatening of the folk of the parish. The People’s Paper in particular -had frightened them like a sentence of death. But now they were free to -make an end. - -My brother Hob was keen to head a band pledged to keep them out of -Crossmichael Kirk also. But I forbade him to cross the water. - -“Keep your own kirk and your own parish bounds if ye like, but meddle -not with those of your neighbours!” I told him. “Besides ye would only -drive them to another place, where yet more bitterly they would finish -their appointed work!” - -But though the former stress of trial was over, this day of quiet was -far harder to bear than the day before. For, then, with the excitation -of battle, the plaudits of the people, the quick necessities of verbal -defence against many adversaries, my spirits were kept up. But now there -was none in the manse beside myself, and I took to wandering up and -down the little sequestered kirk-loaning, thinking how that by this time -the Presbytery was met to speed my doom, and that the pleasant place -which knew me now would soon know me no more for ever. - -As I lingered at the road-end, thinking how much I would have given for -a heartening word, and vaguely resolving to betake me over to the house -of Drumglass, where at the least I was sure of companionship and -consolation, I chanced to cast my eyes to the southward, and there along -the light grey riverside track I beheld a lady riding. - -As she came nearer, I saw that it was none other than Mistress Mary -Gordon. I thought I had never seen her look winsomer--a rounded lissom -form, a perfect seat, a dainty and well-ordered carriage. - -I stood still where I was and waited for her to pass me. I had my hat in -my hand, and in my heart I counted on nothing but that she should ride -by me as though she saw me not. - -But on the contrary, she reined her horse and sat waiting for me to -speak to her. - -So I went to her bridle-rein and looked up at the face, and lo! it was -kindlier than ever I had seen it before, with a sort of loving pity on -it which I found it very hard to bear. - -“Will you let me walk by your side a little way?” I asked of her. For as -we had parted without a farewell, so on this bitterest day we met again -without greeting. - -“My Lady Mary,” I said at last, “I have gone through much since I went -out from your house at Earlstoun. I have yet much to win through. We -parted in anger but let us meet in peace. I am a man outcast and -friendless, save for these foolish few in this parish who to their cost -have made my quarrel theirs.” - -At this she looked right kindly down upon me and paused a little before -she answered. - -“Quintin,” she said, “there is no anger in my heart anywhere. There is -only a great wae. I have come from the place of Balmaghie where my -cousin Kate of Lochinvar waits her good father’s passing.” - -“And ride you home to the Earlstoun alone?” I asked. - -“Aye,” she said, a little wistfully. And the saying cheered me. For this -river way was not the girl’s straight road homeward, and it came to me -that mayhap Mary Gordon had wished to meet and comfort me in my sorrow. - -“My father is abroad, we know not well where,” she said, “or doubtless -he would gladly support you in the way that you have chosen. Perhaps -your way is not my way, but it must be a good way of its kind, the way -of a man’s conscience.” - -She reached down a hand to me, which I took and pressed gratefully -enough. - -It was then that we came in sight of the white house of Drumglass -sitting above the water-meadows. At the first glimpse of it the Lady -Mary drew away her hand from mine. - -“Is it true,” she said, looking at the blue ridges of Cairnsmore in the -distance, “that which I have been told, that you are to wed a daughter -of that house?” - -I inclined my head without speech. I knew that the bitterest part of my -punishment was now come upon me. - -“And did you come straight from the Earlstoun to offer her also your -position, your well-roofed manse, your income good as that of any -laird?” - -We had stopped in a sheltered place by the river where the hazel bushes -are many and the gorse grows long and rank, mingling with the bloom and -the fringing bog-myrtle. - -“My Lady Mary,” said I, after a pause, “I offered her not anything. I -had nothing to offer. But in time of need she let me see the warmth of -her heart and--I had none other comfort!” - -“Then upon this day of days why are you not by her side, that her love -may ease the smart of your bitter outcasting?” - -“In yonder kirk mine enemies work my doom,” said I, pointing over the -water, “and ere another sun rise I shall be no more minister of -Balmaghie, but a homeless man, without either a rooftree or a reeking -ingle. I have nothing to offer any woman. Why should I claim this day -any woman’s love?” - -“Ah,” she said, giving me the strangest look, “it is her hour. For if -she loves you, she would fly to-day to share your dry crust, your -sapless bite. See,” she cried, stretching out her hand with a large -action, “if Mary Gordon loved a man, she would follow him in her sark to -the world’s end. If so be his eyes had looked the deathless love into -hers, his tongue told of love, love, only of love. Ah, that alone is -worth calling love which feeds full on the scorns of life and grows -lusty on black misfortune!” - -“Lady Mary----” I began. - -But she interrupted me, dashing her hand furtively to her face. - -She pointed up towards the house of Drumglass. - -“Yonder lies your way, Quintin MacClellan! Go to the woman you love--who -loves you.” - -She lifted the reins from the horse’s neck and would have started -forward, but again I had gotten her hand. Yet I only bent and kissed it -without word, reverently and sadly as one kisses the brow of the dead. - -She moved away without anger and with her eyes downcast. But on the -summit of a little hill she half turned about in her saddle and spoke a -strange word. - -“Quintin,” she said, “wherefore could ye not have waited? Wherefore -kenned ye no better than to take a woman at her first word?” - -And with that she set the spurs to her beast and went up the road toward -the ford at the gallop, till almost I feared to watch her. - -For a long time I stood sadly enough looking after her. And I grant that -my heart was like lead within me. My spirit had no power in it. I cried -out to God to let me die. For it was scarce a fair thing that she should -have spoken that word now when it was too late. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -BEHIND THE BROOM. - - -But this 30th of December had yet more in store for me. The minting die -was yet to be dinted deeper into my heart. - -For, as I turned me about to go back the way I came, there by the copse -side, where the broom grew highest, stood Jean Gemmell, with a face -suddenly drawn thin, grey-white and wan like the melting snow. - -“Jean!” I cried, “what do ye there?” - -She tried to smile, but her eyes had a fixed and glassy look, and she -seemed to be mastering herself so that she might speak. - -I think that she had a speech prepared in her heart, for several times -she strove to begin, and the words were always the same. But at last all -that she could say was no more than this, “You love her?” - -And with a little hand she pointed to where the Lady Mary had -disappeared. I could see it shaking like a willow leaf as she held it -out. - -“Jean,” said I, kindly as I could, “what brought you so far from home on -such a bitter day? It is not fit. You will get your death of cold.” - -“I have gotten my death,” she said, with a little gasping laugh, “I have -gotten my sentence. Do not I take it well?” - -And she tried to smile again. - -Then I went quickly to her, and caught her by the hand, and put my arm -about her. For I feared that she would fall prostrate where she stood. -Notwithstanding, she kept on smiling through unshed tears, and never for -a moment took her eyes off my face. - -“I heard what you and she said. Yes, I listened. A great lady would not -have listened. But I am no better than a little cot-house lass, and I -spied upon you. Yes, I hid among the broom. You will never forgive me.” - -I tried to hush her with kind words, but somehow they seemed to pass her -by. I think she did not even hear them. - -“You love her,” she said; “yes, I know it. Jonita told me that from the -first--that I could never be your wife, though I had led you on. Yes, I -own it. I tried to win you. A great lady would not. But I did. I threw -myself in your way. Shamelessly I cast myself--Jonita says it--into your -arms!---- - -“Ah, God!” she broke off with a little frantic cry, sinking her head -between her palms quickly, and then flinging her arms down. “And would I -not have cast myself under your feet as readily, that you might trample -me? I know I am not long for this world. I ken that I have bartered away -eternity for naught. I have lied to God. And why not? You that are a -minister, tell me why not? Would not I gladly barter all heaven for one -hour of your love on earth? You may despise me, but I loved you. Yes, -she is great, fair, full of length of days and pride of life--the Lord -of Earlstoun’s daughter. Yet--and yet--and yet, she could not love you -better than I. In that I defy her! - -“And she shall have you--yes, I will give you up to her. For that is the -one way an ignorant lass can love. They tell me that by to-morrow you -will be no longer minister. You will be put out of the manse like a bird -out of a harried nest. And at first I was glad when I heard it. For -(thought I) he will come and tell me. We will be poor together. She -said the truth, for indeed she knoweth somewhat, this Lady Mary--‘Love -is not possessions!’ No, but it is possessing. And I had but one--but -one! And that she has taken away from me.” - -She lifted her kerchief to her lips, for all suddenly a fit of coughing -had taken her. - -In a moment she drew it away, glanced at it quickly, and lo! it was -stained with a clear and brilliant red. - -Then she laughed abruptly, a strange, hollow-sounding little laugh. - -“I am glad--glad,” she said. “Ah! this is my warrant for departure. Well -do I ken the sign, for I mind when my brother Andrew saw it first. -Quintin, dear lad, you will get her yet, and with honour.” - -“Come, Jean,” said I, gently as I could, “the air is shrewd. You are ill -and weak. Lean on my arm, and I will take you home.” - -She looked up at me with dry, brilliant eyes. There was nothing strange -about them save that the lids seemed swollen and unnaturally white. - -“Quintin,” she made answer, smiling, “it was foolish from the first, was -it not, lad o’ my love? Did you ever say a sweet thing to me, like one -that comes courting a lass in the gloaming? _Say it now to me, will you -not?_ I would like to hear how it would have sounded.” - -I was silent. I seemed to have no words to answer her with. - -She laughed a little. - -“I forgot. Pardon me, Quintin. You are in trouble to-day--deep trouble. -I should not add to it. It is I who should say loving things to you. But -then--then--you would care more for flouts and anger from her than for -all the naked sweetness of poor Jean Gemmell’s heart.” - -And the very pitifulness of her voice drew a cry of anger out of my -breast. At the first sound of it she stopped and leaned back in my arms -to look into my face. Then she put up her hand very gently and patted me -tenderly on the cheek like one that comforts a fretful fractious child. - -“I vex you,” she said, “you that have overmuch to vex you. But I shall -not vex you long. See,” she said, “there is the door. Yonder is my -father standing by it. He is looking at us under his hand. There is -Jonita, too, and your brother Hob. Shall we go and tell them that this -is all a mistake, that there is to be no more between us?--that we are -free--free, both of us--you to wed the Lady Mary, I to keep my tryst--to -keep my tryst--with Death!” - -At the last words her voice sank to a whisper. - -Something broke in her throat and seemed to choke her. She fell back in -my arms with her kerchief again to her mouth. - -They saw us from the door, and Alexander-Jonita came flying towards us -like the wind over the short grass of the meadow. - -Jean took her kerchief away, without looking at it this time. She lifted -her eyes to mine and smiled very sweetly. - -“I am glad--glad,” she whispered; “do not be sorry, Quintin. But do just -this one thing for me, will you, lad--but only this one thing. Do not -tell them. Let us pretend. Would it be wrong, think you, to pretend a -little that you love me? You are a minister, and should know. But, if -you could--why, it would be so sweet. And then it would not be for long, -Quintin.” - -She spoke coaxingly, and withal most tenderly. - -“Jean, I do love you!” I cried. - -And for the first time in my life I meant it. She seemed to be like my -sister Anna to me. - -By this time, seeing Jonita coming, she had recovered herself somewhat -and taken my arm. At my words she pressed it a little, and smiled. - -“Oh,” she said, “you need not begin yet. Only before them. I want them -to think that you love me a little, you see. Is it not small and foolish -of me?” - -“But I do--I do truly love you, Jean,” I cried. “Did you ever know me to -tell a lie?” - -She smiled again and nodded, like one who smiles at a child who has well -learned his lesson. - -Alexander-Jonita came rushing up. - -“Jean, Jean, where have you been? What is the matter?” - -“I have been meeting Quintin,” she said, with a bright and heavenly -look; “he has been telling me how he loves me.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -JEAN GEMMELL’S BARGAIN WITH GOD. - - -Yet more grimly bitter than the day of December the thirtieth fell the -night. I wandered by the bank of the river, where the sedges rustled -lonely and dry by the marge, whispering and chuckling to each other that -a forlorn, broken man was passing by. A “smurr” of rain had begun to -fall at the hour of dusk, and the slight ice of the morning had long -since broken up. The water lisped and sobbed as the wind of winter -lapped at the ripples, and the peat-brew of the hills took its sluggish -way to the sea. - -Over against me, set on its hill, I saw the lighted windows of the kirk -of Crossmichael. Well I knew what that meant. Mine enemies were sitting -there in conclave. They would not rise till I was no more minister of -the Kirk of Scotland. They would thrust me out, and whither should I go? -To what folk could I minister--an it were not, like Alexander-Jonita, -to the wild beasts of the hills? A day before I should have been elated -at the thought. But now, for the first time, I saw myself unworthy. - -Who was I, that thought so highly of myself, that I should appoint me -Standard Bearer of the noble banner of the Covenants. A man weak as -other men! Nay, infinitely weaker and worse. The meanest hind who worked -in the fields to bring home four silver shillings a week to his wife and -bairns was better than I. - -A Standard Bearer! I laughed now at the thought, and the rushes by the -water’s edges chuckled and sneered in answering derision. - -A Standard Bearer, God wot! Renegade and traitor, rather; a man who -could not keep his plain vows, whose erring and wandering heart went -after vanities; one that had broken a maiden’s heart--unwitting and -unintending, did he pretend? Faugh! that was what every Lovelace alleged -as his excuse. - -I had thought myself worthy to do battle for the purity of the Kirk of -my fathers. I had pretended that her independence, her position and her -power were dearer than life to me. I saw it all now. It was mine own -place and position I had been warring for. - -Also had I not set myself above my brethren? Had I not said, “Get far -from me, for am I not holier than thou?” - -And God, who does not pay His wages on Saturday night, had waited. So -now He came to me and said, “Who art thou, Quintin MacClellan, that thou -shouldst dare to touch the ark of God?” - -And as I looked across the dark waters I saw the light burn clearer and -clearer in the kirk of Crossmichael. They were lighting more candles -that they might see the better to make an end. - -“God speed them,” cried I, in the darkness; “they are doing God’s work. -For they could do nothing except it were permitted of Him. Shall I step -into the boat that rocks and clatters with the little wavelets leaping -against its side? Shall I call John the ferryman and go over and make my -submission before them all?” - -I could tell them what an unworthy, forsworn, ill-hearted man I am. - -Thus I stood by the riverside. Almost I had lifted up my voice to cry -aloud that I would make this acknowledgment and reparation, when through -the darkness I saw a shape approach. - -A voice said in my ear, “Come--Jean Gemmell is taken suddenly ill. She -would see you at once.” - -Then I was aware that this 30th of December was to be my great day of -judgment and wrath, when the six vials were to be loosed upon me. I knew -that the Lord whose name I had taken in vain was that day to smite me -with a great smiting, because, being unworthy, I had put out my hand to -stay the ark of the covenant of God. - -“Hob,” said I, for it was my brother who had come to summon me, “is she -yet alive?” - -“Alive!” said he, abruptly. “Why, bless the man, she wants you to marry -her.” - -“Marry----” said I, “I am a minister of the kirk. I have ever spoken -against irregular marriages. How can I marry without another minister?” - -Hob laughed a short laugh. He never thought much of my love-making. - -“Better marry than burn!” quoth he, abruptly. “Mr. Hepburn, of Buittle -Kirk, is here. He came over to hearten you in the day of your -adversity.” - -Then I recognised the hand of God in the thing and bowed my head. - -So in an aching expectant silence, hearing only a poor divided heart -pulse within me, I followed Hob over the moor, and up by the sides of -the frozen mosses to the house of Drumglass. He knew the way blindfold, -which shows what a wonderful gift he had among the hills. For I myself -had gone that way ten times for his once. Yet that night, save for my -brother, I had stumbled to my hurt among the crags. - -Presently we came to the entering in of the farmyard. Lights were -gleaming here and there, and I saw some of the servant men clustered at -the stable door. - -There was a hush of expectation about the place, as if they were waiting -for some notable thing which was about to happen. - -Nathan Gemmell met me in the outer hall, and shook me by the hand -silently, like a chief mourner at a funeral. Then he led the way into -the inner room. Hepburn came forward also, and took my hand. He was a -man of dark and determined countenance, yet with singularly lovable eyes -which now and then unexpectedly beaconed kindliness. - -Jean sat on a great chair, and beside her stood Alexander-Jonita. - -When I came in Jean rose firmly to her feet. She looked about her with a -proud look like one that would say, “See, all ye people, this is he!” - -“Quintin!” she said, and laying her thin fingers on my shoulders, she -looked deep into my eyes. - -Never did I meet such a look. It seemed to be compound of life and -death, of the love earthly and the love eternal. - -“Good friends,” she said, calmly turning to them as though she had been -the minister and accustomed to speak in the hearing of men, “I have -summoned my love hastily. I have somewhat to say to him. Will you leave -us alone for ten minutes? I have a word to say in his ear alone. It is -not strange, is it, at such a time?” - -And she smiled brightly upon them, while I stood dumb and astonished. -For I knew not whence the lass, ordinarily so still and fond, had gotten -her language. She spoke as one who has long made up his mind, and to -whom fit and prepared words come without effort. - -When they were gone she sat down on the chair again, and, taking my -hand, motioned me to kneel down beside her. - -Then she laid her hand to my hair and touched it lightly. - -“Quintin,” she said, “you and I have not long to sit sweethearting -together. I must say quickly that which I have to say. I am, you will -peradventure think, a bold, immodest lass. You remember it was I who -courted you, compelled you, followed you, spied on you. _But then, you -see, I loved you._ Now I want to ask you to marry me!” - -“Nay,” she said, interrupting my words more with her hand than her -voice, “misjudge me not. I am to die--to die soon. It has been revealed -to me that I have bartered the life eternal for this. And, since so it -is, I desire to drink the sweetness of it to the cup’s bottom. I have -made a bargain with God. I have prayed, and I have promised that if He -will put it in your heart to wed with me for an hour, I will take with -gratitude and thankfulness all that lies waiting over there, beyond the -Black River.” - -She waved her hand down toward the Dee water. - -I smiled and nodded hopefully and comfortingly to her. At that moment I -felt that nothing was too great for me to do. And it mattered little -when I married her. I had ever meant to be true to her--save in that -which I could not help, the love of my heart of hearts, which, having -been another’s from the beginning was not mine to give. - -Jean Gemmell smiled. - -“I thank you, Quintin,” she said, “this is like you, and better than I -deserve. Had it been a matter of days or weeks I would never have -troubled you. But ’tis only the matter of an hour or two!” - -She paused a little, stroking my head fondly. - -“And afterwards you will say, remembering me, ‘Poor young thing, she -loved me, loved me truly!’ Ah, Quintin, I think I should have made you a -good wife. Love helps all things, they say. Put your hand below my head, -Quintin. Tell me again that you love me. Sweetheart” (now she was -whispering), “do you know I have to tell you all that you should say to -me? Is that fair--that I should make love to you and to myself too?” - -I groaned aloud. - -“God help us, Jean,” I said, “we shall yet be happy together.” And at -the moment I meant it. I felt that a lifetime of sacrifice would not -make up for such love. - -She patted me on the head pacifyingly as if I had been a fractious bairn -that needed humouring. - -“Yes, yes, then,” she said, soothingly, “we shall be happy, you and I. -What was it you said the other Sabbath day? I knew not what it meant -then. But methinks I begin to understand now--‘passing the love of -woman!’” - -The cough shook her, but she strove to hide it, going on quickly with -her words like one who has no time to lose. - -“That is the way I love you, Quintin, ‘passing the love of women,’ Why, -I do not even grudge you to her.” - -She smiled again, and said cheerfully, “Now we will call them in.” - -I was going to the door to do it according to her word, for that night -we all obeyed her as though she had been the Queen. I was almost at the -door when she rose all trembling to her feet and held out her arms -entreatingly. - -“Quintin, Quintin, kiss me once,” she said, “once before they come.” - -I ran to her and kissed her on the brow. “Oh, not there! On the mouth. -It is my right. I have paid for it!” she cried. And so I did. - -Then she drew down my head and set her lips to my ear. “I lied to you, -laddie--yes, I lied. I _do_ grudge you to her. Oh, I _do_, I _do_!” - -And for the first time one mighty sob caught her by the throat and rent -her. - -Nevertheless she straightened herself with her hand to her breast, like -a wounded soldier who salutes his general ere he dies, and commanded her -emotion. “Yes,” she said, looking upwards and speaking as if to one -unseen, “I will play the game fairly; I have promised and I will not -repine, nor go back on my word!” - -She turned to me, “It is not a time for bairn’s greeting. We are to be -married, you and I, are we not? Call them in.” - -And she laughed a little bashfully and fitly as the folk came in and -smiled to one and the other as they entered. - -Then to me she beckoned. - -“Come and hold my hand all the time. Clasp my fingers firmly. Do not let -them go lest I slip away too soon, Quintin. I need your hand in -mine--for to-night, Quintin, just only for this one night!” - -Even thus Jean Gemmell and I were married. - - * * * * * - -And after all was done I laid her on her bed, and she rested there till -near the dawning with my hand firmly held in hers. Mostly her eyes were -shut, but every now and then she would smile up at me like one that -encourages another in a weary wait. - -Once she said, “Isn’t it sweet?” - -And then again, and near to the gloaming of the morn, she whispered, “It -will not be long now, laddie mine?” - -Nor was it, for within an hour the soul of Jean Gemmell went out in one -long loving look, and with the faintest murmur of her lips which only my -ear could catch--“Passing the love of women,” she said, and -again--“passing the love of women!” - -And it was my hand alone that spread the fair white cloth over her dead -face which still had the smile upon it, and over the pale lips that she -had asked me to kiss. - -Then, as I stumbled blindly down the hill, I looked beyond the dark and -sluggish river rolling beneath over to the Kirk of Crossmichael. And -even as I stood looking, the lights in the windows went out. It was -done. I was a man in one day widowed, forsaken, outcast. - -But more than kirk or ministry or even Christ’s own covenant, I thought -upon Jean Gemmell. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -RUMOUR OF WAR. - -(_Connect and Addition by Hob MacClellan._) - - -The crown had indeed been set upon the work. The business, as said the -Right Reverend Presbytery, was finished, and with well-satisfied hearts -the brethren went back to their manses. - -It was long ere in his private capacity my brother could lift up his -head or speak to us that were about him. The dark day and darker night -of the 30th of December had sorely changed him. He was like one standing -alone, the world ranged against him. Then I that was his brother -according to the flesh watched him carefully. Never did he pace by the -rivers of waters nor yet climb the heathery steeps of the Dornal without -a companion. There were times when almost we feared for his reason. But -Quintin MacClellan, the deposed minister of Balmaghie, was not the -stuff of which self-slayers are made. - -When it chanced that I could not accompany him, I had nothing to do but -arrange with Alexander-Jonita, and she would take the hill or the -water-edge, silent as a shadow, tireless as a young deer. And with her -to guard I knew that my brother was safe. - -Never did he know that any watched him, for during these days he was a -man walking with shadows. I think he never ceased blaming himself for -poor Jean’s death. At any rate Quintin MacClellan was a changed man for -long after that night. - -My mother came down from Ardarroch to bide a while with him, and at orra -times he aroused himself somewhat to talk with her. But when she began -to speak of the ill-set Presbytery, or even of the more familiar things -at home--the nowt, the horse, and the kindly kye--I, who watched every -shade on Quintin’s face as keenly as if he had been my sweetheart, knew -well that his mind was wandering. And sometimes I thought it was set on -the dead lass, and sometimes I thought that he mourned for the public -misfortune which had befallen him. - -To the outer world, the world of the parish and the countryside, he -kept ever a brave face. He preached with yet more mighty power and -acceptance. The little kirk was crowded Sabbath after Sabbath. Those who -had once spoken against him did it no more openly in the parish of -Balmaghie. - -With calm front and assured carriage he went about his duties, as though -there were no Presbyteries nor forces military to carry out his sentence -of removal and deposition. - -Only the chief landowners wished him away. For mostly they were men of -evil life, rough-spoken and darkly tarred with scandal. My brother had -been over-faithful with them in reproof. For it was of Quintin that an -old wife had said, “God gie thee the fear o’ Himsel’, laddie! For faith, -ye haena the fear o’ man aboot ye!” - -But there were others who could take steps as well as Presbyteries and -officers of the law. - -Alexander-Jonita rode like a storm-cloud up and down the glen and listed -the lads to do her will, as indeed they were ever all too ready to do. -Her father, with several of the elders, men grave and reverend, met to -concert measures for defending the bounds, lest the enemy should try to -oust their minister out of his “warm nest,” as they called the manse -which cowered down under lee of the kirk. - -So it came about that there was scarce a man in Balmaghie who was not -enrolled to protect the passage perilous of kirk and manse. The parish -became almost like a defended city or an entrenched camp. There were -watchers upon the hilltops everywhere. Week-day and Sabbath-day they -abode there. All the fords were guarded, the river-fronts patrolled, for -save on the wild and mountainous side our parish is surrounded by waters -deep and broad or else rapid and dangerous. - -Did a couple of ministers approach from Crossmichael to “preach the kirk -vacant” their boat was pushed back again into the stream, and a hundred -men stood in line to prevent a landing. Yet all was carried out with -decency and order, as men do who have taken a great matter in hand and -are prepared to stand within their danger. - -The elders also held mysterious colloquies with men from a distance, who -went and came to their houses under cloud of night. There was discipline -and drill by Gideon Henderson and other former officers of the Scotch -Dutch regiments. I remember a muster on the meadows of the Duchrae at -which a stern-faced man, with his face half muffled, came and put us -through our duty. I knew by the tones of his voice that this was none -other than the Colonel Sir William Gordon who had marched with us to -Edinburgh in the great convention year. - -But the climax was yet to come. - -It was in July that the Sheriff had first tried in vain to land at the -Kirk-Knowe in order to expel my brother from his manse. But a hundred -men had started up out of the bushes, and with levelled pistols turned -the boat back again to the further shore. - -Next there was a gathering of the Presbytery at Cullenoch, under the -wing of the Laird of Balmaghie, to concert measures with the other -landowners, who in time past had often smarted under Quintin’s rebuke. -It was to be held at the inn, and the debate was to settle many things. - -But alas! when the day came every room in the hostel was filled with -armed men, so that there was no place for the reverend fathers and their -terrified hosts. - -So without in the wide spaces where four roads meet, the Presbyters one -by one addressed the people, if addresses they could be called, which -were interrupted at every other sentence. - -It was Warner, the father of the Presbytery, who was speaking when I -arrived. He was one of those who had sat safe and snug under the King’s -indulgences and agreements in the days of persecution. - -“People of Balmaghie,” he cried, “hearken to me. Ye are supporting a man -that is no minister, a man outed and deposed. Your children will be -unbaptized, your marriages unblessed, yourselves excommunicated, because -of this man!” - -“Maister Warner,” cried a voice from the crowd, which I knew for that of -Drumglass, “I am auld eneuch to mind how ye were a member in the -Presbytery at Sunday-wall that sat on Richard Cameron in order to depose -him. Now ye wad spend your persecuting breath on our young minister. -Gang hame, man, and think on your latter end!” - -But, indeed, as half-a-dozen bare swords were within a yard of his nose, -Mr. Warner might quite as well have thought on his latter end where he -was. - -Then it was Cameron’s turn. But him the people would not listen to on -any protest, because he had been accounted chief agent and mover in the -process of law against their minister. - -“Better ye had died at Ayrsmoss wi’ you twa brithers,” they cried to -him; “man, ye’ll never win nearer to them than Kirkcudbright town. And -Guid kens that’s an awesome lang road frae heeven!” - -To Telfair the Ghost-seer of Rerrick, they cried, when he strove to say -a word, “What for did ye no bring the deil wi’ ye in a bag? Man, ye are -ower great wi’ him. But there’s neither witch nor warlock can look at -MacClellan’s cup nor come near our minister. It’s easy seen Quintin -MacClellan wasna in the Presbytery when the deil played sic pliskies -doon aboot the Rerrick shores.” - -Then came Boyd, who in his day had proclaimed King William at Glasgow -Cross. But he found that an easier task than to shout down the cause of -righteousness at the Four Roads of Pluckemin. - -“You pay overmuch attention to the words of a man without honour!” This -was his beginning, heard over all the crowd to the very midst of the -street, for he had a great voice, which in a better cause would have -been listened to like the voice of an apostle. - -“Have ye paid back the siller the poor hill-folk spent on your -colleging?” they asked him. “Our minister paid for his ain schooling.” - -The question was a feathered arrow in the white, but Boyd avoided it. - -“Your minister is a man that should be ashamed to enter a kirk and -preach the Gospel. Who would associate with the like of Quintin -MacClellan?” - -“Of a certainty not traitors and turncoats!” cried a deep voice in the -background, toward which all turned in amazement. - -It was that of Sir Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun, the reputed head of -the Societies, whose boast it had been that he could call seven thousand -men to arms in the day of trouble. - -I saw Boyd pale to the lips at sight of him. - -“I do not argue with sectaries!” he stammered, turning on his heel. - -“Nor I with knavish deceivers,” cried Alexander Gordon, “of whom there -are two here--Andrew Cameron and William Boyd. With this right hand I -paid them the golden money for their education, wrung from the instant -needs of poor hill folk who had lost their all, and who depended -oftentime on charity for their bite of bread. From men attainted, from -men earning in foreign lands the bitter bread of exile, from men and -women imprisoned, shilling by shilling, penny by penny, that money came. -It was ill-spent on men like these. William Boyd and Andrew Cameron -swore solemn oaths. They took upon them the unbreakable and immutable -Covenants. In time they became ministers, and we looked for words of -light and wisdom and guidance from them. But we of the Faithful Remnant -looked in vain. For lo! Cæsar sat upon his throne, and right gladly they -bowed the knee. They licked the gold from his garments like honey. They -mumbled his shoe-string that he might graciously permit them to sit at -ease in his high places. - -“Bah!” he cried, so that his voice was heard miles off on the hill-tops, -“out upon all such cowards and traitors! And now, folk of this parish, -will ye let such scurril loons persuade you to give up your true and -faithful minister, on whose tongue is the word of truth, and in whose -heart is no fear of the face of any man?” - -The frightened Presbyters melted before him, some of them swarming off -with the men of evil life--the lairds and heritors of the parish. -Others mounted their horses and rode homeward as if the devil of Rerrick -himself had been after them. - -Thus was ended the Disputation of Cullenoch near to Clachanpluck, in the -shaming of those that withstood us. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -ALEXANDER-JONITA’S VICTORY. - - -But as for my brother, concerning whom was all this pother, he took no -hand at all in the matter. If the people wished him to abide with them, -they must maintain him there. Contrariwise, if the Master he served had -other fields of labour, he would break down dykes and make plain his -path before him. - -But as it was, he went about as usual with his pilgrim staff in his hand -visiting the sick, succouring the poor, lifting up the head of weakness -and pain. - -On the day when the Sheriff came with his men to the water-edge, Quintin -saw from the manse window a little cloud of men running hither and -thither upon the river-bank. - -“There is surely some great ploy of fishing afoot!” he said, quietly, -and so let his eyes fall again contentedly upon his book. - -“Faith, ’tis easy to hoodwink a learned man,” cried Alexander-Jonita -when I told her. - -It was at this time that I grew to love the lass yet more and more. For -she flashed hither and thither, and whereas she had been no great one -for housework hitherto, now since her sister’s death she would be much -more indoors. Also, with the old man her father, she was exceedingly -patient in his oftentime garrulity. But specially in the defence of the -parish on Quintin’s behalf against the civil arm, she was indefatigable. - -Often she would go dressed as a heartsome young callant, with clothes -that her own needle had made, her own deft fingers fashioned. And in -cavalier attire, I tell you, Alexander-Jonita took the eyes of lass and -lady. Once, when we rode by Dee-bridge, a haughty dame sent back her -servant to ask of me, whom she took to be a man-in-waiting, the name of -the handsome young gentleman I served. - -I replied with dignity, “’Tis the young Lord Alexander Johnstone,” which -was as near the truth as I could come at a quick venture. - -In that crowning ploy of which I have still to tell, it was -Alexander-Jonita who played the leading part. - -The Sheriff, being admonished for his slackness by his legal superiors, -and complained of by the reverend court of the Presbytery, resolved to -make a bold push for it, and at one blow to take final possession of -kirk and manse. - -So he summoned the yeomanry of the province to meet him under arms at -the village of Causewayend, which stands near the famous and beautiful -loch of Carlinwark, on a certain day, under penalties of fine and -imprisonment. And about a hundred men on horseback, all well armed and -mounted, drew together on the day appointed. A fine breezy day in -August, it was--when many of them doubtless came with small good-will -from their corn-fields, where a winnowing wind searched the stooks till -the ripe grain rustled with the parched well-won sound that is music to -the farmer’s ear. - -But if the news of gathering of the yeomanry had been spread by summons, -far more wide and impressive had been the counter call sent throughout -the parish of Balmaghie. - -For farmer and cotter alike knew that matters had come to the perilous -pinch with us, and if it should be that the civil powers were not turned -aside now, all the past watching and sacrifice would prove in vain. - -It was about noon when the sentinels reported that the Sheriff and his -hundred horsemen had crossed Dee water, and were advancing by rapid -stages. - -Now it was Jonita’s plan to draw together the women also--for what -purpose we did not see. But since she had summoned them herself it was -not for any of us young men to say her nay. - -So by the green roadside, a mile from the manse and kirk, Jonita had her -hundred and fifty or more women assembled, old and young, mothers of -families and wrinkled grandmothers thereof, young maidens with the -blushes on their cheeks and the snood yet unloosed about their hair. - -Faith, spite of the grandmothers, many a lad of us would have desired to -be of that company that day! But Alexander-Jonita would have none of us. -We were to keep the castle, so she commanded, with gun and sword. We -were to sit in our trenches about the kirk, and let the women be our -advance guard. - -So when the trampling of horses was heard from the southward, and the -cavalcade came to the narrows of the way, “Halt!” cried Alexander-Jonita -suddenly. And leaping out of the thicket like a young roe of the -mountains, she seized the Sheriff’s bridle rein. At the same moment her -hundred and fifty women trooped out and stood ranked and silent right -across the path of the horsemen. - -“What do ye here? Let go, besom!” cried the Sheriff. - -“Go back to those that sent ye, Sheriff,” commanded Alexander-Jonita, -“for an’ ye will put out our minister, ye must ride over us and wet the -feet of your horses in our women’s blood.” - -“Out upon you, lass! Let men do their work!” cried the Sheriff, who was -a jolly, rollicking man, and, moreover, as all knew, like most sheriffs, -not unkindly disposed to the sex. - -“Leave you our minister alone to do his work. I warrant he will not -meddle with you,” answered Alexander-Jonita. - -“Faith, but you are a well-plucked one!” cried the Sheriff, looking down -with admiration on her, “but now out of the way with you, for I must -forward with my work.” - -“Sir,” said the lass, “ye may turn where ye are, and ride back whence ye -came, for we will by no means let you proceed one step nearer to the -kirk of Balmaghie this day!” - -“Forward!” cried the Sheriff, loudly, to his men, thinking to intimidate -the women. - -“Stand firm, lasses!” cried Alexander-Jonita, clinging to the Sheriff’s -bridle-rein. - -And the company of yeomanry stood still, for, being mostly householders -and fathers of families, they could not bring themselves to charge a -company of women, as it might be their own wives and daughters. - -“Forward!” cried the Sheriff again. - -“Aye, forward, gallant cavaliers!” cried Alexander-Jonita, “forward, and -ye shall have great honour, Sheriff! More famous than my Lord -Marlborough shall be ye. Ride us down. Put your horses to their speed. -Be assured we will not flinch!” - -Time and again the Sheriff tried, now threatening and now cajoling; but -equally to no purpose. - -At last he grew tired. - -“This is a thankless job,” he said, turning him about; “let them send -their soldiers. I am not obliged to fight for it.” - -And so with a “right about” and a wave of the hand he took his valiant -horsemen off by the way they came. - -And as they went they say that many a youth turned him on his saddle to -cast a longing look upon Alexander-Jonita, who stood there tall and -straight in the place where she had so boldly confronted the Sheriff. - -Then the women sang a psalm, while Alexander-Jonita, leaping on a horse, -rode a musket-shot behind the retiring force, till she had seen them -safely across the river at the fords of Glenlochar, and so finally out -of the parish bounds. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -THE ELDERS OF THE HILL FOLK. - -(_The Narrative taken up again by Quintin MacClellan._) - - -It was long before I could see clearly the way I should go, after that -dismal day and night of which I have told the tale. - -It seemed as if there was no goodness on the earth, no use in my work, -no right or excellency in the battle I had fought and the sacrifice I -had made. Ought I not even now to give way? Surely God had not meant a -man so poor in spirit, so easily cast down to hold aloft the standard of -his ancient kirk. - -But nevertheless, here before me and around me, a present duty, were my -parish and my poor folk, so brave and loyal and steadfast. Could I -forsake them? Daily I heard tidings of their struggling with the arm of -flesh, though I now judge that Hob, in some fear of my disapproval, -would not venture to tell me all. - -Yet I misdoubted that I had brought my folk into a trouble which might -in the event prove a grievous enough one for them. - -But a kind Providence watched over them and me. For even when it came to -the stormiest, the wind ceased and there was a blissful breathing time -of quietness and peace. - -Also there was that happened about this time which brought us at least -for a time assurance and security within our borders. - -It was, as I remember it, a gurly night in late September, the wind -coming in gusts and swirling flaws from every quarter, very evidently -blowing up for a storm. - -Hob had come in silently and set him down by the fire. He was peeling a -willow wand for his basket-weaving and looking into the embers. I could -hear Martha Little, our sharp-tongued servant lass, clattering among her -pots and pans in the kitchen. As for me I was among my books, deep in -Greek, which to my shame I had been somewhat neglecting of late. - -Suddenly there came a loud knocking at the outer door. - -I looked at my plaid hung up to dry, and bethought me who might be ill -and in want of my ministrations upon such a threatening night. - -I could hear Martha go to the door, and the low murmur of voices -without. - -Then the door of the chamber opened and I saw the faces and forms of -half-a-dozen men in the passage. - -“It has come at last,” thought I, for I expected that it might be the -Sheriff and his men come to expel me from the kindly shelter of the -manse. And though I should have submitted, I knew well that there would -be bloodshed on the morrow among my poor folk. - -But it turned out far otherwise. - -The first who entered into the house-place was a tall, thin, darkish -man, with a white pallor of face and rigid fallen-in temples. His eyes -were fiery as burning coals, deep set under his bushy eyebrows. -Following him came Sir Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun and in the lee of -his mighty form three or four others--douce, grave, hodden-grey men -every one of them, earnest of eye and quiet of carriage. - -Hob went out, unobserved as was his modest wont, and I motioned them -with courtesy and observance to such seats as my little study afforded. - -As usual there were stools everywhere, with books upon them, and I -observed with what careful scrupulosity the men laid these upon the -table before sitting down. A Hebrew Bible lay open on the desk, and one -after another stooped over it with an eager look of reverence. - -I waited for them to speak. - -It was the tall dark man who first broke silence. - -“Reverend sir,” he said, “what my name is, it skills me not to tell. -Enough that I am a man that has suffered much from the strivings of -fleshly thorns, from the persecutions of ungodly man. But now I am -charged with a mission and a message. - -“You have been cast out of the Kirk for adherence to the ancient way. -Yet you have upheld in weakness and the frailty of mortal man the banner -of the older Covenant. You are not ignorant that there are still -societies and general meetings of the Suffering Remnant of men who have -never declined, as you yourself have done, from the plain way of -conscience and righteousness. - -“Yet the man doth not live who doeth good and sinneth not. So because we -desire a minister, we would offer you the strong sustaining hand. -Though you be not able at once to unite with us, nor for the present to -take upon you our strait and heavy testimony, yet because you have been -faithful to your lights we will stand by you and see that no man hinder -or molest you.” - -And the others, beginning with Sir Alexander Gordon, said likewise, “We -will support you!” - -Then I knew that these men were the leaders and elders among the Hill -Folk, and the ancient reverence to which I was born took hold on me. For -I had been brought up among them as a lad, and my mother had spoken to -me constantly of their great piety and abounding steadfastness in the -day of trouble. These were they who had never tangled themselves with -any entrapping engagements. They alone were no seceders, for they had -never entered any State Church. - -With a great price had I obtained this freedom, but these men were -free-born. - -“I thank you, sirs,” I answered, bowing my head. “I have indeed sought -to keep the Way, but I have erred so greatly in the past that I cannot -hope to guide my path aright for the future. But one thing I shall at -least seek after, and that is the glory of the great King, and the -honour and independence of the Kirk of God in Scotland, Covenanted and -Suffering!” - -The dark stern-faced man spoke again. - -“You are not yet one of us. You have yet a far road to travel. But I, -that am old, see a vision. And one day you, Quintin MacClellan, shall -serve tables among us of the Covenant. I shall not see it with the eyes -of flesh. For even now my days are numbered, and the tale of them is -brief. Farewell! Be not afraid. The Seven Thousand will stand behind -you. No evil shall befall you here or otherwhere. The Seven Thousand -have sworn it--they have sworn it on the Holy Book, in the place of -Martyrs and in the House of Tears!” - -And with that the six men went out through the door and were lost in the -darkness of the night. And the wind from the waste swept in and the lowe -of the candle flickered eerily as if they had been visitants from -another world. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -SILENCE IS GOLDEN. - - -It was not long after this that I found myself, almost against my will, -skirting the side of the long Loch of Ken, on the road to the Great -House of Earlstoun. - -The lady of the Castle met me by the outer gate. When I came near her -she lifted up her hands like a prophetess. - -“Three times have ye been warned! The Lord will not deal always gently -with you. It is ill to run with the hares and hunt with the hounds!” - -“Mistress Gordon,” said I, “wherein have I now offended?” For indeed -there was no saying what cantrip she had taken into her head. - -“How was it then,” she said, “that the talk went through the countryside -that ye were married to that lassie Jean Gemmell on her dying bed?” - -“It is true,” said I, “but wherein was the sin?” - -“Oh,” said she, “the sin was not in the marrying (though that was -doubtless a silly caper and the lass so near Dead’s door), but in being -married by a minister of the Kirk Established and uncovenanted.” - -“But what else could I have done?” I hasted to make answer; “there are -none other in all Scotland. For the Hill Folk have never had an ordained -minister, since they took down James Renwick’s body from the gallows -tree, and wrapped him gently in swaddling clothes for his burial.” - -“It is even true,” she said, “but I would have gone unmarried till my -dying day before I would have let an Erastian servant of Belial couple -me. But I forgat--’tis not long since you yourself escaped from that -fold!” - -So there she stood so long on the step of the door and argued concerning -the points of faith and doctrine without ever asking me in, that at last -I grew weary, and begged that she would permit me to sit and refresh me -on the step of the well-house, which was close at hand, even under the -arch of the gateway. - -“Aye, surely, ye may that!” she made me answer, and again took up her -parable without further offer of hospitality. - -And even thus they found us, when Mary Gordon and her father returned -from the hill, walking hand in hand as was their wont. - -“Wi’ Janet, woman!” cried hearty Alexander, “what ails you at the -minister that ye have set him down there by the waters o’ Babylon like a -pelican in the wilderness? Could ye no hae asked the laddie ben and gied -him bite and sup? Come, lad,” cried he, reaching me a hand, “step up wi’ -me--there’s brandy in the cupboard as auld as yoursel’!” - -But as for me I had thought of nothing but the look in Mary Gordon’s -eyes. - -“Brandy!” cried Jean Hamilton. “Alexander, think shame--you that are an -elder and have likewise been privileged to be a sufferer for the cause -of truth, to be speaking about French brandy at this hour o’ the day. Do -ye not see that I have been refreshing the soul of this poor, weak, -downcast brother with appropriate meditations from my own spiritual -diary and covenantings?” - -She took again a little closely-written book from her swinging -side-pocket. - -“Let me see, we were, I think, at the third section, and the----” - -“_Lord help us--I’m awa!_” cried Sandy Gordon suddenly, and vanished up -the turnpike stair. Mary Gordon held out her hand to me in silence, -permitted her eyes to rest a moment on mine in calm and friendly -fashion, all without anger or embarrassment, and then softly withdrawing -her hand she followed her father up the stairs. - -I was again left alone with the Lady of Earlstoun. - -“‘Tis a terrible cross that I must bear,” said that lugubrious -professor, shaking her head, “in that my man hath not the inborn grace -of my brother--ah--that proven testifier, that most savoury professor, -Sir Robert Hamilton. For our Sandy is a man that cannot stand prosperity -and the quiet of the bieldy bush. In time of peace he becomes like a -rusty horologe. He needs affliction and the evil day, that his wheels -may be taken to pieces, oiled with the oil of mourning, washed with -tears of bitterness, and then set up anew. Then for a while he goes on -not that ill.” - -“Your husband has come through great trials!” I said. For indeed I -scarce knew what to say to such a woman. - -“Sandy--O aye!” cried his wife. “But what are his trials to the ills -which I have endured with none to pity? Have not I suffered his carnal -doings well-nigh thirty years and held my peace? Have I not wandered by -the burn-side and mourned for his sin? And now, worse than all, my -children seek after their father’s ways.” - -“Janet Hamilton,” cried a great voice from a window of the tower, “is -there no dinner to be gotten this day in the house of Earlstoun?” - -The lady lifted up her hands in holy horror. - -“Dinner, dinner--is this a time to be thinking aboot eating and -drinking, when the land is full of ravening and wickedness, and when -iniquity sits unashamed in high places?” - -“Never ye heed fash your thumb about the high places, Janet my woman,” -cried her husband from the window, out of which his burly, jovial head -protruded. “E’en come your ways in, my denty, and turn the weelgaun -mill-happer o’ your tongue on yon lazy, guid-for-nae-thing besoms in the -kitchen. Then the high places will never steer ye, and ye will hae a -stronger stomach to wrestle wi’ the rest o’ the sins o’ the times!” - -“Sandy, Sandy, ye were ever by nature a mocker! I fear ye have been -looking upon the strong drink!” - -“Faith, lass,” replied her husband, with the utmost good humour, “I was -e’en looking for it--but the plague o’ muckle o’t there is to be seen.” - -The Lady of Earlstoun arose forthwith and went into the tall tower, from -the lower stories of which her voice, raised in flyting and contumelious -discourse, could be distinctly heard. - -“Ungrateful madams,” so she addressed her subordinates, “get about your -business! Hear ye not that the Laird is quarrelling for his dinner, -which ought to have been served half-an-hour ago by the clock! - -“Nay, tell me not that I keeped you so long at the taking of the Book -that there was no time left for the kirning of the butter. Never ought -is lost by the service of the Lord.” - -Thus I sat on the well kerb, listening to the poor wenches getting, as -the saw hath it, their kail through the reek. But at that moment I -observed Sandy Gordon’s head look through the open window. He beckoned -me to him with his finger in a cunning manner. I went up the stairs -with intent to find the room where he was, but by a curious mischance I -alighted instead on the long oaken chamber where I had been entertained -of yore by Mistress Mary. - -I found her there again, busy with the ordering of the table, setting -out platters and silver of price, the like of which I had never seen, -save as it might be in the house of the Laird of Girthon. - -“Come your ways in, sir,” she said, briskly, “and help me with my work.” - -This I had been very glad to do, but that I knew her father was waiting -for me above. - -“Right willingly,” said I, “but Earlstoun himself desires my presence -aloft in his chamber.” - -She gave her shoulders a dainty little shrug in the foreign manner she -had learned from her cousin Kate of Lochinvar. - -“I think,” she said, “that the job at which ye would find my father can -be managed without your assistance.” - -So in the great chamber I abode very gratefully. And with the best will -in the world I set myself to the fetching and carrying of dishes, the -spreading of table-cloths fine as the driven snow. And all the time my -heart beat fast within me. For I had never before been so near this maid -of the great folk, nor so much as touched the robe that rustled about -her, sweet and dainty. - -And I do not deny (surely I may write it here) that the doing of these -things afforded me many thrills of heart, the like of which I have not -experienced ofttimes even on other and higher occasions. - -And as I helped the Lady Mary, or pretended to help her rather, she -continued to converse sweetly and comfortably to me. But all as it had -been my sister Anna speaking--a thousand miles from any thought of love. -Her eyes beneath the long dark lashes remained cool and quiet. - -“I am glad,” she said, “that ye have played the man, and withstood your -enemies even to the last extremity.” - -“I could do no other,” I made answer. - -“There are very many who could very well have ‘done other’ without -stressing themselves,” she said. - -And I well knew that she meant Mr. Boyd, who was the neighbouring -minister and a recreant from the Societies. - -Then she looked very carefully to the ordering of certain wild flowers, -which like a bairn she had been out gathering, and had now set forth in -sundry flat dishes in the table-midst, in a fashion I had never seen -before. More than once she spilled a little of the water upon the cloth, -and cried out upon herself for her stupidity in the doing of it, -discovering ever fresh delights in the delicate grace of her movements, -the swinging of her dress, and in especial a pretty quick way she had of -jerking back her head to see if she had gotten the colour and ordering -of the flowers to her mind. - -This I minded for long after, and even now it comes so fresh before me -that I can see her at it now. - -“I heard of the young lass of Drumglass and her love for you,” she said -presently, very softly, and without looking at me, fingering at the -flowers in the shallow basins and pulling them this way and that. - -I did not answer, but stood looking at her with my head hanging down, -and a mighty weight about my heart. - -“You must have loved her greatly?” she said, still more softly. - -“I married her,” said I, curtly. But in a moment was ashamed of the -answer. Yet what more could I say with truth? But I had the grace to -add, “Almost I was heartbroken for her death.” - -“She was happy when she died, they said,” she went on, tentatively. - -“She died with her hand in mine,” I answered, steadily, “and when she -could not speak any longer she still pressed it.” - -“Ah! that is the true love which can make even death sweet,” she said. -“I should like to plant Lads’ Love and None-so-pretty upon her grave.” - -Yet all the while I desired to tell her of my love for herself, and how -the other was not even a heat of the blood, but only for the comforting -of a dying girl. - -Nevertheless I could not at that time. For it seemed a dishonourable -word to speak of one who was so lately dead, and, in name and for an -hour at least, had been my wife. - -Then all too soon we heard the noise of Sandy her father upon the garret -stair, trampling down with his great boots as if he would bring the -whole wood-work of the building with him bodily. - -Mary Gordon heard it, too, for she came hastily about to the end of the -table where I had stood transfixed all the time she was speaking of Jean -Gemmell. - -She set a dish on the cloth, and as she brought her hand back she laid -it on mine quickly, and, looking up with such a warm light of gracious -wisdom and approval in her eyes that my heart was like water within me, -she said: “Quintin, you are a truer man than I thought. I love your -silences better than your speeches.” - -And at her words my heart gave a great bound within me, for I thought -that at last she understood. Then she passed away, and became even more -cold and distant than before, not even bidding me farewell when I took -my departure. But as I went down the loaning with her father she looked -out of the turret window, and waved the hand that had lain for an -instant upon mine. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -THE FALL OF EARLSTOUN. - - -It was toward the mellow end of August that there came a sough of things -terrible wafted down the fair glen of the Kens, a sough which neither -lost in volume nor in bitterness when it turned into the wider strath of -the Dee. - -It arrived in time at the Manse of Balmaghie, as all things are sure to -turn manseward ere a day pass in the land of Galloway. - -One evening in the quiet space between the end of hay and the first -sickle-sweep of harvest, Hob came in with more than his ordinary solemn -staidness. - -But he said nothing till we were over with the taking of the Book and -ready to go to bed. Then as he was winding the watch I had brought him -from Edinburgh he glanced up once at me. - -“When ye were last at Earlstoun,” he said, “heard ye any news?” - -I thought he meant at first that Mary was to be married, and it may be -that my face showed too clearly the anxiety of the heart. - -“About Sandy himself?” he hastened to add. - -“About Alexander Gordon?” cried I in astonishment. “What ill news would -I hear about Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun?” - -He nodded, finished the winding of his horologe, held it gravely to his -ear to assure himself that it was going, and then nodded again. For that -was Hob’s way. - -“Well,” he said, “the Presbytery have had him complained of to them for -drunkenness and worse. And they will excommunicate him with the greatest -excommunication if he decline their authority.” - -“But Earlstoun is not of their communion,” I cried, much astonished, the -matter being none of the Presbytery’s business; “he is of the Hill-folk, -an elder and mainstay among them for thirty years.” - -“The Presbytery have made it their business because he is a well-wisher -of yours,” said Hob. “Besides, the report of it has already gone abroad -throughout the land, and they say that the matter will be brought -before the next general meeting of the societies.” - -“And in the meantime?” I began. - -“In the meantime,” said Hob, “those of the Hill-folk who form the -Committee of the Seven Thousand have suspended him from his eldership!” - -Hob paused, as he ever did when he had more to tell, and was considering -how to begin. - -“Go on, Hob,” cried I--testily enough, I fear. - -“They say that his old seizure has come again upon him. He sits in an -upper room like a beast, and will be approached by none. And some -declare that, like King David, he feigns madness, others that he has -been driven mad by the sin and the shame.” - -Now this was sore and grievous tidings to me, not only because of Mary -Gordon, but for the sake of the cause. - -For Alexander Gordon had been during a generation the most noted -Covenanter of the stalwart sort in Scotland. He had suffered almost unto -death without wavering in the old ill times of Charles and James. He had -languished long in prison, both in the Castle of Edinburgh and that of -Blackness. He had come to the first frosting of the hair with a name -clear and untainted. And now when he stood at the head of the -Covenanting remnant it was like the downfall of a god that he should so -decline from his place and pride. - -Then the other part of the news that the Presbytery, as the -representatives and custodians of morals, were to lay upon him the -Greater Excommunication was also a thing hard and bitter. For if they -did so it inferred the penalties of being shut off from communion with -man in the market-place and with God in the closet. The man who spoke to -the excommunicated partook of the crime. And though the power of the -Presbytery to loose and to bind had somewhat declined of late, yet, -nevertheless, the terror of the major anathema still pressed heavily -upon the people. - -Hob went soberly up to his bedroom. The boards creaked as he threw -himself down, and I could hear him fall quiet in a minute. But sleep -would not come to my eyelids. At last I arose from my naked bed and took -my way down to the water-side by which I had walked oftentimes in dark -days and darker nights. - -Then as I was able I put before Him who is never absent the case of -Alexander Gordon. And I wrestled long as to what I should do. Sometimes -I thought of him as my friend, and again I knew that it was chiefly for -the sake of Mary Gordon that I was thus greatly troubled. - -But with the dawning of the morning came some rest and a growing -clearness of purpose--such as always comes to the soul of man when, out -of the indefinite turmoil of perplexity, something to be done swims up -from the gulf and stands clear before the inward eye. - -I would go to Earlstoun and have speech with Alexander Gordon. The -Presbytery had condemned him unheard. His own folk of the Societies--at -least, some of the elders of them--had been ready to believe an evil -report and had suspended him from his office. He needed a minister’s -dealing, or at least a friend’s advice. I was both, and there was all -the more reason because I was neither of the Kirk that had condemned nor -of the communion which was ready to believe an ill report of its noblest -and highest. - -It was little past the dawning when, being still sleepless, I set my hat -on my head, and, taking staff in hand, set off up the wet meadow-edges -to walk to Earlstoun. I heard the black-cap sing sweetly down among the -gall-bushes of the meadow. A blackbird turned up some notes of his -morning song, but drowsily, and without the young ardour of spring and -the rathe summer time. Suddenly the east brightened and rent. The day -strode over the land. - -I journeyed on, the sun beating hotly upon me. It was very evidently to -be a day of fervent heat. Soon I had to take off my coat, and as I -carried it country fashion over my shoulder the harvesters gave me -good-day from the cornfields of the pleasant strath of the ken, and over -the hated park-dykes which the landlords were beginning to build. - -Mostly when I walked abroad I observed nothing, but to-day I saw -everything with strange clearness, as one sometimes does in a vision or -when stricken with fever. - -I noted how the red willow-herb grew among the river stones and set fire -to little pebbly islands. The lilies, yellow and white, basked and -winked belated on the still and glowing water. The cattle, both nolt and -kye, stood knee-deep in the shallows--to me the sweetest and most -summersome of all rural sights. - -As I drew near to New Galloway a score of laddies squattered like ducks -and squabbled like shrill scolding blackbirds in and out of the water, -or darted naked through the copsewood at the loch’s head, playing -“hide-and-seek” about the tree-trunks. - -And through all pulsed the thought, “What shall I say to my friend? -Shall I be faithful in questioning, faithful in chastening and rebuke? -Shall I take part with Mary Gordon’s father, and for her sake stand and -fall with him? Or are my message and my Master more to me than any -earthly love?” I feared the human was indeed mightier in my heart of -hearts. Nevertheless something seemed to arise within me greater than -myself. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -LOVE OR DUTY. - - -I passed by the little Clachan of St. John’s Town of Dalry, leaving it -stretching away up the braeface on my right hand. A little way beyond -the kirk I struck into the fringing woods of Earlstoun which, like an -army of train-bands in Lincoln green, beset the grey tower. - -I was on the walk along which I had once before come with her. The water -alternately gloomed and sparkled beneath. The fish sulked and waved lazy -tails, anchored in the water-swirls below the falls, their heads steady -to the stream as the needle to the pole. - -The green of summer was yet untouched by autumn frosts, save for a -russet hair or two on the outmost plumes of the birks that wept above -the stream. - -Suddenly something gay glanced through the wavering sunsprays of the -woodland and the green scatter of the shadows. A white summer gown, a -dainty hat white-plumed, but beneath the bright feather a bowed head, a -girl with tears in her eyes--and lo! Mary Gordon standing alone and in -sorrow by the water-pools of the Deuch. - -I had never learned to do such things, and even now I cannot tell what -it was that came over me. For without a moment’s hesitation I kneeled on -one knee, and taking her hand, I kissed it with infinite love and -respect. - -She turned quickly from me, dashing the tears from her face with her -hand. - -“Quintin!” she cried--I think before she thought. - -“Mary!” I said, for the first time in my life saying the word to my -lady’s face. - -She held her hand with the palm pressed against my breast, pushing me -from her that she might examine my face. - -“Why are you here?” she asked anxiously, “you have heard what they say -of my father?” - -“I have heard, and I come to know?” I said quietly. - -She clasped her hands in front of her breast and then let them fall -loosely down in a sort of slack despair. - -“I will tell you,” she said, “it is partly true. But the worst is not -true!” - -She was silent for a while, as if she were mastering herself to speak. - -Then she burst out suddenly, “But what right have you or any other to -demand such things of me? Is not my father Sir Alexander Gordon of -Earlstoun, and who has name or fame like him in all Scotland? They that -accuse him are but jealous of him--even you would be glad like the -others to see him humiliated--brought low!” - -“You do me wrong,” said I, yet more quietly; “you know it. Mary, I came -because I have no friends on earth like you and Alexander Gordon. And -the thing troubled me.” - -“I know--I know,” she said, distractedly. “I think it hath well-nigh -driven me mad, as it hath my poor father.” - -She put her hand to her forehead and pressed it, as if it had been full -of a great throbbing pain. - -I wished I could have held it for her. - -Then we moved side by side a little along the path, both being silent. -My thoughts were with hers. I saw her pain; I felt her pride, her -reluctance to speak. - -Presently we came to a retired place where there was an alcove cut out -of the cliff, re-entrant, filled with all coolness and the stir of -leaves. - -Hither, as if moved by one instinct, we repaired. Mary sat her down upon -the stone seat. I stood before her. - -There was a long waiting without a word spoken, so that a magpie came -and flicked his tail on a branch near by without seeing us. Then cocking -his eye downward, he fled with loud screams of anger and protestation. - -“I will tell you all!” she said, suddenly. - -But all the same it seemed as if she could not find it in her heart to -begin. - -“You know my father--root and branch you know him,” she said, at last; -“or else I could not tell you. He is a man. He has so great a repute, so -full a record of bravery, that none dares to point the finger. Through -all Scotland and the Low Countries it is sufficient for my father to say -‘I am Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun!’ - -“But as I need not tell you, a very strong man is a very weak man. And -so they trapped him, William Boyd, who called himself his friend, being -the traitor. For my father had known him in Holland and aided him with -money and providing when he studied as one of the lads of the Hill-folk -at the University of Groningen. - -“Now this a man like William Boyd could not forgive--neither repay. But -in silence he hated and bode his time. For, though I am but young, I see -that nothing breeds hate and malice more readily than a helping hand -extended to a bad man. - -“So devising evil to my father in secret, he met him at the Clachan of -Saint John as he came home from the market at Kirkcudbright, where he -had been dining with Kenmure and my Lord Maxwell. Quintin, you know how -it is with my father when he comes home from market--he is kind, he is -generous. The world is not large enough to hold his heart. Wine may be -in, but wit is not out. - -“So Alexander Gordon being in this mood, Boyd and two or three of his -creatures met him in the highway. - -“My father had oftentimes thwarted and opposed Boyd. But now his stomach -was warm and generous within him. So he cried to them, ‘A fair good e’en -to ye, gentlemen.’ - -“Whereat they glanced cunningly at one another, hearing the thick -stammer in my father’s voice. - -“‘And good e’en to you, Earlstoun!’ they answered, taking off their hats -to him. - -“The courtesy touched my father. It seemed that they wished to be -friends, and nothing touches a big careless gentleman like Alexander -Gordon more than the thought that others desire to make up a quarrel and -he will not. - -“So with that he cried, ‘Let us bury bygones and be friends.’ - -“‘Agreed,’ answered Boyd, waving his hand jovially; let us go to the -change-house and toast the reconciliation in a tass of brandy,’ - -“This he said knowing that my father was on his way from market.” - -“For this,” said I, not thinking of my place and dignity, “will I reckon -with William Boyd.” - -Mary Gordon went on without noticing my interruption. - -“So though my father told them that he could not go, that his wife -waited for him by the croft entrance and that his daughter was coming -down the water-side to meet him, yet upon their crying out that he must -not be hen-pecked in the matter of the drowning of an ancient enmity, -my father consented to go with them.” - -Mary Gordon looked before her a long time without speaking, as though -little liking to tell what followed. “They knew,” she said, “that he was -to preside that night at a meeting of the eldership and commissioners of -the Hill-folk. So they brought him as in the change-house they had made -him to the meeting.” - -There was a long silence. - -“And this was all?” I asked. For the accusation which had come to me had -been far graver than this. - -“As I live and must die, that is all. The other things which they -testify that he did that night are but the blackness and foulness of -their own hearts.” - -“I will go speak with him,” I said, moving as to pass on. - -Mary Gordon had been seated upon a wall which jutted out over the water. -She leaped to her feet in an instant and caught me by the wrist, looking -with an eager and passionate regard into my eyes. - -“You must not--you shall not!” she cried. “My father is not to be spoken -to. He is not himself. He has sworn that he will answer no man, speak -to no man, have dealings with no man, till the shame be staunched and -his innocency made to appear.” - -“But I will bring him to himself,” I said, “I will reason with him, and -that most tenderly.” - -“Nay,” she said, taking me eagerly by the breast of my coat, “I tell you -he will not listen to a word.” - -“It is my duty,” I answered. - -“Wherefore?” she cried, sharply. “You are not his minister.” - -“No,” said I, “but I am more. I am both his friend and yours.” - -“Do you mean to reprove him?” she asked. - -“It is my duty--in part,” said I, for the thought of mine office had -come upon me, and I feared that for this girl’s sake I might even be -ready ignominiously to demit and decline my plain duty. - -“For that wherein he has given the unrighteous cause to speak -reproachfully, I will reprove him,” I said. “For the rest, I will aid, -support, and succour him in all that one man may do to another. By -confession of his fault, such as it has been, he may yet keep the Cause -from being spoken against.” - -“Ah, you do not know my father, to speak thus of him,” Mary Gordon -cried, clasping her hands. “When he is in his fury he cares for neither -man nor beast. He might do you a hurt, even to the touching of your -life. Ah, do not go to him.” (Here she clasped her hands, and looked at -me with such sweet, petitionary graciousness that my heart became as wax -within me.) “Let him come to himself. What are reproof and hard words, -besides the shame that comes when such a man as my father sits face to -face with the sins of his own heart?” - -Almost I had given way, but the thought of the dread excommunication, -and the danger which his children must also incur, compelled me. - -“Hear me, Mary,” I said, “I must speak to him. For all our sakes--yours -as well--I must go instantly to Alexander Gordon.” - -She waved her hand impatiently. - -“Do not go,” she said. “Can you not trust me? I thought you--you once -told me that you loved me. And if you had loved me, I do not know, I -might----” - -She paused. A wild hope--warm, tender, gloriously insurgent, -rose-coloured--welled up triumphantly in my heart. My blood hummed in my -ears. - -“She would love me; she would give herself to me. I cannot offend her. -This alone is my happiness. This only is life. What matters all else?” - -And I was about to give way. If I had so much as looked in her face, or -met her eyes, I must have fallen from my intent. - -But I called to mind the path by which I had been led, the oath that had -been laid upon me to speak faithfully. The lonely way of a man--a sinful -man trying to do the right--gripped me like a vice, and compelled me -against my will. - -“Mary,” I said, solemnly, “I love you more than life--more, perchance, -than I love God. But I cannot lay aside, nor yet shut out the doing of -my duty.” - -She thrust her hand out suddenly, passionately, from her, as if casting -me out of her sight for ever. She set her kerchief to her eyes. - -“You have chosen!” she cried. “Go, then!” - -“Mary,” I said, turning to follow her. - -All suddenly she turned upon me and stamped her foot. - -“I dare you to speak with me!” she cried, her eyes flashing with anger. -“I thought you were a man, and you are no better than a machine. _You_ -love! You know not the A B C of it. You have never passed the hornbook. -I doubt not that you broke that poor lassie’s heart down there in the -farm by the water-side. She loved a stone and she died. Now you tell me -that you love me, and the first thing I ask of you you refuse, though it -is for my own father, and I entreat you with tears!” - -“Mary,” I began to say quietly, “you do me great wrong. Let me tell -you----” - -But she turned away down the path. I followed after, and at the parting -of the ways to house and stable she turned on me again like a lioness. -“Oh, _go_, I tell you! _Go!_” she cried. “Do your precious duty. But -from this day forth never, never dare to utter word to Mary Gordon -again!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -THE DEMONIAC IN THE GARRET. - - -As all may understand, it was with bowed head and crushed heart that I -bent my steps towards the grey tower, sitting so stilly among the -leafage of the wood above the water. - -Duty is doubtless noble, and virtue its own reward. But when there is a -lass in the case--why, it is somewhat harder to go against her will than -to counter all the law and the prophets. - -I went up the bank towards the tower of Earlstoun, and as I came near -methought there was a strange and impressive silence over -everything--like a Sabbath-day that was yet no common or canny Sabbath. - -At the angle of the outer wall one Hugh Halliday, an old servant of the -Gordons, came running toward me. - -“Minister, minister,” he cried, “ye mauna come here. The maister has -gotten the possession by evil spirits. He swears that if ever a -minister come near him he will brain him, and he has taken his sword and -pistols up into the garret under the roof, and he cries out constantly -that if any man stirs him, he shall surely die the death.” - -“But,” I answered, “he will not kill me, who have had no hand in the -matter--me who have also been persecuted by the Presbytery and by them -deposed.” - -“Ah, laddie,” said the old man, shaking his palsied hand warningly at -me, “ye little ken the laird, if ye think that when the power o’ evil -comes ower him, he bides to think. He lets drive richt and left, and a’ -that remains to be done is but to sinder the dead frae the leevin’, or -to gather up the fragments that remain in baskets and corn-bags and -sic-like. - -“For instance, in the auld persecutin’ days there was Gleg Toshie, the -carrier, that was counted a great man o’ his hands, and at the Carlin’s -Cairn Sandy--the laird I mean--cam’ on Toshie spyin’ on him, or so he -thocht. And oor Maister near ended him when he laid hand on him. - -“‘Haud aff,’ cried Peter Pearson the curate, ‘Wad ye kill the man, -Earlstoun?’ - -“‘I would kill him and eat him too!’ cries the laird, as he gied him aye -the ither drive wi’ his neive. O he’s far frae canny when he’s raised.” - -“Nevertheless I will see him,” said I; “I have a message to deliver.” - -“Then I hope and trust ye hae made your peace wi’ your Maker, for ye -will come doon frae that laft a dead stiff corp and that ye’ll leeve to -see.” - -By the gate the Lady of Earlstoun was walking to and fro, wringing her -hands and praying aloud. - -“Wrath, wrath, and dismay hath fallen on this house!” she cried. “The -five vials are poured out. And there yet remains the sixth vial. O -Sandy, my ain man, that it should come to this! That ye should tak’ the -roofs like a pelican in the desert and six charges o’ pooder in yon -flask, forbye swords and pistols. And then the swearin’--nae minced -oaths, but as braid as the back o’ Cairnsmuir. Waes me for Sandy, the -man o’ my choice! A carnal man was Sandy a’ the days o’ him, a man no to -be ruled nor yet spoken to, but rather like a lion to be withstood face -to face. But then a little while and his spirit would come to him like -the spirit of a little child.” - -We could hear as we walked and communed a growling somewhere far above -like the baffled raging of a caged wild beast. - -“It is the spirit of the demoniac that is come to rend him,” she said. -“Hear to him, there he is; he is hard at it, cursing the Presbytery and -a’ ministers. He is sorest upon them that he has liked best, as, indeed, -the possessed ever are. He says that he knows not why he is restrained -from braining me--me that have been his wife these many sorrowful years. -But thus far he hath been kept from doing any great injury. Even the -servant man that brought the message from his master, William Boyd, -summoning Alexander to appear before the Presbytery, he cast by main -force into the well, and if the man had not caught at the rope, and so -gone more slowly to the bottom, he would surely have been dashed to -pieces.” - -“But how long has he been thus?” I said. For as we listened, quaking, -the noise waxed and grew louder. Then anon it would diminish almost like -the howling or whimpering of a beaten dog, most horrid and uncanny to -hear. - -“Ever since yesterday at the hour when he gat the summons from the -Presbytery,” said the lady of Earlstoun. - -“And have none been near him since that time?” - -“Only Mary,” she said; “she took up to him a bowl of broth. For he never -lifted his hand to her in his life. He bade her begone quickly, because -he was no fit company for human kind any more. She asked him very gently -to come to his own chamber and lie down in peace. But he cried out that -the ministers were coming, and that she must not stand in the way. For -he was about to shoot them all dead, like the black hoodie-craws that -pyke the young lambs’ e’en! - -“‘And a bonny bit lamb ye are, faither,’ said Mary, trying to jest with -him to divert his mind; ‘a bonny lamb, indeed, with that great muckle -heather besom of a beard,’ - -“But instead of laughing, as was his wont, he cursed her for an impudent -wench, and told her to begone, that she was no daughter of his.” - -“Has he been oftentimes taken with this seizure?” I asked. - -“It has come to him once or twice since he was threatened with torture -before the lords of the Privy Council, and brake out upon them all as -has often been told--but never before like this.” - -“I will go to him,” I said, “and adjure him to return to himself. And I -will exorcise the demon, if power be granted me of the Lord.” - -“I pray you do not!” she cried, catching me and looking at me even more -earnestly than her daughter had done, though, perhaps, somewhat less -movingly. “Let not your blood also be upon this doomed house of -Earlstoun.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -THE CURSING OF THE PRESBYTERY. - - -As gently as I could I withdrew from her grasp, and with a pocket Bible -in my hand (that little one in red leather of the King’s printers which -I always carried about with me), I climbed the stair. - -The word I had come so far to speak should not remain unspoken through -my weakness, neither must I allow truth to be brought to shame because -of the fears of the messenger. - -So I mounted the turret stairs slowly, the great voice sounding out more -and more clearly as I advanced. It came in soughs and bursts, -alternating with lown intervals filled with indistinct mutterings. Then -again a great volley of cursing would shake the house, and in the -afterclap of silence I could hear the waesome yammer of my lady’s -supplication beneath me outside the tower. - -But within, save for the raging of the stormy voice, there was an -uncanny silence. The dust lay thick where it had been left untouched for -days by any hand of domestic. I glanced within the great oaken chamber -where formerly I had spoken to Mary Gordon. It was void and empty. A -broken glass of carven Venetian workmanship and various colours lay in -fragments by the window. A stone jar with the great bung of Spanish cork -stood on the floor. There was a crimson sop of spilled wine on the table -of white scoured wood. The table-cloth of rich Spanish stuff wrought -with arabesques had been tossed into the corner. A window was broken, -and there were stains on the jagged edges, as if some one had thrust his -hand through the glass to his own hurt. - -Nothing moved in the room, but in the thwart sunbeams the motes danced, -and the unstable shadows of the trees without flecked the floor. - -All the more because of this unwholesome quiet in the great house of -Earlstoun, it was very dismaying to listen to the roll and thunder of -the voice up there, speaking on and on to itself in the regions above. - -But I had come at much cost to do my duty, and this I could not depart -from. So I began to mount the last stairs, which were of wood, and -exceedingly narrow and precipitous. - -Then for the first time I could hear clearly the words of the possessed: - -“Cast into deepest hell, Lord, if any power is left in Thee, the whole -Presbytery of Kirkcudbright! Set thy dogs upon them, O Satan, Prince of -Evil, for they have worked ill-will and mischief upon earth. Specially -and particularly gie Andrew Cameron his paiks! Rub the fiery brimstone -flame onto his bones, like salt into a new-killed swine. Scowder him -with irons heated white hot. Tear his inward parts with twice-barbed -fishing hooks. Gie William Boyd his bellyful of curses. Turn him as -often on thy roasting-spit as he has turned his coat on the earth. -Frighten wee Telfair wi’ the uncanniest o’ a’ thy deils’ imps. And as -for the rest of them may they burn back and front, ingate and outgate, -hide, hair, and harrigals, till there is nocht left o’ them but a wee -pluff o’ ash, that I could hold like snuff between my fingers and thumb -and blaw away like the white head o’ the dandelion.” - -He came to an end for lack of breath, and I could hear him stir -restlessly, thinking, perhaps, that he had omitted some of the -Presbytery who were needful of a yet fuller and more decorated cursing. - -I called up to him. - -“Alexander Gordon, I have come to speak with you.” - -“Who are you that dares _giff-gaff_ with Alexander Gordon this day?” - -“I am Quintin MacClellan, minister of the Gospel in Balmaghie, a friend -to Alexander Gordon and all his house.” - -“Get you gone, Quintin MacClellan, while ye may. I have no desire for -fellowship with you. You are also of the crew of hell--the black corbies -that cry ‘_Glonk! Glonk!_’ over the carcase of puir perishing Scotland.” - -“Hearken, Alexander Gordon,” said I, from the ladder’s foot, “I have -been your friend. I have sat at your table. A word is given me to speak -to you, and speak it I will.” - -“And I also have a gun here that has a message rammed down its thrapple. -I warn ye clear and fair, if ye trouble me at all with any of your -clavers, ye shall get that message frae the black jaws of Bell-mouthed -Mirren.” - -And as I looked up the wooden ladder which led into the dim garret above -me, I saw peeping through the angle of the square trap-door above me -the wicked snout of the musket--while behind, narrowed to a slit, -glinted, through a red mist of beard and hair, the eye of Sandy Gordon. - -“Ye may shoot me if ye will, Alexander,” said I; “I am a man unarmed, -defenceless, and so stand fully within your danger. But listen first to -that which I have to say. - -“You are a great man, laird of Earlstoun. Ye have come through much and -seen many peoples and heard many tongues. Ye have been harried by the -Malignants, prisoned by the King’s men, and now the Presbytery have -taken a turn at you, even as they did at me, and for the same reason. - -“You were ever my friend, Earlstoun, and William Boyd mine enemy. -Therefore he was glad to take up a lying report against you that are my -comrade; for such is his nature. Can the sow help her foulness, the crow -his colour? Forbye, ye have given some room to the enemy to speak -reproachfully. You, an elder of the Hill-folk, have collogued in the -place of drinking with the enemies of our cause. They laid a snare for -your feet, and like a simple fool ye fell therein. So much I know. But -the darker sin that they witness against you--what say ye to that?” - -“It is false as the lies that are spewed up from the vent of Hell!” -cried the voice from the trap-door above, now hoarse and trembling. I -had touched him to the quick. - -“Who are they that witness this thing against you?” - -He was silent for a little, and then he burst out upon me afresh. - -“Who are you that have entered into mine own house of Earlstoun to -threat and catechise me? Is Alexander Gordon a bairn to be harried by -bairns that were kicking in swaddling clouts and buttock-hippens when he -was at the head of the Seven Thousand? And who may you be? A deposed -minister, a college jackdaw whom the other daws have warned from off the -steeple. I will not kill you, Quintin MacClellan, but I bid you -instantly evade and depart, for the spirit has bidden me fire a shot at -the place where ye stand!” - -“Ye may fire your piece and slay your friend on the threshold of your -house, an’ it please you, laird of Earlstoun,” cried I, “but ye shall -never say that he was a man unfaithful, a man afraid of the face of -men!” - -“Stand from under, I say!” - -Nevertheless I did not move, for there had grown up a stubbornness -within me as there had done when the Presbytery set themselves to vex -me. - -Then there befell what seemed to be a mighty clap of thunder. A blast of -windy heat spat in my face; something tore at the roots of my hair; fire -singed my brow, and the reek of sulphur rose stifling in my nostrils. - -The demon-possessed had fired upon me. For a moment I knew not whether I -was stricken or no, for there grew a pain hot as fire at my head. But I -stood where I was till in a little the smoke began to lazily clear -through the trap-door into the garret. - -I put my hand to my head and felt that my brow was wet and gluey. Then I -thought that I was surely sped, for I knew that men stricken in the -brain by musket shot ofttimes for a moment scarce feel their wound. I -understood not till later the reason of my escape, which was that the -balls of Earlstoun’s fusil had no time to spread, but passed as one -through my thick hair, snatching at it and tearing the scalp as they -passed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -LIKE THE SPIRIT OF A LITTLE CHILD. - - -The smoke of the gun curled slowly and reluctantly out of the narrow -windows, and through the garret opening I heard a hurried rush of feet -beneath me on the stairs, light and quick--a woman’s footsteps when she -is young. My head span round, and had it not been for Mary Gordon, whose -arm caught and steadied me, I should doubtless have fallen from top to -bottom. - -“Quintin, Quintin,” she cried, passionately, “are you hurt? Oh, my -father has slain him. Wherefore did I let him go?” - -I held by the wall and steadied myself on her shoulder, scarce knowing -what I did. - -Suddenly she cried aloud, a little frightened cry, and, drawing her -kerchief from her bosom, she reached up and wiped my brow, down which -red drops were trickling. - -“You are hurt! You are sort hurt!” she cried. “And it is all my fault!” - -Then I said, “Nay, Mary, I am not hurt. It was but a faintish turn that -came and passed.” - -“Oh, come away,” she cried; “he will surely slay you if you bide here, -and your blood will be upon my hands.” - -“Nay, Mary,” I answered; “the demon, and not your father, did this -thing, and such can do nothing without permission. I will yet meet and -expel the devil in the name of the Lord!” - -She put her netted fingers about my arm to draw me away; nevertheless, -even then, I withstood her. - -“Alexander Gordon,” I cried aloud, “the evil spirit hath done its worst. -He will now depart from you. I am coming up the ladder.” - -I drew my arm free and mounted. As my head rose through the trap-door I -own that my heart quaked, but there had come with the danger and the -excitement a sort of angry exaltation which, more than aught else, -carried me onward. Also I knew within me that if, as I judged, God had -other work yet for me to do in Scotland, He would clothe me in secret -armour of proof against all assault. - -Also the eyes of Mary Gordon were upon me. I had passed my word to her; -I could not go back. - -As I looked about the garret between the cobwebs, the strings of onions, -and the bunches of dried herbs, I could see Sandy Gordon crouching at -the far end, all drawn together like a tailor sitting cross-legged on -his bench. He had his musket between his knees, and his great sword was -cocked threateningly over his shoulder. - -“What, Corbie! Are ye there again?” cried he, fleeringly. “Then ye are -neither dead nor feared.” - -“No,” said I; “the devil that possesses you has been restrained from -doing me serious hurt. I will call on the Lord to expel what He hath -already rendered powerless.” - -“Man, Quintin,” he cried, “ye should have fetched Telfair and the -Presbytery with you. Ye are not fit for the job by yourself. Mind you, -this is no hotchin’ wee de’il, sitting cross-legged on the hearth in the -gloaming like Andrew Mackie’s in Ringcroft. It takes the black Father of -Spirits himself, ripe from hell, to grip the Bull of Earlstoun, and set -him to roaring like this in the blank middle of the day.” - -“But,” said I, “there is One stronger than any devil or devilkin--your -father’s and your mother’s God! You are but a great bairn, Sandy. Do ye -mind where ye first learned the Lord’s Prayer and the Twenty-third -Psalm?” - -At my words the great mountain of a man threw his head back and dropped -his sword. - -“Aye, I mind,” he said, sullenly. - -“Where was it?” said I. - -“It was at my mother’s knee in the turret chamber that looks to the -woods, if ye want to ken.” - -“What did your mother when ye had ended the lesson?” - -“What is that to you, Quintin MacClellan?” he thundered, fiercely. “I -tell you, torment me not!” - -He snarled this out at me suddenly like the roar of a beast in a cage, -thrusting forth his head at me and showing his teeth in the midst of his -red beard. - -“What did your mother when ye had learned your psalm?” - -“She put her hands upon my head.” - -“And then what did she?” - -“She prayed.” - -“Do ye mind the words of that prayer?” - -“I mind them.” - -“Then say them.” - -“I will not!” he shouted loud and fierce, clattering his gun on the -floor and leaping to his feet. His sword was in his hand, and he pointed -it threateningly at me. - -“You will not say your mother’s prayer,” I answered; “then I will say it -for you.” - -“No, you shall not, Quintin MacClellan,” he growled. “If it comes to -that, I will say it myself. What ken you about my mother’s prayer?” - -“I have a mother of mine own, and not once nor twice she hath said a -prayer for me.” - -The point of the sword dropped. He stood silent. - -“Her hands were on your head,” I suggested, “you had finished your -prayers. It was in the turret chamber that looks to the north.” - -“I ken--I ken!” he cried, turning his head this way and that like a -beast tied and tormented. - -But in his eyes there grew a far-away look. The convulsive fingers -loosened on the sword-hilt. The blade fell unheeded to the ground and -lay beside the empty musket. - -“O Lord!” he gasped, hardly above his breath, “from all the dangers of -this night keep my laddie. From powers of evil guard him with thy good -angels. The Lord Christ be his yoke-bearer. Deliver him from sin and -from himself. When I am under green kirkyard sward, be Thou to him both -father and mother. O God, Father in Heaven, bless the lad!” - -It was his mother’s prayer. - -And as the words came softer Alexander Gordon fell on his knees, and -moaned aloud in the dim smoky garret. - -Then, judging that my work was done, I, too, kneeled on my knees, and -for the space of an hour or thereby the wind of the summer blew through -the chamber, the shadows crawled up the walls, and Alexander Gordon -moved not nor spoke. - -Then I arose, took him by the hand, and bade him follow me. We went down -both of us together. And in the room below we found Mary, who had sat -listening with her head on her hand. - -“Here is your father,” I said; “take him to his chamber, and when he is -ready bring him again into the great room.” - -So very obediently he went with her as a little child might. - -Presently she brought him in again, clean washed and with the black look -gone from his brow. - -I bade her set him by the window. She looked at me to see if she should -leave us alone. But I desired her to stay. - -Then very gently I set the right way before him. - -“Alexander,” said I, “ye have done that which has worked great scandal. -Ye shall confess that publicly. Ye are innocent of the greater iniquity -laid to your charge. Ye shall clear yourself of that by a solemn oath -taken both in the presence of God and before men.” - -“That I cannot,” said he, speaking for the first time; “the Presbytery -have refused me the privilege.” - -“There is a door open for you,” I said, “in a place where the Presbytery -and your enemies have no power. It may not be long mine to offer you. -But for one day it shall be yours, and after the service on Sabbath in -the Kirk of Balmaghie ye shall stand up and clear yourself by oath of -the greater sin--after having made confession of the more venial fault.” - -“I will do it!” he said, and put his hand in mine. - -So I left him sitting there with his daughter, with the knowledge that -my soul had power over his. And in the eventide, greatly comforted, I -took my way homewards, knowing that he would not fail me. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -THE STONE OF STUMBLING. - - -But whilst I had been going about my work the enemies had not been idle. -They had deposed me from the ministry. They could not depose me from the -hearts of a willing and loyal people. They had invoked the secular arm, -and that had been turned back. - -Now, by hasty process, they had also appointed one, McKie, to succeed -me--a young man that had been a helper to one of them, harmless enough, -indeed, in himself, a good and quiet lad. Him, for the sake of the -stipend, they had persuaded to be their cat’s-paw. - -But the folk of Balmaghie were clear against giving him any foothold, so -that he made little more of it than he had done at first. - -But it chanced that on the day on which I had gone to Earlstoun to speak -with Alexander Gordon, the more active of the Presbytery had gathered -together many of the wild and riotous out of their parishes, and had -sent them to take possession of the manse and glebe of Balmaghie. - -Hob, my brother, was over by at the house of Drumglass, helping them -with the last of their meadow hay, being a lad ever kind and helpful to -all, saying little but doing much. - -So that the house, being left defenceless in fancied security, the young -lad McKie and his party had been in and about the manse for a full hour -before any brought word of their approach. - -McKie, acting doubtless under the advice of those that were more cunning -than he, had intruded into the kitchen, extinguished the fire on the -hearth and relighted it in his own name. - -Also the folk who were with him, men from other parishes, wholly -ignorant of the matter, had brought a pair of ploughs with them. To -these they now harnessed horses and would have set to the ploughing up -of the glebe, which was of ancient pasture, the grass clean and old, a -paradise of verdure, smooth as a well-mown lawn. - -But by this time the noise and report of the invasion had spread abroad, -and from farm-towns far and near swarmed down the angry folk of -Balmaghie, like bees from a byke upon a company of harrying boys. - -The mowers took their scythes over their shoulders and set off all -coatless and bonnetless from the water-meadows. The herds left their -sheep to stray masterless upon the hill, and came with nothing but their -crooks in their hands. The farmers hastily ran in for Brown Bess and a -horn of powder. So that ere the first furrow was turned from end to end -the glebe was black with people, swarming like an angry hive whose -defences have been stormed. - -So the invaders could not stand, either in numbers or anger, against the -honest folk who had sworn to keep sacred the home of the man of their -choice. - -Even as I came to the entering in of the Kirk loaning, I saw the ending -of the fray. The invaders were fleeing down the water-side; the poor lad -McKie, who in his anger had stricken a woman to the ground and stamped -upon her, had a wound in his hand made by a reaping-hook. The ploughs -had been thrown into the Dee, and the folk of Balmaghie were pursuing -and beating stray fugitives, like school laddies threshing at a wasps’ -nest. - -Then I, who had striven so lately with the powers of evil in high -places, was stricken to the heart at this unseemly riot, and resolved -within me that there should be a quick end to this. - -Who was I that I should thus be a troubler of Israel, and make the hot -anger rise in these quiet hearts? Could I stand against all Scotland? -Nay, could I alone be in the right and all the others in the wrong? -There was surely work for me to do outside the bounds of one small -parish--at least, in all broad Scotland, a few godly folk of the ancient -way to whom I could minister. - -So I resolved then and there, that after the Sabbath service at which I -had bidden Earlstoun to purge himself by oath and public confession, I -would no longer remain in Balmaghie to stir up wrath, but depart over -Jordan with no more than my pilgrim-staff in my hand. - -So, when at last the people had vanquished the last invader and come -back to the kirk, I called them together and spoke quietly to them. - -“This thing,” said I, “becomes a scandal and a shaming. This is surely -not the Kingdom of the Prince of Peace. True, not we, but those who have -come against us, began the fray. But when men stumble over a stone in -the path, it is time that the stone be removed. - -“Now I, Quintin MacClellan, your minister, am the stone of stumbling--I, -and none other, the rock of offence. I will therefore remove myself. I -will cease to trouble Israel.” - -“No, no,” they cried; “surely after this they will leave us alone. They -will never return. Bide with us, for you are our minister, and we your -faithful and willing folk.” - -And this saying of theirs, in which all joined, moved me much; -nevertheless I was fixed in my heart, and could make no more of it than -that I must depart. - -Which, when they heard, they were grieved at very sorely, and appointed -certain of them, men of weight and sincerity, to combat my resolution. - -But it was not to be, for I made up my mind. - -I saw that there might be an open door elsewhere, and though I would not -abandon my work in Balmaghie, yet neither would I any more confine my -ministrations. I would go out to the Hill-folk, who before had called -me, and if they accepted of me, well! And if not--why, there were -heathen folk enough in Scotland with none to minister to them; and it -would be strange if He who sent out his disciples two by two, bidding -them take neither purse nor script, would not find bread and water for a -poor wandering teacher throughout the length and breadth of Scotland. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -FARE YOU WELL! - - -The fateful Sabbath came--a day of infinite stillness, so that from -beside the tombs of the martyr Hallidays in the kirkyard of Balmaghie -you could hear the sheep bleating on the hills of Crossmichael a mile -away, the sound breaking mellow and thin upon the ear over the still and -azure river. - -To me it was like the calm of the New Jerusalem. And, indeed, no place -that ever I have seen can be so blessedly quiet as the bonnie kirk-knowe -of Balmaghie, mirrored on a windless day in the encircling stillness of -the Water of Dee. - -The folk gathered early, clouds upon clouds of them, so that I think -every man, woman, and child in the parish must have save the children -that could not walk, and the aged who dwelt too far away to be carried. - -Alexander Gordon sat at my right hand, immediately beneath the pulpit. - -There seemed an extraordinary graciousness in the singing that day, a -special fervour in the upward swell of the voices, a more excellent, -sober sweetness in the Sabbath air. And of that I must not think, for I -was to leave all this--to leave for ever the vale of blessing wherein I -had hoped to spend my days. - -Yes, I would adventure forth alone rather than that a loyal folk should -suffer any more because of me. But first, so far as in me lay, I would -set right the matter of Alexander Gordon and his trouble. - -It was the forty-sixth Psalm that they were singing, and as they sang -the people tell that herds on the hill stood still to listen to the -chorus of that mighty singing, and, without knowing why, the water stood -in their eyes that day. There seemed to be something by-ordinarily -moving in all that was done. Thuswise it went: - - God is our refuge and our strength, - In straits a present aid, - Therefore although the earth remove, - We will not be afraid. - -And as she sang I saw Mary Gordon looking past me with the glory of the -New Song in her eyes. And I knew that her heart, too, was touched. - -By the pillar in the arched nook at the door stood Hob my brother, and -by him Alexander-Jonita. They looked sedately down upon one psalm-book. -And in that day I was glad to think that one man was happy. - -Poor lad! That which it was laid upon me to do came as a sad surprise to -him. Out of the window, as I stood up to the sermon, I could see the -river slowly take its way. It glinted back more blue and sparkling than -ever I had seen it, and my heart gave a great stound that never more was -I to abide by the side of that quiet water, and in the sheltered nook -where I had known such strange providences. Once I had thought it would -be gladsome for me to leave it, but now, when the time came, I thought -so no more. - -Even the little glimpses I had of that fair landscape through the narrow -kirk windows brought back a thousand memories. Yonder, by the thorn, I -had seen a weak one made nobler than I by the mighty power of love. - -Down there beside the dark still waters I had watched the lights glimmer -in the Kirk of Crossmichael, where sat my foes, angry-eager to make an -end. But the psalm again seized my heart and held it. - - A river is, whose streams do glad - The city of our God, - The Holy Place wherein the Lord - Most High hath His abode. - -And in a moment the Dee Water and its memories of malice were blotted -out. The ripples played instead over the River that flows from about the -Throne of God. I saw all the warrings of earth, the heart-burnings, the -strifes, the little days and evil nights washed away in a broad flood of -grace and mercy. - -I was ready to go I knew not whither. It might be that there was a work -greater and more enduring for me to do, my pilgrim staff in my hand, -among the flowe-mosses and peaty wildernesses of the South-west than -here in the well-sheltered strath of Dee. - -Now, at all events, I must face the blast, the bluster and the bite of -it. But though I was to look no more on these well-kenned, kindly faces -as their minister, I knew that their hearts would hold by me, and their -lips breathe a prayer for me each day at eventide. - -And so I bade them farewell. What I said to them is no man’s business -but theirs and mine, and shall not be written here. But the tears flowed -down and the voice of mourning was heard. - -Then, ere I pronounced the benediction, I told them how that one dear to -me and well known to them had a certain matter to set before them. - -With that uprose Alexander Gordon in the midst, looming great like a -hero seen in the morning mist. - -I put him to the solemn oath, and then and there he declared before them -his innocence of the greater evil, purging himself, as the manner was, -by solemn and binding oath, which purgation had been refused him by the -Presbytery. - -“By the grace and kindness of your minister, I, Alexander Gordon of -Earlstoun, being known to you all, declare myself wholly innocent of the -crime laid to my charge by the Presbytery of Kirkcudbright. May the Lord -in whom I believe have no mercy on my soul if I speak not the truth. - -“But as for the lesser shame,” so he continued, “that I brought on -myself and on the cause for which I have been in time past privileged to -suffer, in that I was overcome with wine in the change-house of St. -John’s, Clachan--that much is true. With contrition do I confess it. And -I confess also to the unholy and hellish anger that descended on my -spirit, from which blackness of darkness I was brought by your -minister. For which I, unworthy, shall ever continue to praise the Lord -of mercies, who did not cut me off with my sin unconfessed or my -innocence unproclaimed.” - -Alexander Gordon sat down, and there went a sigh and a murmur over all -the folk like the wind over ripe wheat in a large field. - -Then I told them how that my resolve was taken, and that it was -necessary that I should depart from the midst of them in order that -there might be peace. - -But one and another throughout the kirk cried, “Nay, we will not let you -go! We have fought for you; desert us not now. The bitterness of the -blast is surely over; now they will let us alone!” - -Thus one and another cried out there in the kirk, but the most part only -groaned in spirit and were troubled. - -“Ye shall not be less my people that another is set in my place. I go -indeed to seek a wider ministry. I have been called by the remnant of -the Hill-folk that have so long been without a pastor. Whether I am -fitted to be their minister I do not know, but in weakness and the -acknowledgment of it there is ever the beginning of strength. I have -loved your parish and you. Dear dust lies in that kirkyard out there, -and when for me the Angel of the Presence comes who calls not twice, -that is where I should like to lie, under the blossoming hawthorn trees -near by where the waters of Dee flow largely and quietly about the bonny -kirk-knowe of Balmaghie.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -“I LOVE YOU, QUINTIN!” - - -There was little more to do. The scanty stock of the glebe was, by Hob’s -intervention, sold in part to Nathan Gemmell, of Drumglass, and the -remainder driven along the Kenside by the fords of the Black Water to -Ardarroch, where my mother received it with uplifted, querulous hands, -and my father calmly as if he had never expected anything else. - -“To think,” cried my mother, “that the laddie we sent so proudly to the -college should shut himself out of manse and kirk, and tak’ to the moors -and mosses as if the auld persecuting days were back again.” - -“It is in a guid cause,” said my father, quieting her as best he could. - -“I daresay,” said my mother, “but the lad will get mony a wet fit and -weary mile if he ministers to the Hill-folk. Aye, and mony a sair heart -to please them.” - -“Fear ye not for Quintin,” said my father, to soothe her, “for if it -comes to dourness the Lord pity them that try to overcrow our Quintin.” - -I made no farewell round of the kindly, faithful folk of Balmaghie. My -heart would have had too many breakings. Besides, I promised myself -that, when I took up the pilgrim’s staff and ministered to the remnant -scattered abroad, seeking no reward, I should often be glad of a night’s -shelter at Drumglass or Cullenoch. - -Nevertheless, for all my brave resolves, it was with an overweighted -heart that I passed the Black Water at the Tornorrach fords with my -staff in my hand. I had as it were come over in two bands, with Hob -driving the beasts for the glebe, and I the house furniture upon a car -or trail cart. - -Now I left the parish poorer than I entered it. I knew not so much as -where I would sleep that night. I had ten pounds in my pocket, and when -that was done--well, I would surely not be worse off than the King’s -Blue Gown. I was to minister to a scattered people, mostly of the -poorest. But at the worst I was sure of an inglenook, a bed in the -stable-loft, and a porringer of brose at morn and e’en anywhere in -Scotland. And I am sure that ofttimes the Galilean fishermen had not so -much. - -My mother threw her arms about my neck. - -“O laddie, laddie, ye are ganging far awa on a rough road and a lonely. -Guid kens if your auld mither will ever look on your face again. -Quintin, this is a sair heartbreak. But I ken I hae mysel’ to thank for -it. I bred ye to the Hill-folks’ ways mysel’. It was your ain mither -that took ye in her arms to the sweet conventicles on the green bosom of -Cairnsmuir, that delectable mountain. I, even I, had ye baptized at the -Holy Linn by guid Maister Semple, and never a whinge or a greet did ye -gae when he stappit ye into the thickest o’ the jaw.” - -And the remembrance seemed in part to reconcile my mother to the stern -Cameronian ministry I was about to take up. - -“And what stipend are they promising ye?” she said, presently, after she -had thought the matter over. - -“Nothing!” I answered, calmly. - -“Nocht ava’--no a bawbee--and a’ that siller spent on your colleging.” - -Then my mother’s mind took a new tack. - -“And what will puir Hob be gaun to do, puir fellow? He has had nae -ither thocht than you since ever he was a laddie.” - -“Faith,” said I, smiling back at her, “I am thinking that now at last he -has some other thought in his mind.” - -My mother fell back a step. - -“No a lassie!” she cried, “a laddie like him.” - -“Hob is no week-old bairn chicken, mother,” said I; “he will be -five-and-thirty if he is a day.” - -“But our Hob--to be thinking o’ a lassie!” - -“At what age might ye have been married, mother?” I asked, knowing that -I could turn her from thinking of Hob’s presumption and my own waygoing. - -“Me? I was married at seventeen, and your father scant a score. Faith, -there was spunk in the countryside then. Noo a lass will be -four-and-twenty before she gets an offer; aye, and not think hersel’ -ayont the mark for the wedding-ring, when I had sons and dochters man -and woman-muckle!” - -“Then,” said I, “that being so, ye will not be hard on Hob if he marries -and settles himself down at Drumglass.” - - * * * * * - -My father clapped me on the shoulder. - -“God speed ye,” he said; “I need not tell ye to be noways feared. And if -ye come to the bottom of your purse--well, your faither is no rich man. -But there will be aye a bit of yellow siller for ye in the cupboard of -Ardarroch.” - -I had meant to take my way past Earlstoun without calling. And with that -intent it was in my mind to hold directly over the moor past Lochinvar. -But when it came to the pinch I simply could not do it. - -So to the dear grey tower chin-deep among the woodlands I betook me once -more. My eyes had been looking for the first glint of it over the tree -tops for miles ere I came within sight of it. “There,” and “there,” so I -said to myself, “under that white cloud, by the nick of that hill, where -the woodland curls down, that is the place.” - -At last I arrived. - -“Quintin MacClellan, come your ways in. Welcome are ye as the smell o’ -the supper brose,” cried Alexander Gordon, coming heartily across from -the far angle of the courtyard at sight of me. “Whither away so -travel-harnessed?” - -“To the Upper Ward,” said I, “to make a beginning on the widest -minister’s charge in Scotland.” - -“You are, then, truly bent on leaving all and taking upon you the blue -bonnet and the plaid of the minister of the Remnant?” - -“I have already done it,” said I, “burned my boats, emptied my house, -sold my plenishing and bestial. And now with my scrip and staff I go -forth, whither I know not--perchance to a hole in the hedge-root and the -death of a dog.” - -“Tut, man,” cried Alexander Gordon, “‘tis not thus that the apostle of -the Hill-folk, the bearer of their banner, should go forth. Bide at -least this night with me, and I will set you up the waterside, aye, and -fit you with a beast to ride on forbye.” - -“I thank you from my heart, Earlstoun. This is spoken like a true man -and from the full heart. Only Alexander Gordon would offer as much. But -I would begin as I must end if I am to be the poor man’s minister. I -must not set out on my pilgrimage riding on the back of Earlstoun’s -charger. I must tramp it--moss and mountain, dub and mire. Yet, friend -of mine, I could not go without bidding you a kindly adieu.” - -“At least bide till the mistress and Mary can shake ye by the hand,” -cried Alexander Gordon. - -And with that he betook him to the nearest window, and without ceremony -pushed it open, for the readiest way was ever Sandy Gordon’s way. Then -he roared for his wife and daughter till the noise shook the tower like -an earthquake. - -In a moment Mary Gordon came out and stood on the doorstep with her -fingers in her ears, pretending a pretty anger. - -“What an unwholesome uproar, father! Well do they call you the Bull of -Earlstoun, and say that they hear you over the hill at Ardoch bidding -the herd lads to be quiet!” - -Then seeing me (as it appeared) for the first time, she came forward and -took my hand simply, and with a pleasant open frankness. - -“You will come in and rest, will you not?” she said. “Are you here on -business with my father?” - -“Nay,” said I, smiling at her; “I have no business save that of bidding -you farewell.” - -“Farewell!” cried she, dropping the needle-work she held in her hand, -“why farewell?” - -“I go far away to a new and untried work. I know not when nor how I -shall return.” - -She gave a little quick shivering gasp, as if she had been about to -speak. - -“At the least, come in and see my mother,” she said, and led the way -within. - -But when we had gone into the long oaken chamber naught of the Lady of -Earlstoun was to be seen. And the laird himself cried up to Mary to -entertain me till he should speak to his grieve over at the cottage. - -In the living room of Earlstoun was peace and the abiding pleasant sense -of on ordered home. As soon as she had shut the door the lass turned -upon me. - -“You have truly given up your parish?” she said, holding her hands -before her with the fingers clasped firmly together. - -I nodded. - -“And you are journeying to the west to join the Hill-folk?” - -I smiled as I looked into her deep and anxious eyes. - -“Again you have rightly divined,” I said. - -“And what stipend are ye to get from them?” - -“I am to have no stipend. It has not been mentioned between us.” - -“O Quintin!” she cried suddenly, her eyes growing ever larger and -darker, till the pupil seemed to invade the iris and swallow it up. - -But though I waited for her to speak further she said nothing more. - -So I went on to tell her how I was going to the west to spend my life -among the poor folk there who had been so long without a shepherd. - -“And would you”--she paused--“would you leave us all?” - -“Nay,” said I, “for this Earlstoun shall ever be a kindly and a beloved -spot to me. Often when the ways are long and dreary, the folk -unfriendly, will my heart turn in hither. And, whenever I am in -Galloway, be sure that I will not pass you by. Your father hath been a -good and loving friend to me.” - -“My father!” she cried, with a little disdainful outward pout of the -lip. - -“Aye, and you also, Mistress Mary. You have been all too kind to a -broken man--a man who, when the few coins he carries in his purse are -expended, knows not whence he will get his next golden guinea.” - -I was silent for a while and only looked steadily at her. She moved her -feet this way and that on the floor uncertainly. Her grace and favour -cried out to me anew. - -“As for me, Mary,” I said, “I need not tell you that I love you. I have -loved you ever since I met you on the Bennan brae-face. But now more -greatly--more terribly that I love altogether without hope. I had not -meant to speak again, but only to take your hand once thus--and get me -gone!” - -Impulsively she held her fingers out to me and I clasped them in mine. - -I thought she was ready to bid me farewell, and that she desired not to -prolong the pain of the interview. - -“Fare thee well then, Mary,” said I. “I have loved the cause because it -is the Cause of the Weak. I have striven to raise again the Banner of -Blue. I have loved my people. But none of these hath this aching, weary -heart loved as it has loved Mary Gordon. I have neither heart nor right -to speak of my love, nor house nor home to offer. I can but go!” - -“Speak on,” she said, a little breathlessly, but never once taking her -eyes from my face. - -“There is no other word to tell, Mary,” said I. “I have spoken the -word, and now there remains but to turn about and set face forward as -bravely as may be, to shut out the pleasant vision, seen for a moment, -to leave behind for ever the heart’s desire----” - -“No! No! No!” she interrupted, jerking her clasped hands quickly -downward. - -“To lay aside the deep, unspoken hopes of a man who has never loved -woman before----” - -She came a little nearer to me, still exploring my face with her eyes, -as I spoke the last words. - -“Did you not, Quintin? Are you sure?” - -“I have never loved before,” said I, “because I have loved Mary Gordon -from the beginning, yea, every day and every hour since I was a herd boy -on the hills. Once I was filled with pride and the security of position. -But of these the Lord hath stripped me. I am well-nigh as poor as when I -came into the world. I have nothing now to offer you or any woman.” - -“Nay,” she cried, speaking very quickly and suddenly, laying her clasped -hands on my arm, “you are rich--rich, Quintin! Listen, lad! There is one -that loves you now--who has loved you long. Do you not understand? Must -I, that am a maid, speak for myself? Must I say, _I love you, Quintin?_” - -And then she smiled suddenly, gloriously, like the sun bursting through -black and leaden clouds. - -Oh, sweet and perilously sweet was her smile! - -“Mary,” I cried, suddenly, “you are not playing with me? Ah, for God’s -dear sake, do not that! It would break my heart. You _cannot_ love a man -broken, penniless, outcast, one of a down-trodden and despised folk. You -must not give yourself to one whose future path is lone and desolate!” - -“_I love you, Quintin!_” - -“One who has nothing to offer, nothing to give, not even the shelter of -a roof-tree--a wanderer, a beggar!” - -“_I love you, Quintin!_” - -And the hands that had been clasped on my arm of their own sweet accord -stole upward and rested lovingly about my neck. The eyes that had looked -so keenly into mine were satisfied at last, and with a long sobbing sigh -of content Mary Gordon’s head pillowed itself on my breast. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - -THE LAST ROARING OF THE BULL. - - -“Come,” she said, after a while, “let us go to my father!” - -And now, the rubicon being passed, there shone a quick and alert -gladness upon her face. Her feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground. -The mood of sedateness had passed away, and she hummed a gay tune as we -went down the stairs. - -Alexander Gordon was coming across the yard to speak with his wife as -Mary and I appeared hand in hand at the stair foot. - -He stopped as it had been suddenly aghast when he caught sight of us. - -“Mary!” he cried. - -She nodded and made him a little prim curtesy. - -“What means this?” he said, sternly. - -“Just that Quintin and I love one another!” - -And as she spoke I saw the frown gather ominously on Alexander Gordon’s -face. His wife came near and looked at him. I saw him flash a glance at -her so quick, so stern, and full of meaning that the ready river of her -speech froze on her lips. - -“This is rank foolishness, Mary!” he cried; “go indoors this instant and -get to your broidering. Let me hear no more of this!” - -But the spirit of the Gordons was in the daughter as well as in the -sire. - -“I will not,” she said; “I am of age, and though in all else I have -obeyed you, in this I will not.” - -Glance for glance their eyes encountered, nor could I see that either -pair quailed. - -The Laird of Earlstoun turned to me. - -“And you, sir, whom I trusted as my friend, how came you here under -pretext of amity, thus to lead away my daughter?” - -The question was fiercely spoken, the tone sullenly angry. Yet somehow -both rang hollow. - -I was about to answer when Mary interrupted. - -“Nay, father,” she cried, looking him fearlessly in the face; “it was I -that proffered my love. He _would_ not ask me, though I tried to make -him. I had to tell him that I loved him, and make him ask me to marry -him!” - -Was it fancy that the flicker of a smile passed at that moment over the -grim countenance of the Bull? - -His wife was again about to speak, but he turned fiercely on her and -bade her be silent. - -“And now,” he said, turning to his daughter, “what do you propose to do -with your man when ye have ‘speered’ him?” - -He used the local country expression for a proposal of marriage. “I will -marry him here and now,” she said; adding hastily, “that is, if he will -have me.” - -“Ye had better speer him that too!” said her father, grimly. - -“I will do better,” cried Mary Gordon. “I will acknowledge him!” - -And holding up my hand in hers she cried aloud: “I take you for my -husband, Quintin MacClellan!” She looked up at me with a challenge in -her eye. - -“_My wife!_” was all that I could utter. - -“Well,” said Sandy, “that is your bed made, my lassie. You have both -said it before witnesses. You must take him now, whether ye will or -not! - -“Hugh,” he cried, with a sudden roar towards the servants’ quarters. And -from the haymow in the barn where he had been making a pretence of work -a retainer appeared with a scared expression on his face. - -“Run over to the cot-house at the road-end and tell the minister lad -that the Dumfries Presbytery deposed to come to the Earlstoun and that -smartly, else I will come down and fetch him myself!” - -The man was already on his way ere the sentence was ended, and when the -Laird roared the last words after him he fairly seemed to jump. - -He was out of sight among the trees a moment after. - -“Now,” said Alexander Gordon, “Mary and you have proclaimed yourselves -man and wife. Ye shall be soundly married by a minister, and then ye -shall go your ways forth. Think not that I will give you the worth of a -boddle either in gear or land. Ye have asked me no permission. Ye have -defied me. I say not that I will disown ye. But, at least, I owe you -nothing.” - -“Father,” said Mary, “did I ask you for aught, or did Quintin?” - -“Nay,” said he, grimly, “not even for my daughter.” - -“Then,” said she, “do not refuse that for which you have not been -asked!” - -“And how may you propose to live?” her father went on triumphantly. “Ye -would not look at him when he had kirk and glebe, manse and stipend. And -now ye take him by force when he is no better than a beggar at the -dykeback. That it is to be a woman!” - -She kindled at the words. - -“And what a thing to be a man! Ye think that a woman’s love consists in -goods and gear, comfortable beds and fine apparelling!” - -“Comfortable beds are not to be lightlied,” said her father; “as ye will -find, my lass, or a’ be done.” - -She did not heed him, but flashed on with her defiance. - -“You, and those like you, think that the way to win a woman is to bide -till ye have made all smooth, so that there be not a curl on the -rose-leaves, nor yet a bitter drop in the cup. Even Quintin there -thought thus, till he learned better.” - -She did not so much as pause to smile, though I think her father -did--but covertly. - -“No!” she cried, “I love, and because I love I will (as you say -floutingly) be ready to lie at a dykeback like a tinkler’s wench. I will -follow my man through the world because he is my man--yes, all the more -because he is injured, despised, one who has had little happiness and no -satisfaction in life. And now I will give him these things. I--I only -will make it all up to him. With my love I can do it, and I will!” - -Her father nodded menacingly. - -“Ye shall try the dykebacks this very nicht, my lass! And ye shall e’en -see how ye like them, after the fine linen sheets and panelled chambers -of the Earlstoun.” - -But her mother broke out at last. - -“No, my bairn!” she cried. “Married or single ye shall not go forth from -us thus!” - -“Hold your tongue, woman!” roared the Bull, shaking the very firmament -with his voice. - -“Be not feared, my lass; ye shall have your mother’s countenance, though -your father cast you off,” said Janet Gordon, nodding at us with -unexpected graciousness. - -“Hold your peace, I tell you!” - -“Aye, Sandy, when I have done!” - -“Though he turn you to the doorstep I will pray for you,” she went on; -“and for company on the way I will give you a copy of my meditations, -which are most meet and precious.” - -Her husband laughed a quick, mocking laugh. - -“A bundle of clean sarks wad fit them better--but here comes the -minister.” - -I turned about somewhat shamefacedly, and there, bowing to the Laird of -Earlstoun, was young Gilchrist of Dunscore, whom the Presbytery of -Dumfries had lately deposed. He was about to begin a speech of -congratulation, but the Bull broke through. - -“Marry these two!” he commanded. - -And with his finger he pointed at Mary and myself, as if he had been -ordering us for immediate execution. - -“But----” began the minister. - -Instantly an astonishing volume of sound filled the house. - -“BUT me no _buts_! Tie them up this moment! Or, by the Lord, I will -eviscerate you with my sword!” - -And with that he snatched his great basket-hilted blade from the -scabbard, where it swung on a pin by the side of the door. - -So, with a quaking minister, my own head dazed and uncertain with the -whirl of events, and Mary Gordon giving her father back defiant glance -for glance, we were married decently and in order. - -“Now,” said Alexander Gordon, so soon as the “Amen” was out, “go to your -chamber with your mother, Mistress Mary! Take whatever ye can carry, but -no more, and get you gone out of this house with the man you have -chosen. I will teach you to be fond of dykebacks and of throwing -yourself away upon beggarly, broken men!” - -And he frowned down upon her, as with head erect and scornful carriage -she swept past him--her mother trotting behind like a frightened child. - -I think Alexander Gordon greatly desired to say something to me while he -and I stood waiting for her return. For he kept shifting his weight from -one foot to the other, now turning to the window, anon humming half a -tune and breaking off short in the midst. But ever as he came towards me -with obvious intent to speak, he checked himself, shaking his head -sagely, and so resumed again his restless marching to and fro. - -Presently my lass came down with a proud high look on her face, her -mother following after, all beblubbered with tears and wringing her -hands silently. - -“I bid you farewell, father!” Mary said; “till now you have ever been a -kind father to me. And some day you will forgive this seeming -disobedience!” - -Then it was that her father made a strange speech. - -“Quintin MacClellan has muckle to thank me for. For had it not been for -the roaring of the Bull, he had not so easily gotten away the dainty -quey!” - -So side by side, and presently when we got to the wood’s edge hand in -hand, Mary Gordon and I went out into the world together. - - * * * * * - - -_Final Addition and Conclusion by Hob MacClellan._ - -Thus my brother left the writing which has fallen into my hand. In a -word I must finish what I cannot alter or amend. - -His marriage with Mary Gordon was most happy and gracious, though I have -ever heard that she retained throughout her life her high proud nature -and hasty speech. - -Her father relented his anger after the great renovation of the -Covenants at Auchensaugh. Indeed, I question whether in driving them -forth from Earlstoun, as hath been told, Alexander Gordon was not acting -a part. For when he came to see my wife, Alexander-Jonita, after our -little Quintin was born, he said, “Heard ye aught of your brother and -his wife?” - -I told him that they were well and hearty, full of honour, work, and the -happiness of children. - -“Aye,” said he, after a pause of reflection, “Quintin has indeed muckle -to thank me for. I took the only way with our Mary, to make her ten -times fonder o’ him than she was.” - -And he chuckled a little deep laugh in his throat. - -“But,” he said, “I wad gie a year’s rent to ken how she liked the -dykeback the night she left the Earlstoun.” - -THE END. - - * * * * * - -BY S. R. CROCKETT. - -Uniform edition. Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.50. - - -_THE STANDARD BEARER._ An Historical Romance. - - Mr. Crockett stands on ground that he has made his own in this - romance of the Scottish Covenanters. The story opens in 1685, “the - Terrible Year,” with a vivid picture of the pursuit of fugitive - Covenanters by the dragoons. The hero, who becomes a Covenanting - minister, sees many strange and stirring adventures. The charming - love story which runs through the book is varied by much excellent - fighting and many picturesque incidents. “The Standard Bearer” is - likely to be ranked by readers with Mr. Crockett’s most successful - work. - - -_LADS’ LOVE._ Illustrated. - - “It seems to us that there is in this latest product much of the - realism of personal experience. However modified and disguised, it - is hardly possible to think that the writer’s personality does not - present itself in Saunders McQuhirr.... Rarely has the author drawn - more truly from life than in the cases of Nance and ‘the Hempie’; - never more typical Scotsman of the humble sort than the farmer - Peter Chrystie.”--_London Athenæum._ - - -_CLEG KELLY, ARAB OF THE CITY. His Progress and Adventures._ -Illustrated. - - “A masterpiece which Mark Twain himself has never rivaled.... If - there ever was an ideal character in fiction it is this heroic - ragamuffin.”--_London Daily Chronicle._ - - “In no one of his books does Mr. Crockett give us a brighter or - more graphic picture of contemporary Scotch life than in ‘Cleg - Kelly.’ ... It is one of the great books.”--_Boston Daily - Advertiser._ - - -_BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT._ Third edition. - - “Here are idyls, epics, dramas of human life, written in words that - thrill and burn.... Each is a poem that has an immortal flavor. - They are fragments of the author’s early dreams, too bright, too - gorgeous, too full of the blood of rubies and the life of diamonds - to be caught and held palpitating in expression’s grasp.”--_Boston - Courier._ - - “Hardly a sketch among them all that will not afford pleasure to - the reader for its genial humor, artistic local coloring, and - admirable portrayal of character.”--_Boston Home Journal._ - - -_THE LILAC SUNBONNET._ Eighth edition. - - “A love story, pure and simple, one of the old-fashioned, - wholesome, sun shiny kind, with a pure-minded, sound-hearted hero, - and a heroine, who is merely a good and beautiful woman; and if any - other love story half so sweet has been written this year it has - escaped our notice.”--_New York Times._ - - “The general conception of the story, the motive of which is the - growth of love between the young chief and heroine, is delineated - with a sweetness and a freshness, a naturalness and a certainty, - which places ‘The Lilac Sunbonnet’ among the best stories of the - time.”--_New York Mail and Express._ - - -“A VERY REMARKABLE BOOK.” - -_THE BETH BOOK._ By SARAH GRAND, author of “The Heavenly Twins,” etc. -12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - “Readers will linger delightedly over one of the freshest and - deepest studies of child character ever given to the world, and - hereafter will find it an ever-present factor in their literary - recollections and impressions.”--_London Globe._ - - “Here there are humor, observation, and sympathetic insight into - the temperaments both of men and women.”--_London Daily Chronicle._ - - “Beth and her environments live before us. We see her sensitive as - a musical instrument to the touch of surrounding influences, every - latent quality for good and evil in her already warring for - mastery.”--_London Daily News._ - - “There is much vivacity, much sympathy for the moods of girlhood, - and with the strange, quaint, happy fancies of a child; and much - power of representing these things with humor, eloquence, and - feeling.”--_Westminster Gazette._ - - “Sarah Grand’s new work of fiction, ‘The Beth Book,’ will be likely - to meet a wider acceptance than her famous book, ‘The Heavenly - Twins,’ for the reason that it is a more attractive piece of - literary workmanship, and has about it a certain human interest - that the other book lacked.... Madame Grand’s wit and humor, her - mastery of a direct and forceful style, her quick insight, and the - depth of her penetration into human character, were never more - apparent than in ‘The Beth Book.’”--_Brooklyn Eagle._ - - “‘The Beth Book’ is important because it is one of the few - intelligent and thoughtful studies of life that have appeared this - season.... The essence of the whole book is the effort to study and - to trace the evolution of character; and because the author has - done this to admiration, her book is a success. Moreover, it is - written with a masterly command of style, and is so utterly - absorbing and so strongly and connectedly logical, that the - author’s thought impresses you at every line. You skip nothing. - Even a reader whom the deeper qualities of the book failed to hold - would follow every incident from sheer pleasure in its vividness, - its picturesqueness, and its entertainment.”--_Boston Herald._ - - ‘The Beth Book’ is distinctly a notable achievement in fiction.... - Written in a style that is picturesque, vigorous, and varied, with - abundance of humor, excellence of graphic description, and the - ability to project her chief characters with a boldness of relief - that is rare.”--_Philadelphia Press._ - - “One of the strongest and most remarkable books of the year.... - ‘The Beth Book’ stands by itself. There is nothing with which to - compare it.”--_Buffalo Express._ - - “‘The Beth Book’ is a powerful book. It is written with wonderful - insight and equally wonderful vividness of portrayal. It is - absorbingly interesting.... The heroine awakens our wonder, pity, - and admiration. We soon become enthralled by the fascinating study, - and follow her physical and spiritual footsteps with breathless - eagerness from page to page, from stage to stage of her development - and the foreshadowings of her destiny.”--_Boston Advertiser._ - - “In ‘The Beth Book’ the novelist has given us a story at once a - marvelously well-evolved study in psychology and at the same time - an absorbing review of human life in its outward aspects. ‘The Beth - Book’ is a wonder in its departure from conventional methods of - fiction, and in an ever-growing charm in its development and - sequence.”--_San Francisco Call._ - - “Decidedly a notable addition to the few works which are of such - quality to be classed as ‘books of the year.’ There are many - reasons for this. First, it is an intelligent and faithful study of - human life and character; second, because it has a depth of purpose - rare indeed in ordinary fiction; and last, because from start to - finish there is a charm which never ceases to hold the reader’s - interest. Decidedly, ‘The Beth Book’ is a great - book.”--_Philadelphia Item._ - - * * * * * - -HAMLIN GARLAND’S BOOKS. - -Uniform edition. Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.25. - - -_WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS._ - - “A faithful and an entertaining portrayal of village and rural life - in the West.... No one can read this collection of short stories - without feeling that he is master of the subject.”--_Chicago - Journal._ - - “One of the most delightful books of short stories which have come - to our notice in a long time.”--_Boston Times._ - - “The historian of the plains has done nothing better than this - group of Western stories. Wayside courtships they are, but full of - tender feeling and breathing a fine, strong - sentiment.”--_Louisville Times._ - - -_JASON EDWARDS. An Average Man._ - - “The average man in the industrial ranks is presented in this story - in as lifelike a manner as Mr. Bret Harte presented the men in the - California mining camps thirty years ago.... A story which will be - read with absorbing interest by hundreds of workingmen.”--_Boston - Herald._ - - -_A MEMBER OF THE THIRD HOUSE. A Story of Political Warfare._ - - “The work is, in brief, a keen and searching study of lobbies and - lobbyists. At least, it is the lobbies that furnish its motive. For - the rest, the story is narrated with much power, and the characters - of Brennan the smart wire-puller, the millionaire Davis, the - reformer Turtle, and Evelyn Ward are skillfully individualized.... - Mr. Garland’s people have this peculiar characteristic, that they - have not had a literary world made for them to live in. They seem - to move and act in the cold gray light of reality, and in that - trying light they are evidently human.”--_Chicago Record._ - - -_A SPOIL OF OFFICE. A Story of the Modern West._ - - “It awakens in the mind a tremendous admiration for an artist who - could so find his way through the mists of familiarity to an - artistic haven.... In reading ‘A Spoil of Office’ one feels a - continuation of interest extending from the fictional into the - actual, with no break or divergence. And it seems to be only a - question of waiting a day or two ere one will run up against the - characters in real life.” - - -ALSO, - -_A LITTLE NORSK; or, Ol’ Pap’s Flaxen._ 16mo. Boards, 50 cents. - - “True feeling, the modesty of Nature, and the sure touch of art are - the marks of this pure and graphic story, which has added a bright - leaf to the author’s laurels.”--_Chicago Tribune._ - - “A delightful story, full of humor of the finest kind, genuine - pathos, and enthralling in its vivid human interest.”--_London - Academy._ - - -_THE BROOM OF THE WAR GOD._ A Story of the Recent War between the Greeks -and Turks. By HENRY NOEL BRAILSFORD. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - - This remarkable picture of the actual conditions in the Greek army - during the recent war is drawn by a new author of exceptional - promise who served in the Foreign Legion. There are glimpses of - Lamia, Pharsala, Larissa, Volo, Velestino, and Domoko. The author - was one of the disorganized and leaderless assemblage which - constituted the Greek army, and his wonderfully graphic sketches of - the conditions in the ranks, the incompetence of officers, and the - attitude of the King and Crown Prince toward the war shed a new - light upon the disasters of the campaign. The hero, an Englishman, - embodies the characters and the feelings of his strangely assorted - cosmopolitan comrades, and illustrates the psychology of war as - displayed in a hopeless campaign. - - -_THE DISASTER._ A Romance of the Franco-Prussian War. By PAUL and VICTOR -MARGUERITTE. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - Like Zola’s _La Debâcle_, with which it naturally challenges - comparison, _Le Désastre_ has for its theme the Franco-Prussian - War. The authors have the advantage of being well equipped for - writing of army scenes, being descendants of a line of soldiers; - their father was the cavalry general, Auguste Margueritte, who fell - at the battle of Sedan; and the youngest son, Victor, was himself - an officer in the French army, but recently abandoned the military - career in order to associate himself with his brother in literary - work. - - “This powerful picture of the fate of the Army of the Rhine, by the - sons of one of the generals who did their duty, is among the finest - descriptions of war that have been penned.”--_London Athenæum._ - - “A strong, a remarkable book. ‘The Disaster’ is even more - overwhelming than Zola’s _Le Débâcle_. Zola’s soldiers possessed, - after all, the untold advantage of their ignorance. But the - officers in ‘The Disaster’ saw everything, understood from the very - beginning the immensity of the blunder. Like the spectators of some - grim tragedy, they waited and watched for the curtain to - fall.”--_London Speaker._ - - * * * * * - -Miss F. F. MONTRÉSOR’S BOOKS. - -UNIFORM EDITION. EACH, 16MO, CLOTH. - - -_AT THE CROSS-ROADS._ $1.50. - - “Miss Montrésor has the skill in writing of Olive Schreiner and - Miss Harraden, added to the fullness of knowledge of life which is - a chief factor in the success of George Eliot and Mrs. Humphry - Ward.... There is as much strength in this book as in a dozen - ordinary successful novels.”--_London Literary World._ - - “I commend it to all my readers who like a strong, cheerful, - beautiful story. It is one of the truly notable books of the - season.”--_Cincinnati Commercial Tribune._ - - -_FALSE COIN OR TRUE?_ $1.25. - - “One of the few true novels of the day.... It is powerful, and - touched with a delicate insight and strong impressions of life and - character.... The author’s theme is original, her treatment - artistic, and the book is remarkable for its unflagging - interest.”--_Philadelphia Record._ - - “The tale never flags in interest, and once taken up will not be - laid down until the last page is finished.”--_Boston Budget._ - - “A well-written novel, with well-depicted characters and - well-chosen scenes.”--_Chicago News._ - - “A sweet, tender, pure, and lovely story.”--_Buffalo Commercial._ - - -_THE ONE WHO LOOKED ON._ $1.25. - - “A tale quite unusual, entirely unlike any other, full of a strange - power and realism, and touched with a fine humor.”--_London World._ - - “One of the most remarkable and powerful of the year’s - contributions, worthy to stand with Ian Maclaren’s.”--_British - Weekly._ - - “One of the rare books which can be read with great pleasure and - recommended without reservation. It is fresh, pure, sweet, and - pathetic, with a pathos which is perfectly wholesome.”--_St. Paul - Globe._ - - “The story is an intensely human one, and it is delightfully - told.... The author shows a marvelous keenness in character - analysis, and a marked ingenuity in the development of her - story.”--_Boston Advertiser._ - - -_INTO THE HIGHWAYS AND HEDGES._ $1.50. - - “A touch of idealism, of nobility of thought and purpose, mingled - with an air of reality and well-chosen expression, are the most - notable features of a book that has not the ordinary defects of - such qualities. With all its elevation of utterance and - spirituality of outlook and insight it is wonderfully free from - overstrained or exaggerated matter, and it has glimpses of humor. - Most of the characters are vivid, yet there are restraint and - sobriety in their treatment, and almost all are carefully and - consistently evolved.”--_London Athenæum._ - - “‘Into the Highways and Hedges’ is a book not of promise only, but - of high achievement. It is original, powerful, artistic, humorous. - It places the author at a bound in the rank of those artists to - whom we look for the skillful presentation of strong personal - impressions of life and character.”--_London Daily News._ - - “The pure idealism of ‘Into the Highways and Hedges’ does much to - redeem modern fiction from the reproach it has brought upon - itself.... The story is original, and told with great - refinement.”--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._ - - * * * * * - -NOVELS BY MAARTEN MAARTENS. - - -_THE GREATER GLORY. A Story of High Life._ By MAARTEN MAARTENS, author -of “God’s Fool,” “Joost Avelingh,” etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - “Until the Appletons discovered the merits of Maarten Maartens, the - foremost of Dutch novelists, it is doubtful if many American - readers knew that there were Dutch novelists. His ‘God’s Fool’ and - ‘Joost Avelingh’ made for him an American reputation. To our mind - this just published work of his is his best.... He is a master of - epigram, an artist in description, a prophet in insight.”--_Boston - Advertiser._ - - “It would take several columns to give any adequate idea of the - superb way in which the Dutch novelist has developed his theme and - wrought out one of the most impressive stories of the period.... It - belongs to the small class of novels which one can not afford to - neglect.”--_San Francisco Chronicle._ - - “Maarten Maartens stands head and shoulders above the average - novelist of the day in intellectual subtlety and imaginative - power.”--_Boston Beacon._ - - -_GOD’S FOOL._ By MAARTEN MAARTENS. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - “Throughout there is an epigrammatic force which would make - palatable a less interesting story of human lives or one less - deftly told.”--_London Saturday Review._ - - “Perfectly easy, graceful, humorous.... The author’s skill in - character-drawing is undeniable.”--_London Chronicle._ - - “A remarkable work.”--_New York Times._ - - “Maarten Maartens has secured a firm footing in the eddies of - current literature.... Pathos deepens into tragedy in the thrilling - story of ‘God’s Fool.’”--_Philadelphia Ledger._ - - “Its preface alone stamps the author as one of the leading English - novelists of to-day.”--_Boston Daily Advertiser._ - - “The story is wonderfully brilliant.... The interest never lags; - the style is realistic and intense; and there is a constantly - underlying current of subtle humor.... It is, in short, a book - which no student of modern literature should fail to - read.”--_Boston Times._ - - “A story of remarkable interest and point.”--_New York Observer._ - - -_JOOST AVELINGH._ By MAARTEN MAARTENS. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - “So unmistakably good as to induce the hone that an acquaintance - with the Dutch literature of fiction may soon become more general - among us.”--_London Morning Post._ - - “In scarcely any of the sensational novels of the day will the - reader find more nature or more human nature.”--_London Standard._ - - “A novel of a very high type. At once strongly realistic and - powerfully idealistic.”--_London Literary World._ - - “Full of local color and rich in quaint phraseology and - suggestion.”--_London Telegraph._ - - “Maarten Maartens is a capital story-teller.”--_Pall Mall Gazette._ - - “Our English writers of fiction will have to look to their - laurels.”--_Birmingham Daily Post._ - - * * * * * - -BOOKS BY MRS. EVERARD COTES (SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN). - - -_A VOYAGE OF CONSOLATION._ Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - Mrs. Cotes returns to the field which she developed with such - success in “A Social Departure” and “An American Girl in London.” - -_HIS HONOUR, AND A LADY._ Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - -_THE STORY OF SONNY SAHIB._ Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. - -_VERNON’S AUNT._ With many Illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - -_A DAUGHTER OF TO-DAY._ A Novel. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - “This novel is a strong and serious piece of work, one of a kind - that is getting too rare in these days of universal - crankiness.”--_Boston Courier._ - -_A SOCIAL DEPARTURE: How Orthodocia and I Went Round the World by -Ourselves._ With 111 Illustrations by F. H. Townsend. 12mo. Paper, 75 -cents; cloth, $1.75. - - “A brighter, merrier, more entirely charming book would be, indeed, - difficult to find.”--_St. Louis Republic._ - -_AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON._ With 80 Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. -12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.50. - - “So sprightly a book as this, on life in London, as observed by an - American, has never before been written.”--_Philadelphia Bulletin._ - -_THE SIMPLE ADVENTURES OF A MEMSAHIB._ With 37 Illustrations by F. H. -TOWNSEND. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - “It is like traveling without leaving one’s armchair to read it. - Miss Duncan has the descriptive and narrative gift in large - measure, and she brings vividly before us the street scenes, the - interiors, the bewilderingly queer natives, the gayeties of the - English colony.”--_Philadelphia Telegraph._ - - * * * * * - -SOME LEADING FICTION. - -EACH, 12MO, CLOTH, $1.00. - - - _YEKL._ A Tale of the New York Ghetto. By A. CAHAN. - -“A new and striking tale; the charm, the verity, the literary quality of -the book depend upon its study of character, its ‘local color,’ its -revelation to Americans of a social state at their very doors of which -they have known nothing.”--_New York Times._ - -“The story is a revelation to us. It is written in a spirited, breezy -way, with an originality in the telling which is quite unexpected. The -dialect is striking in its truth to Nature.”--_Boston Courier._ - - -_THE SENTIMENTAL SEX._ By GERTRUDE WARDEN. - -“The cleverest book by a woman that has been published for months.... -Such books as ‘The Sentimental Sex’ are exemplars of a modern cult that -will not be ignored.”--_New York Commercial Advertiser._ - -“The story forms an admirable study. The style is graphic, the plot -original, and cleverly wrought out.”--_Philadelphia Evening Bulletin._ - - -_MAJESTY._ By LOUIS COUPERUS. Translated by A. Teixeira and Ernest -Dowson. - - “No novelist whom we can call to mind has ever given the world such - a masterpiece of royal portraiture as Louis Couperus’s striking - romance entitled ‘Majesty.’”--_Philadelphia Record._ - - “There is not an uninteresting page in the book, and it ought to be - read by all who desire to keep in line with the best that is - published in modern fiction.”--_Buffalo Commercial._ - - -_A STREET IN SUBURBIA._ By EDWIN PUGH. - -“Thoroughly entertaining, and more: it shows traces of a creative genius -something akin to Dickens.”--_Boston Traveler._ - -“Simplicity of style, strength, and delicacy of character study will -mark this book as one of the most significant of the year.”--_New York -Press._ - - -_THE WISH._ By HERMANN SUDERMANN. With a Biographical Introduction by -Elizabeth Lee. - - “A powerful story, very simple, very direct.”--_Chicago Evening - Post._ - - “Contains some superb specimens of original thought.”--_New York - World._ - - -THE NEW MOON. By C. E. RAIMOND, author of “George Mandeville’s Husband,” -etc. - - “One of the most impressive of recent works of fiction, both for - its matter and especially for its presentation.”--_Milwaukee - Journal._ - - * * * * * - -SOME CHOICE FICTION. - -EACH, 16MO, CLOTH, SPECIAL BINDING, $1.25. - - -_THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE._ By R. W. CHAMBERS, author of “The Moon-Maker,” -“The Red Republic,” etc. - - “Probably Mr. Robert W. Chambers is to-day the most promising - American writer of fiction of his age.... ‘The Mystery of Choice’ - reveals his most delightful qualities at their best.... Imagination - he has first of all, and it is of a fine quality; constant action - he achieves without apparent effort; naturalness, vividness, the - power of description, and especially local color, come to him like - delight in one of those glorious mornings when distance seems - annihilated.”--_Boston Herald._ - - -_MARCH HARES._ By HAROLD FREDERIC, author of “The Damnation of Theron -Ware,” “In the Valley,” etc. - - “One of the most cheerful novels we have chanced upon for many a - day. It has much of the rapidity and vigor of a smartly written - farce, with a pervading freshness a smartly written farce rarely - possesses.... A book decidedly worth reading.”--_London Saturday - Review._ - - “A striking and original story, ... effective, pleasing, and very - capable.”--_London Literary World._ - - “Mr. Frederic has found fairyland where few of us would dream of - looking for it.... ‘March Hares’ has a joyous impetus which carries - everything before it; and it enriches a class of fiction which - unfortunately is not copious.”--_London Daily Chronicle._ - - - _GREEN GATES. An Analysis of Foolishness._ By Mrs. K. M. C. - MEREDITH (Johanna Staats), author of “Drumsticks,” etc. - -“Crisp and delightful.... Fascinating, not so much for what it suggests -as for its manner, and the cleverly outlined people who walk through its -pages.”--_Chicago Times-Herald._ - -“An original strain, bright and vivacious, and strong enough in its -foolishness and its unexpected tragedy to prove its sterling -worth.”--_Boston Herald._ - - -_THE STATEMENT OF STELLA MABERLY._ By F. ANSTEY, author of “Vice Versa,” -“The Giant’s Robe,” etc. - - “Most admirably done.... We read fascinated, and fully believing - every word we read.... The book has deeply interested us, and even - thrilled us more than once.”--_London Daily Chronicle._ - - “A wildly fantastic story, thrilling and impressive.... Has an air - of vivid reality, ... of bold conception and vigorous treatment.... - A very noteworthy novelette.”--_London Times._ - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. - - * * * * * - -STEPHEN CRANE’S BOOKS. - - -_THE THIRD VIOLET._ 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. - - “By this latest product of his genius our impression of Mr. Crane - is confirmed that, for psychological insight, for dramatic - intensity, and for potency of phrase, he is already in the front - rank of English and American writers of fiction, and that he - possesses a certain separate quality which places him - apart.”--_London Academy._ - - “The whole book, from beginning to end, fairly bristles with - fun.... It is adapted for pure entertainment, yet it is not easily - put down or forgotten.”--_Boston Herald._ - - -_THE LITTLE REGIMENT, and Other Episodes of the American Civil War_. -12mo. Cloth, $1.00. - - “In ‘The Little Regiment’ we have again studies of the volunteers - waiting impatiently to fight and fighting, and the impression of - the contest as a private soldier hears, sees, and feels it, is - really wonderful. The reader has no privileges. He must, it seems, - take his place in the ranks, and stand in the mud, wade in the - river, fight, yell, swear, and sweat with the men. He has some sort - of feeling, when it is all over, that he has been doing just these - things. This sort of writing needs no praise. It will make its way - to the hearts of men without praise.”--_New York Times._ - - “Told with a verve that brings a whiff of burning powder to one’s - nostrils.... In some way he blazons the scene before our eyes, and - makes us feel the very impetus of bloody war.”--_Chicago Evening - Post._ - - -_MAGGIE: A GIRL OF THE STREETS._ 12mo. Cloth, 75 cents. - - “By writing ‘Maggie’ Mr. Crane has made for himself a permanent - place in literature.... Zola himself scarcely has surpassed its - tremendous portrayal of throbbing, breathing, moving life.”--_New - York Mail and Express._ - - “Mr. Crane’s story should be read for the fidelity with which it - portrays a life that is potent on this island, along with the best - of us. It is a powerful portrayal, and, if somber and repellent, - none the less true, none the less freighted with appeal to those - who are able to assist in righting wrongs.”--_New York Times._ - - -_THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE. An Episode of the American Civil War._ 12mo. -Cloth, $1.00. - - “Never before have we had the seamy side of glorious war so well - depicted.... The action of the story throughout is splendid, and - all aglow with color, movement, and vim. The style is as keen and - bright as a sword-blade, and a Kipling has done nothing better in - this line.”--_Chicago Evening Post._ - - “There is nothing in American fiction to compare with it.... Mr. - Crane has added to American literature something that has never - been done before, and that is, in its own peculiar way, - inimitable.”--_Boston Beacon._ - - “A truer and completer picture of war than either Tolstoy or - Zola.”--_London New Review._ - - * * * * * - -By A. CONAN DOYLE. - -_Uniform edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50 per volume._ - - -_UNCLE BERNAC. A Romance of the Empire._ Illustrated. - - “‘Uncle Bernac’ is for a truth Dr. Doyle’s Napoleon. Viewed as a - picture of the little man in the gray coat, it must rank before - anything he has written. The fascination of it is - extraordinary.”--_London Daily Chronicle._ - - “From the opening pages the clear and energetic telling of the - story never falters and our attention never flags.”--_London - Observer._ - - -_RODNEY STONE._ Illustrated. - - “A remarkable book, worthy of the pen that gave us ‘The White - Company,’ ‘Micah Clarke,’ and other notable romances.”--_London - Daily News._ - - “A notable and very brilliant work of genius.”--_London Speaker._ - - “‘Rodney Stone’ is, in our judgment, distinctly the best of Dr. - Conan Doyle’s novels.... There are few descriptions in fiction that - can vie with that race upon the Brighton road.”--_London Times._ - - -_THE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD. A Romance of the Life of a Typical -Napoleonic Soldier._ Illustrated. - - “The brigadier is brave, resolute, amorous, loyal, chivalrous; - never was a foe more ardent in battle, more clement in victory, or - more ready at need.... Gallantry, humor, martial gayety, moving - incident, make up a really delightful book.”--_London Times._ - - “May be set down without reservation as the most thoroughly - enjoyable book that Dr. Doyle has ever published.”--_Boston - Beacon._ - - -_THE STARK MUNRO LETTERS._ Being a Series of Twelve Letters written by -STARK MUNRO, M. B., to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert -Swanborough, of Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884. -Illustrated. - - “Cullingworth, ... a much more interesting creation than Sherlock - Holmes, and I pray Dr. Doyle to give us more of him.”--_Richard le - Gallienne, in the London Star._ - - “‘The Stark Munro Letters’ is a bit of real literature.... Its - reading will be an epoch-making event in many a - life.”--_Philadelphia Evening Telegraph._ - - -_ROUND THE RED LAMP. Being Facts and Fancies of Medical Life._ - - “Too much can not be said in praise of these strong productions, - that to read, keep one’s heart leaping to the throat, and the mind - in a tumult of anticipation to the end.... No series of short - stories in modern literature can approach them.”--_Hartford Times._ - - “If Dr. A. Conan Doyle had not already placed himself in the front - rank of living English writers by ‘The Refugees,’ and other of his - larger stories, he would surely do so by these fifteen short - tales.”--_New York Mail and Express._ - - * * * * * - -BY ANTHONY HOPE. - - -_THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO._ With Photogravure Frontispiece by S. -W. Van Schaick. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - “No adventures were ever better worth recounting than are those of - Antonio of Monte Velluto, a very Bayard among outlaws.... To all - those whose pulses still stir at the recital of deeds of high - courage, we may recommend this book.... The chronicle conveys the - emotion of heroic adventure, and is picturesquely - written.”--_London Daily News._ - - “It has literary merits all its own, of a deliberate and rather - deep order.... In point of execution ‘The Chronicles of Count - Antonio’ is the best work that Mr. Hope has yet done. The design is - clearer, the workmanship more elaborate, the style more - colored.”--_Westminster Gazette._ - - “A romance worthy of all the expectations raised by the brilliancy - of his former books, and likely to be read with a keen enjoyment - and a healthy exaltation of the spirits by every one who takes it - up.”--_The Scotsman._ - - “A gallant tale, written with unfailing freshness and - spirit.”--_London Daily Telegraph._ - - “One of the most fascinating romances written in English within - many days. The quaint simplicity of its style is delightful, and - the adventures recorded in these ‘Chronicles of Count Antonio’ are - as stirring and ingenious as any conceived even by Weyman at his - best.”--_New York World._ - - “No adventures were ever better worth telling than those of Count - Antonio.... The author knows full well how to make every pulse - thrill, and how to hold his readers under the spell of his - magic.”--_Boston Herald._ - - -_THE GOD IN THE CAR._ New edition. Uniform with “The Chronicles of Count -Antonio.” 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - - “‘The God in the Car’ is just as clever, just as distinguished in - style, just as full of wit, and of what nowadays some persons like - better than wit--allusiveness--as any of his stories. It is - saturated with the modern atmosphere; is not only a very clever but - a very strong story; in some respects, we think, the strongest Mr. - Hope has yet written.”--_London Speaker._ - - “A very remarkable book, deserving of critical analysis impossible - within our limit; brilliant, but not superficial; well considered, - but not elaborated; constructed with the proverbial art that - conceals, but yet allows itself to be enjoyed by readers to whom - fine literary method is a keen pleasure.”--_London World._ - - “The book is a brilliant one.... ‘The God in the Car’ is one of the - most remarkable works in a year that has given us the handiwork of - nearly all our best living novelists.”--_London Standard._ - - * * * * * - -SOME LEADING FICTION. - - - _THE GODS, SOME MORTALS, AND LORD WICKENHAM._ By JOHN OLIVER - HOBBES. With Portrait. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - -“One of the most refreshing novels of the period, full of grace, spirit, -force, feeling, and literary charm.”--_Chicago Evening Post._ - -“Here is the sweetness of a live love story.... It is to be reckoned -among the brilliants as a novel.”--_Boston Courier._ - -“Mrs. Craigie has taken her place among the novelists of the day. It is -a high place and a place apart. Her method is her own, and she stands -not exactly on the threshold of a great career, but already within the -temple of fame.”--_G. W. Smalley, in the Tribune._ - - - _MAELCHO._ By the Hon. EMILY LAWLESS, author of “Grania,” - “Hurrish,” etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - -“A paradox of literary genius. It is not a history, and yet it has more -of the stuff of history in it, more of the true national character and -fate, than any historical monograph we know. It is not a novel, and yet -it fascinates us more than any novel.”--_London Spectator._ - -“Abounds in thrilling incidents.... Above and beyond all, the book -charms by reason of the breadth of view, the magnanimity, and the -tenderness which animate the author.”--_London Athenæum._ - - - _AN IMAGINATIVE MAN._ By ROBERT S. HICHENS, author of “The Folly of - Eustace,” “The Green Carnation,” etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - -“A study in character.... Just as entertaining as though it were the -conventional story of love and marriage. The clever hand of the author -of ‘The Green Carnation’ is easily detected in the caustic wit and -pointed epigram.”--_Jeannette L. Gilder, in the New York World._ - - - _CORRUPTION._ By PERCY WHITE, author of “Mr. Bailey-Martin,” etc. - 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - -“A drama of biting intensity. A tragedy of inflexible purpose and -relentless result.”--_Pall Mall Gazette._ - -“There is intrigue enough in it for those who love a story of the -ordinary kind, and the political part is perhaps more attractive in its -sparkle and variety of incident than the real thing itself.”--_London -Daily News._ - - - _A HARD WOMAN. A Story in Scenes._ By VIOLET HUNT. 12mo. Cloth, - $1.25. - -“A good story, bright, keen, and dramatic.... It is out of the ordinary, -and will give you a new sensation.”--_New York Herald._ - -“A creation that does Mrs. Hunt infinite credit, and places her in the -front rank of the younger novelists.... Brilliantly drawn, quivering -with life, adroit, quiet-witted, unfalteringly insolent, and withal -strangely magnetic.”--_London Standard._ - - * * * * * - - -GILBERT PARKER’S BEST BOOKS. - -Uniform Edition. - - -_THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY._ Being the Memoirs of Captain ROBERT MORAY, -sometime an Officer in the Virginia Regiment, and afterwards of -Amherst’s Regiment. Illustrated, $1.50. - - “Another historical romance of the vividness and intensity of ‘The - Seats of the Mighty’ has never come from the pen of an American. - Mr. Parker’s latest work may without hesitation be set down as the - best he has done. From the first chapter to the last word interest - in the book never wanes; one finds it difficult to interrupt the - narrative with breathing space. It whirls with excitement and - strange adventure.... All of the scenes do homage to the genius of - Mr. Parker, and make ‘The Seats of the Mighty’ one of the books of - the year.”--_Chicago Record._ - - “Mr. Gilbert Parker is to be congratulated on the excellence of his - latest story, ‘The Seats of the Mighty,’ and his readers are to be - congratulated on the direction which his talents have taken - therein.... It is so good that we do not stop to think of its - literature, and the personality of Doltaire is a masterpiece of - creative art.”--_New York Mail and Express._ - - -_THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD._ A Novel. $1.25. - - “Mr. Parker here adds to a reputation already wide, and anew - demonstrates his power of pictorial portrayal and of strong - dramatic situation and climax.”--_Philadelphia Bulletin._ - - “The tale holds the reader’s interest from first to last, for it is - full of fire and spirit, abounding in incident, and marked by good - character drawing.”--_Pittsburg Times._ - - -_THE TRESPASSER._ $1.25. - - “Interest, pith, force, and charm--Mr. Parker’s new story possesses - all these qualities.... Almost bare of synthetical decoration, his - paragraphs are stirring because they are real. We read at times--as - we have read the great masters of romance--breathlessly.”--_The - Critic._ - - “Gilbert Parker writes a strong novel, but thus far this is his - masterpiece.... It is one of the great novels of the - year.”--_Boston Advertiser._ - - -_THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE._ $1.25. - - “A book which no one will be satisfied to put down until the end - has been matter of certainty and assurance.”--_The Nation._ - - “A story of remarkable interest, originality, and ingenuity of - construction.”--_Boston Home Journal._ - - -_MRS. FALCHION._ $1.25. - - “A well-knit story, told in an exceedingly interesting way, and - holding the reader’s attention to the end.” - - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Intercommuning--_i. e._, entertaining, assisting, or sheltering - any who were counted unfriendly to the Government, or had been - reported by the curates for not attending church. Even the smallest - converse with proscribed persons was thought deserving of the pains of - death. - - [2] Gif-gaf, _i. e._, give and take, the interchange of pleasantry, - parry of wit, the cut-and-thrust encounter of tongues, innocent enough - but often rough. - - [3] This was really the sweet and gentle youth James Renwick, though - I knew not his name, till I saw them hang him in the Grassmarket of - Edinburgh in the first year of my college-going. - - [4] _I.e._, those who by the Covenanters were supposed to have - _malignantly_ pursued and opposed their cause in the council or in the - field. - - [5] _I. e._, the taxes for the support of the military establishments. - - [6] Like a fox in lambing-time. - - [7] _I. e._, a marvel. - - [8] Restive. - - [9] Ben room--_i. e._, the inner or guest chamber. - - [10] The death grips. - - [11] Red ashes. - - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -I proceeded nothwards=> I proceeded nothwards {pg 43} - -far beter than miles=> far better than miles {pg 49} - -within a litle breakwater=> within a little breakwater {pg 58} - -it apppears noways=> it appears noways {pg 85} - -Bull of Earlestoun=> Bull of Earlstoun {pg 85} - -looking me directly in the yes=> looking me directly in the eyes {pg -130} - -who died at Arysmoss=> who died at Ayrsmoss {pg 139} - -and the leters I had to write=> and the letters I had to write {pg 145} - - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Standard Bearer, by S. 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