GRAHAM OF CLAVERHOUSE

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIX, Issue 67, 18 March 1908, Page 11

GRAHAM OF CLAVERHOUSE

By lAN MACLAREN.

'CHAPTER rV. I ' .TH?- PEOPLE SHALL BE MT PEOPLE, I THY GOD MY GOD." { __ month had passed before Claverlouse returned to Paisley., and this time he made his headquarters in the town and did not accept the hospitali."#,<>/the castle, excusing himself on the Sound of his many and sudden journeys. ■ His real reason was that he thought it 7 better to keep away, both for his own jake and that of Jean Cochrane. During his lonely rides he had time to examine the state of his feelings, and he - found himself more deeply affected than he thought; indeed he confessed to him- ■ self that if he were to marry he should ;- p r efer Jean to any other woman he had ever met. But he remembered her ancestry,, especially her mother, and her .'creed, which was the opposite of his, and he knew that either she would not juarry him because he was the chief opponent of her cause, or if he succeeded in winning her, he would most likely he discredited at Court by this suspicious marriage. It was better not to see her, or to run any further risks. He had made many sacrifices—all his life was to be sacrificed for his cause— and this would only be one more. He tried also to think the matter out from Her side, and although he hated to think . that she was a traitress trying to ensnare him' for her own ends, yet it might he that her family were making ..'a tool of her to seduce him from the path of duty, and although he doubted whether she was betrothed to Pollock, yet it might be true, and he certainly was not going to be Pollock's unsuccessful rival. Altogether, it was expedient that they should not see one another, and Claverhouse contented himself with Bending a courteous message by Lord Boss to the earl and Lady Jean, and busied himself with his public and by no means agreeable task of Covenanterhunting. As, however, he had received the very thoughtful and generous hospitality of the castle on his last visit, ; ahd as Lord Ross was constantly saying that the earl would like to see him, he determined to call on the afternoon before his departure. Lady Cochrane, as usual, did not appear, and neither did her .daughter, and .\fter a fucile conversation with Dundonald, who seemed feebler than ever, Claverhouse left, and had it not been for a sudden whim, as he was going through the courtyard, he had lever seen Jean Cochrane again, and riuny. things would not have happened. Bnt there was a way of Teaching the .town through the pleasaunce, and under iffie'attraction of past hours spent amon» .its trees Claverhouse turned aside, and • walking- down one of its grass walks, thinking of an evening in that place "with Jean, he came suddenly upon her on her favourite seat beneath a spread- ' ing ta_V Tr- ;"I crave your pardon, my Lady Jean," • ?aid Oaverhonse, recovering himself after an'instant's discomposure, "for this upon your c_ose_ place and ' your meditaticai. My excuse is tne peace ot the 1 -garden after the wileiness but I did not hope to find I so good company. My success in Pais-1 ley (Jastle has been greater than among like rmoss-hags." "It is a brave work, Colonel Graham, I iohnnt unarmed peasants"—and for the fct time Claverhouse caught the ironical note in Jean's speech, and knew that for-some reason she was nettled with j ;__-_" a _i_ it seems to bring little glory. | Ihough, the story did come to our ears, lit _&__etimes brought risk, and—perhaps i it was a lie of the Covenanters—once! ended, in the defeat of his Majesty's, Bprse.. I seem to forget the name of the 'jkee." I .wv? 6s /' replied Claverhouse with great. ■ good humour, "the rascals had the better of us at Drumclog. They might have file; same to-morrow again, for the bogs j are not good ground for cavalry, and I fanatics are dour fighters." "It was Henry Pollock ye were after | this time, we hear, and ye followed him lard, but ,ye have not got him. It was i . a sair.pity that you did not come a day I sooner to the castle, and then you could have captured him without danger." And lady Jean mocked Mm openly. "Ye would have tied his hands behind his back and his feet below the horse's My, and taken him to Edinburgh with a hundred of his Majesty's Horse beinte_hun and a hundred behind to keep huh safe; ye would have been a proud man, Colonel Graham, when ye came wd presented your prisoner to your masters. May I crave of you the right word, for I am only a woman of the country? Would Mr. Henry Pollock lave been a prisoner of war—of war?" &c repeated with an accent and look <f vast contempt. .Never had Claverhouse admired her More than at that moment, for the scorn ■ .&, her face became her well, and hej concltided that it must spring from onej «f two causes. Most likely, after all, pollock was her lover. ■■;'. "Tis not possible, my Lady Jean," softening his accent till it was as smooth =-*j. retvet, and looking at the girl r-thrwigh half-closed eyes, "to please everyone to whom he owes duty in this -Jpor world. If I had been successful for »>y master his Majesty the King—l can,aot remember the name of any other -master—then I would have arrested a c Kbel and a maker of strife in the land, ._r*?4 douhtlesss he would have suffered 1? US * Punishment. That would have ...been my part towards the king and towards Mr. Henry Pollock, too, and there.mhavel for the time failed. To-morrow p*jv» Jean, I may succeed." . rerhaps," she said, looking at him & om a height, "and perhaps not. And to whom else do 3-ou owe a duty, and have you filled it better?" : ■" owe a service to a most gracious : "Ostess, and that is to please her in cv «y way 1 can. Whether by my will r not, I have surely given you satisfac™n. by allowing Mr. Henry Pollock to «cape, instead of bringing him tied with Wpe&to Paisley Castle. So far as my in- ..." ormation goes you may sleep quietly -night, for he is safe in some rebel's "siT? 6 * et * am sorr J r from my heart," \*fca Claverhouse, "and I am sorry for £*"■ fake, since I make no doubt he '7~ &c some day soon, either on the J «» or on the scaffold." atv ™ y sa ke ?" said Jean, looking ''in'a amazem ent. "What have I "X ti!* hhn more than other womenr ' moV 1. Ye *°ucbed upon a secret thing WUch ought not to be spoken of, I ask jour pardon upon my bended knees. But ■..._was-..t01d, it seemed to mc from a 7 " c quarter, that there was some love £™*S e between you and Henry Pollock, r J„. - iudeed y°u were betrothed for marriage;" _n_ 3 a ClaverlloUS6 s P oke the re<l blood owea over Jean's face and ebbed as She looked at Claverhouse HgfpgS^' Bo ! answered him in a quiet

! and intense voice, which quivered with ! emotion. | "Ye were *told wrong, then, Clavernouse, for I have never been betrothed to any man, and I shall never be the wife of Henry Pollock. I am not worthy, tor he is a saint, and God knows I am not that nor ever likely to be, but only an - But l tell y° u > face to face, tnat I respect him, suffering for his religion more than those who pursue Em unto his death. And when he dies, for his testimony, he will have greater honour than those who have murdered him. iJut they did mc too much grace who betrothed mc to Henry Pollock; if I am ever married it will be to more ordinary flesh and blood, and I doubt me"—here her mood changed, and the tension relaxing, she smiled on Claverhouse— "whether it will be to any Covenanter." • "Lady Jean," said Claverhouse, with a new light breaking on him, for he began to suspect another cause of her anger it concerns mc to see you standing while there it this fair seat, and, with your leave, may I sit beside you? Can you give mc a few minutes of your time before we part—l to go on my way and you on yours. I hope' mine will not bring mc again to Paisley Castle, where I am, as the hillmen would say, 'a stumbling-block and an offence.'" Jean, glancing quickly at him, saw that Claverhouse was not mocking, but speaking with a note of sad sincerity. ° "When you said a brief while ago that mine was work without glory, ye said truly. But consider that in this confused and dark world, in which we grope our way like shepherds in a mist, we have to do what lies to our hand, and ask no questions—and t_e weariness of it is that in the darkness we strike one another. We know not which be right, and shall not know till the day breaks: we maun just do our duty, and mine, by every drop of my blood, is to the king, and the king's side. But mind ye, Lady Jean, it will not be always through the moss-hags—chasing shepherds, ploughmen and sic-like; by and by it will be on the battle-field, when this great quarrel is settled in Scotland. May the day not be far off, and may the richt side win." As Claverhouse spoke he leaned back in the'corner of the seat and looked into the far distance, while his face lost its changing expressions of cynicism, severity, gracious courtesy and keen scrutiny, and showed a nobility which Jean had never seen before. She noticed how it invested his somewhat effeminate beauty ttjith manliness and dignity. "That is true"—and Jean's voice grew gentler—"nane kens that better than myself, for nane has been more tossed in mind than I have been. Ilka man, and also woman, must walk the road as they see it before them, and do their part till tbe end comes; but the roads cross terribly on the muirs in the West Country. If I was uncivil a ! minute syne I crave your pardon, for that was not my mind. But if rumour be true it matters not to you what any man says, far less my Lady Cochrane's daughter, for ye were made to gang yir am gait." "Ye are wrong there. Lady Jean, far wrong," Claverhouse suddenly turned round and looked at her with a new countenance. "I will not deny that I am made to be careless about the strife of tongues, and to give little heed whether the world condemns or approves if I do my devoir rightly to my lord the king. But it would touch mc to the heart what you thought of mc. They say that a woman knows if a man loves her, even though his love be sudden and unlikely, and if that be so, then surely you have seen, as we walked in this pleasaunce those fair evenings, that I have loved you from the moment I saw you in the hall that day. Confess it, Jean, if that be not so. I, with what I heard of Pollock, was bound in honour to be silent." "Was Pollock the only bond of honour?" and Jean blazed on him with sudden fury. "Is theie no other tie that should keep you from speaking oi love to mc and offering mc insult in my father's house? Is this the chivalry of a Koyalist, and am I, Jean Cochrane, to be treated like a light lady of the Court, or some poor lass of the countryside ye can play with at your leisure? Pleased by your notice and then flung aside like a flower ye wore till it withered." "Before God, what do ye mean- by those words?" They were both standing now, and Graham's face was white as death. "Is the love of John Graham of Claverhouse a dishonour?" "It is, and so is the love of any man if he be pledged to another woman. Though we go not to Court, think you I have not heard of Helen Graham, the heiress of Monteith, and your courting of her—where, the story goes, ye have been more successful than catching min--1 isters of the kirk? Ye would play with mc! I thank God my brother lives, and they say he is no mean swordsman." "If it wene as you believe, my lady, and I had spoken of love to you when I was betrothed to another woman, then ye did well and worthy of your blood to be angry, and my Lord Cochrane's sword, if it had found its way to my heart, had rid the world of a rascal. Rumour is often wrong, and it has told you false this time. I deny it not, since I am on my confession, that I desired to wed Helen Graham, and I will also say freely, though it also be to my shame, that I desired to win her, not only because she was a Graham and a gracious maiden, but because I should obtain rank and power, for I have ever hungered for both, thai! with them I might serve my cause. My suit did not prosper, so tnat we were never betrothed, and now I hear she is to be married to Captain Rawdon, the nephew of my Lord Conway. I would have married Helen Graham in her smock if need be, though I say again I craved that title, and 1 would have been a faithful husband to her. But I have never loved her, nor any other women before. Love, Jean" —he went on, and they both unconsciously had seated themselves a little apart—"is like the wind spoken of in the Holy Gospel. It bloweth where it listeth, and is not to be' explained by reasons. In my coming and going to Court I have seen many fair women, and some of them have smiled on mc and tried to take tne by the lure of their eyes, but none has ever been so bonnie to mc as you Jean, and your hair of burnished gold. Doubtless I have met holier women than you, though my way has not lain much among the saints, but though one should show mc a hundred faults in you, ye are to mc to-day the best, and I declare if ye had sinned I would love you for your sins only less than for your virtues. I love you as a man should love a woman: altogether, your fair body from the crown of your head to the sole of your foot, your hair, your eyas, your mouth, your hands, the

way you hold your head, the way you walk, your white teeth when you smile, and the dimple on your cheek. Yourself' too, the Jean within that body, with your courage, your pride, your 6corn_ your temper, your fierce desires, your fiery jealousies, your changing moods. And your passion, with its demands, with its surrenders, with its caresses, with its pain. You, Jean Cochrane, as you are and as you shall be, with all my heart and with all my body, with all- my loyalty, next to that I give my king, I love you, Jean." He leaned towards her as he spoke, and all the passion that was hidden behind his girl face and Court manner—the passion that had made him the most daring of soldiers, and was to make him the most successful of leaders —poured from his eyes, from his lips, from his whole self, like a hot stream, enveloping, overwhelming and captivating her. Strong as she was in will and character, she could not speak nor move, but only looked at him, with eyes wide' open, from the midst of the wealth of her golden hair. "Do I not know the sacrifice I am asking if you should consent to be my wife? Jean, I will tell you true: not for my love even and your bonnie self will I lie or palter with my faith. You will have to come to mc, I will not go to you; you will have to break with the Covenant, leave your father's house and face your mother's anger, and .be denounced.by the godly, up an down the land, because ye married the man of blood and the persecutor of the saints. I will not change, ye understand that? No, not for the warm, soft clasp of your white arms round my neck; no, not though ye tie mc with the meshes of your shining'hair. I judge that ye- will not be a temptress, but I give you warning I am no Samp?on, in his weakness to a woman's witchery, I when it comes to my faith and my duty. II will love you night and day as a man loveth a woman, but I will do what I; I am told to do, even tnough it be against ■ your own people, till the evil days be, over. And it may be, Jean, that I shall I have to lead a hopeless cause. Ye must be willing to give mc to death without a grudge, and send mc with a kiss to I serve the king. "Can you do this"—and now his voice 16ank almost to a whisper, and he I stretched his hands towards her—"for the sake of love, for love's sake only, I for the sight of my face, for the touch ■of my lips, for the clasp of my arms, for the service of my heart, for myself? If ye should, I will be a true man to you, Jean, till death us do part. I have not been better than other men, !>ut women have never ma.de mc play the fool, and even your own folk, who hate mc, will tell you that I have been a clean, liver. And now I will never touch or look, on any other woman in the way of love save you. If I have to leave your side to serve the king, I will return when the work is done, and all the time I an} away ray love will be returning to you. If you be not in my empty arms, yoru shall ever be in my heart; if I win hon.our or wealth, it will now be for you. It I can shelter you from sorrows and trouble, I will do so with my life, and if I die my last thought, after the cause, will be of you, my lady and my love. "Jean Cochrane, can you trust yourself to mc; will you be the wife of John Graham of ClavexhouseV They had risen as by instinct, and were facing one another where the light of the setting sun fell softly upon them through the fretted greenery of the beech tree.

"For life, John Graham, and for I death," and as. she said "death" he clasped her in his arms. The ■ brown I hair mingled with the gold, they looked into one another's eyes, and their lips met in a long, passionate kiss, renewed again and again, as if their souls had flowed together. Then she disentangled herself and stood a pace away, and laying her hands upon his shouldere and looking steadfastly at him, she said: "Whither thou goest I will go, and ! where thou lodgest I will lodge, thy people shall be my people, and thy .God my God." The sooner they were married the better pleased John Graham and Jean Cochrane would be, for life in Paisley Castle could not be a for Jean after that bethrothal. . Three weeks later Claverhouse rode down one Saturday irom Edinburgh to Paisley against his marriage day on the following Tuesday. Bis love for Jean had steadily grown during those days, and now was in a white, beat of anticipation, for she was no jiun, but a woman to stir a man's senses. Yet there were many things to chasten and keep him sober. No sooner was it known that he was to marry Lady Cochrane's daughter and the granddaughter of Lord Cassillis than his rivals in the high places of Scotland and at Whitehall did their best to injure him, setting, abroad stories that he was no longer loyal, and that in future he would play into the hands of the enemy. His young wife would certainly ; get round him and shake his integrity, and it would not be wise to trust Claverhouse with secrets of grave affairs. It was propnesied that this amazing and incongruous marriage, the mating of opposites, would only work ruin to his career, and that indeed this was the beginning of the end for Claverhouse. Lady Cochrane, raging like a fiend in Paisley Castle, did not fail, in the interludes of invective against her daughter for disgracing their good name and giving herself into the hands of the crudest enemy of the kirk, to remind Jean also that she- was doing the worst injury to the man she. profes»-. Ed to love, and, that in the end, Claver- | house would be twice damned—for his sin against the Covenanters and for his ,' disloyalty to his own cause. Jean was, of all women, most, capable of holding her own even with her masterful mother, and Claverhouse was perfectly con-i fident that neither Lady Cochrane nor, her family would be able to shake Jean's j fidelity. But there were times, and they were her bitterest hours, when Jean was not sure whether she had not done selfishly and was not going to sat-, isfy her love at the expense of her lovfer. , On bis part, he could not help being I anxious, for it seemed as if every man] of his own party had turned his hand against him. With all his severity, Claverhouse had a just mind, and he offended Queensbury by protesting against the severity of the flaw; while the Duke of Perth, an unprincipled vagabond, ready to play traitor to either king or religion, hated Claverhouse because he was an honorable man. Claverhouse thought it necessary to write to thc Duke of York, explaining the circumstances of his marriage, and assuring him of his continued loyalty, and to the Duke of Hamilton whose daughter was to be married to young Lord Cochrane, testifying to the integrity of Jean. "For the young lady herself. I shall answer for her. Had she been right principled she would never, in despite of her mother and relations, made choyse of a persecutor, as they call mc. So whoever think to misrepresent mc on that head will find themselves mistaken; for both the king and i the church's interest) drjvo as fut M

they think fit, they will never see nic behind." *

Lord Dundonald himself was pleased because the marriage secured Claverhouse's influence, and so were his personal friends,, such as I_ord Ross, who knew and admired Jean; Claverhouse could not hide from himself) however, that the world judged the marriage an irreparable mistake, and Grimond. —so far as he dared—but he had now to be very careful—rubbed salt into the wounds. All the omens were against them, and when on the Sunday Claverhouse sat beside his bride in the Abbey Church, the people gave them a cold countenance,, and as they went up the street true Presbyterians turned their faces from Claverhouse. The marriage service was performed in the gallery of the castle, . and the minister officiating was one whd had taken the indulgence and was avoided by the stricter people of the kirk. The contract was signed by Lord Dundonald and the old countess with weak and feeble hands, but the bride and bridegroom placed their names with ] strong and unhesitating characters. Lord Ross stood beside his commanding officer as best man, and young Lord Cochrane was also present, full of goodwill and sympathy, for was he not himself about to marry the daughter of the Duke of Hamilton? But neither Ihindonald's weakly approval nor the gaiety of the young men could lift the shadow that fell within and without, both in the gallery and in the courtyard of the castle, upon the marriage of Claverhouse and Jean Cochrane. News had come two days before that there had been a rising among the Covenanters, and Claverhouse was ordered to pursue them with his cavalry. His regiment was in the district, and while the service whs going on iv the castle, his horse was saddled in the courtyard, and a guard of troopers Were making ready to start. The sound of the champing of bits and the clinking of spurs came up through the quiet summer air and mingled with the prayer of the minister. 1 Lady Cochrane was not supposed to be I present, but when, the minister asked if anyone could show just cause why this marriage should not be performed, she appeared suddenly from an alcove where she had "been sheltered behind the servants. Steping forward, she said, with an unfaltering voice, vibrant,with solemn indignation, "In the name of God and in my Own, I, the mother of Jean Cochrane, forbid this marriage, because she is marrying against my will, and joining herself to the persecutor of God's people; because she is turning herself against her father's house and forsaking the faith of her father's God." The minister paused for a moment, for he was a quiet man and stood m awe of Lady Cochrane; he looked anxiously at the bride and bridegroom. "I have made my choice," said Jean, "and I adhere to it with my mind and heart," and Claverhouse, with a smile and bow, bade the minister do his duty. When they were married there was a moment's stillness, during which the bridegroom kissed the bride, and then Lady Cochrane spoke again. "Ye have gone your own way and done your own will, John Graham and Jean Cochrane, and the curse of God's kirk and of a mother goes with you. The veil is lifted from before my eyes, and I prophesy that-neither the bridegroom nor the bride will die in their beds. There are those here present who will witness one day that 1 have spoken true.",.,.. s . .. -. Claverhouse''led '__3"'_rlde- to v the wing of the castle, where she lived, and from which she could look down on the courtyard. At the door of her room he kissed her again and bade her good-bye. "This is what ye have got, Jean, by marrying mc," and his smile was dashed with sadness. Two minutes later he rode out from the courtyard of tore castle to hunt tho people of Lady Cochrane's faith, while her daughter and his bride waved him God speed from her window. (To be continued next Saturday.)