CLAVERHOUSE.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 14156, 7 March 1908, Page 2

CLAVERHOUSE.

LAN MACLAREN'S LAST

STORY

[Published by Arrargsment.]

' BOOK IV. "CHATTER lI.—VISIONS OF THE NIGHT.

Ajpon tho highest floor of Blair Castle 'there is a, long and spacious apartment, like unto the gallery in Paisley Castle, 1 where John Graham had been married to Jean Cochrane, and which to-day is the drawing room. To this high place Clavcr/house climbedi from- the room whero he bad examined the two Englishmen, and hero he passed the last hours of daylight on the day before tha battle of KilliecrWkie. Seating himself at one of the .windows, he looked out towards the west, through whose golden.gatc6 the sun had begun to enter. Beneath lay a widespreading meadow which reached to the Garry; beyond the rirci'tho ground began to rise, and in the distance were the hills covered with heather, with lakes of ensrald amid the purple. There are two hours of the day whon the soul of man is powerfully affected by the physical world in which, we live, and in which, indeed, tfia things' wo see become transparent, like a'thin veil, and through thorn the things which are not seen stream in upon the soul. One is sunrise, when there is first a grayness in the cast, and then the clouds began to redden, and afterwards a joyful*brightness heralds the appearing of the sure ns he drives in rout the reluctant rearguard of the night. The most impressive- moment is when all the high lands are bathed in soft, fresh, hopeful sunshine, but the glens are still lying jn, ithe cold and daiik shadow, so that one may suddenly descend from a place of brightiieM, where he has been in the eye of the sun, to a land of gloom, which the sun has not yet reached. Sunrise quickens the power that has been sleeping, and calls a man in high hope to the labour of the day, for if there be darlaiess Hogering in the glen, there is light on the lofty tablelands, and 6oon it will be shining everywhere when tho sun reached his meridian. And it puts heart into a man tp.come over the hill and down through the hollows when the sun is rising, for though the wood.? be dark and chill, the ■traveller is sure of the inevitable victory of the light.

v Yet more inperious and irresistible is impression of sunset as Dundee saw •'tl*6 closing pageant of the day on the last ! evening of his life. When first, he looked Jthe green plain was flooded with gentle 'light, ; which turned into gold, the brown, '6haggy Highland cattle scattered among 4ne grass, and made the river as it flashed font and in among the trees a chain of isilver, and took the hardness from the 'jagged roclcs that emerged from.the sides .of the hills. As the sun entered in bejtwoen. high banks of cloud, the light be'.jgan to. fade from the plain, and it jto'uohed the river no more; but above the 'clouds were glowing and reddening like a [celestial army clad, in scarlet and escortling home to his palace a victorious (general, la a few minutes the sun has Jdisappeared, and the red changes into j.viplet and' delicate, indescribable sliades ijof green and blue, like the colour of Nile ,'water. Then there is a faint flicker, sudiden. and transient, from the city into •hvhich the sun has gone, ana the day is •over. As the monarch of the day with--1 draws, 'the queen of the- 'night takes JlJoseession, and Claverhouse, leaning his" >cfain upon his hand, and gazing from the of his eyes across the valley, saw the silver iight, clear, beautiful, lawful, flood the mountains raid the level _ ground below,' till the out.'Btanding' hills above, and the cattle l whieh had lain down to rest in the •meadow, were thrown out as in an ■etching, with exact and. distinct outlines. The day, with its morning promise, i,"with its noontide heat, with its evening jgloryj was closed, completed and irrevocable. The night, in which no man can •.work, -had come, and in tlic cold and ■emerciless light thereof every man's work ■was revealed and judged. The weird anflueJice of the hour was upon the imagination of an impressionable man, and Ibeforehim he saw the history of his life. It seenied only a year or so since he was a gay-hearted lad upon the Sidlaw hills, and yesterday 6inco he made'his first adventure in arms, with the .army' of Irance. Again lie is sitting' by the •carapire in the Low Country, and crossing swords for the first time with Hugh MacKay, with whom he is to settle his warfare to-morrow. He is again pledging las loyalty to King James at 'Whitehall, (whom he has done-his'best to serve, and ,who has been but a. sorry master to hirn. Es thoughts tnrn once more to the pleasounce of Paislev Castle, he hears again the jingling of the horses' bite as he pledges, his troth to his bride. Across the moss-hags,' where the horses plunge in the ; ooze and the mist encircles the troopere, ho is hunting his Covenanting prey, and catchea the fearless face of some peasant zealot as he falls pierced with bullets. ' Jean weaves her arms round his neck, for once in her life a tender and fearful womap. pleading that he should' withdraw from the fight and live quietly with her at home, and then, more like herself, she rages in the moment of his mad jealousy and her 'unquenchable anger. To-morrow he would submit to the final

arbitrament of arms the cause for which ho had lived, and for which the presentiment was upon him that he would die, and tho quarrel begun between him and MncKay 15 years ago, between (tie sides they represent centuries ago, would he set-tied. If tho years had been given back to him to live again, he would not have had them otherwise. Destiny hud settled for him His polities and his principles, for he could Hut '.cave the way in which Montrose had gone before, or Ix 3 tho comrade of Covenanting Whigs. It would have been a thing unnatural and impossible. And yet he feared that the future was with them and not with the Jacobites., He only did his part in arresting fanatical hillmen and executing the punishment of the law upon them, but he would have been glad that night if lie ha<l Jiot been obliged to shoot John Brown of Priest Hill before his wife's eyes, and keep guard at the scaffold from which Pollock wfent home to God. Ho had never loved any other woman'than Jeaji Cochrane, and they were well mated in their high temper of. nature, but their marriage had been tempestuous, and he was haunted with grave misgivings. What light- was given him he had followed, but there was little to show for his life. His king had failed him, his comrades had distrusted him, his nation hated him. His wife—had she forgiven him, and was she true-hearted to him still? Behind high words of loyalty and hope bis heart had been sinking, and now it seemed to him in the light of eternal judgment, wherein there is justice but no charity, that his 40 years had failed, and ' were leaving behind them no lasting good to his house or to bis land. The moonlight shining full upon Claverhouse shows many a line now on the smoothness of bis, fair girl face, and declares his hidden, inextinguishable sorrow, who all his days had been an actor in a tragedy. He had written to the chiefs that all the world was with him, but in his heart lie knew that it was against him, and perhaps alsq Uod. Once and again Grimond had come into the gallery to summon his master to rest, but seeing him absorbed iu one of his- reveries bad quietly withdrawn. Pull of anxiety, for- he knows what the morrow will mean, tlint faithful servitor at' last came r.ear and ru6tled to catch his master's ear.

"Jock," said Clavcrhouse, starting and rising' to his feet, "is that you. man. Coming to coax me to my bod as ye did Jang syne,, when ye received me firafc from my nurse's liands? It's getting late, andI am needing rest for to-morrow's work, if I can g«fc it. We have come to Armageddon, as the preachers would say,:;and mony things for niony days hang on'Uie issue. All a man can do, Jock, is' to walk in the noad that -was set before him' from a laddie, and to complete the.task laid to his hand. What will happen afterwards doesna concern him, so be it he is faithful. Where is my room? And, hark ye, Jock, waken me early, and be not far from me through the night, for I can trust you altogether. And there be not mony true." *<•'"

Worn out with a long day in the saddle ad the planning of the evening, together' cith many anxieties and the inward umult of his mind, Glaverhouse fell isleep. He was resting so quietly that Jrimond, who had gone to the door to. isten, was satisfied, and lay down to atch an hour or two of sleep for himeif, for he could waken at any hour he pleased, and know that soon after dayireak he must be stirring. While he vas nearby, heavy with sleep, his master, »nscioiis or unconscious, according as one udges,, was in the awful presence of the unseen. • He woke suddenly, as if he Lad seen called, and knew that someone was n the room, but also in the same instant :hat it was not Grimond or any visitor of flesh ami blood. Twice hod the -wraith rf the Grahams appeared to Mm;'';and; ilway6 before a day of danger, but this, lime it was no sad, beautiful woman's; Fate, carrying upon its weird grace the/ sorrows of his line, but the figure'-.of a man that loomed from the shadow. The moon, had gone behind a cloud, and the room W36' so dark that he could only Gee that someone was there, but could not tell who it was or by what name liewould be called. Then the moon struggled' out from behind her covering and sent a shaft of light into the gloomy chamber, with its dark draping and heavy carved furniture. With the coming of the light Claverhouse, who was not unaccustomed to ghostly sights, for they were hi& heritage, raised himself in bed, and- knowing l no fear looked steadily. What he saw thrown into relief against the shadows was the figure of a hillman of the west, and one that in an instant ho knew. The Covenanter was dressed in rough homespun hodden grey, stained heavily with the black of the peat holes in which ho had been.hiding, and torn here and there where the rocks had caught him as he was crawling for..shelter. Of middle age, with hair hanging over bis ears and T>eai'd nncared for, his face bore all the signs of hunger and suffering, as of One who had wanted right food and warmth and every comfort of life for months on end. In his eyes glowed the fire of an intense and honest, but fierce and narrow piety, and with that expression was mingled another, not of anger nor pf sorrow, but of reproach, of judgment, and of sombre triumph. Hi 6 hands Were strapped in front of him with a stirrup leather, and hi 6 head was bare. As the moon shone more clearly, daverhouse saw other 6tains than those of peat upofl his che6t, and while he looked the red blood seemed to rise from wounds that pierced his heart and lungs, it flowed out again in a trickling stream, and dripped upon the whiteness of his hands. More awful still, there was a wound in his forehead and part of his head wa6 shattered.

Tiie scene had never been absent long from Claverhouse's memory, and now ho reacted it again. How this man had been caught after a. long pursuit upon the moor, how he had stood hold and unrepentant before the man that had power of life and death over him, how he refused to take the oath of loyalty to the king, how he had been shot dead before lib cottage, and how lib wiie had been spectator of her husband's death.

"Ye have not forgot me John Graham of Claverhouse, nor the deed which ye did at Priest Hill in the West Country. I am John Browju, whom ye caused to be slain for the faith of the saints and their testimony, and whom ye set free from the bondage of man forever. Behold I Live washed my robes and made them white in better blood than this, but I am sent in tlie garment o' earth, sair'stained wi' ite defilement, and in my ain unworthy bhide, that ye may ken me and believe that lam 6ent."

"What:l did was according to law," answered Claverhotifo, unshaken by the sight, "and in the fulfilling of my commission, though God knows I loved not the work, and have oftentimes regretted % killing. For that and all the deeds of tiiis life I shall answer to my judge and not to man. What wilt thou have with me, what hast thou to do with me' Had it been the other way and I had fallen at Drumclog, I had' not troubled thee or any of thy kind."

"Nor had I been minded or allowed to visit thee, John Crahani, if I had fallen in fair light, contending for Christ's crown and the liberty of the Scots Kirk, but theee wounds upon my head and breast 6peak not of war, but of murder. Because thou didst murder Christ's confessors, and the souls of the martyrs cry from beneath the altar, I am come to show thee things which are to be and tho doing of Him who saith, 'I will avenge.' Yo have often said go, and ho goetli, and come, and ho coineth, but this nicht ye will come with me, and see things that ■will shake even thy hold heart." And so in vision they went.

Clarerhouse was standing in a country kirkyard, and at the hour of sunset. Round him were ancient graves, with stones whose inscriptions had been worn away by rough weather, and upon which the grass was growing rank. They were the resting-places of past generations whose descendants had died out, and Whose names were forgotten in the land whero onco they may have been mighty people. Before him was a burying-place he knew, for it belonged to his hoiic-e. There lay his father, and there he had laid his mother, the Lady Magdalene Urabani, to rest, taken, as he often thought, from the evil to come. The ground had been stirred again, and there .was another grave. It was of tiny si'// 1 , not that of a man or wounui 4 but of Uj

child, and one that bad died in its infancy. It was carefully tended, as if the mother had still lived and had not- yet forgotten her child. At tho sight of.it ClaverhoiEo turned to tho figure by his side.

"Ye mean not —"

"Read," said the Covenanter, "for the writing surely is plain," And this is what Clasverhouse saw: — "James Gimiiamk, Only son and child of my Lor<l Dundee, Aged eight months."

" Ye longed for him and ye were proud of him, and if the sword of the righteous should slay thee, ye boasted in your heart that, there was a man-child to continue your line. But there shall be none, and thine e,vil bouse shall die out from tho land, lite tho house of Ahab, the son of Onvti, who persecuted the saints. Fathers have seen their sons' heads bung above tha West Port, to bleacli in the 6tm for tho sake of the Covenant, and mothers have wept for them who languished in the dungeon of the Bass and wearied' for death. This is the cup ye are drinking this night before the time, for behold, thou haft marred homes, but thy house shall be left Unto thee desolate."'

For a brief space Clwverhoiise bent his head, for he seemed to feel the child in his arms, as he had held him before leaving Olenogilvic. Then he rallied his manhood, • who had never been given to quail before the hardest strokes of fortune. ■ ■■

"God rest his innocan* soul, if this'be his lot; but'l live, and with me my house."

"Yes, thou livest," -said tho 6hade, "and it-has bean-a- stumbling-block to many that thou wert spaied so long; but the day of vengeance is at baud. Come again.with me," Claverhouse finds liinwelf now on a plain with the hills above and a river beneath, and an: ancient house close at hand, and he knows that this is the battlefield of to-morrow. They are standing together on a muulld wbich frses out of a garden, • and on tho grass the body of a man is lying. A cloth covers bis face, but by the uniform and arms Claverhouse knows that it is that of an officer of rank, and one that has belonged to his own regiment or horse. A dint upon his cuirass and the sight of the sword by his side catch bis eye, and he shudders.

—do I see myself?" * ! *-"Yes, thou seest thyself lying low as l\vy\ humblest man and ' now. tlian man 6i Gods people thou did'skrnock."

not other than I expected, nor docs|this r make me afraid, and I judge thbujjSart>ifia lying spirit, for I see 'no Lift np the cloth. Nor any ma'Tkicupon my face. I had not died for nothing." ■■

*'.'Nay, thou had'et'been ready to die in th©|heatiof battle facing the foe, for there been in thee a bold heart, but is not in front as mine is. See ye, Claverhouse, thou hast been killed And Claverhouse saw where*the blood, escaping from a wound rttarfcthe armpit, had stained the grass. " Aye, some one of thine own. and riding thee found that place,., as thoir«didst Taase thine arm to call they soldiers' to th© slaughter of them who are contending for the right, thou wast cununto death. By a thou liaet fallen, 0 valiant will be' none to mourn thy hast*been a man of blood f»mfohy*'yonth up,..cven unto this day," f&" Thou Sliest- there, ana art a false spirit;wit may bo-thafc your assassins are andithat I- may have the whom the saintsi]clew.jnipld blood and before his daughierjs if I fall I shall be rnonrncCdcepjtancl long by one who was of faitbjVand' .had her name in your But. whose heart I won like from the mighty. If I dicwy tio sword of my Lady Cochrane's mon,\hcr ""daughter will kefep my grave green with her tears. If Jiving, I have been loved by one strong woman, and after I am dead am mourned' by her, I have not Jived in.vain.!'

"Sayesfc thou," replied the shadowy figure, with triumphant scorn. "That was a.pretty catchword to be repeated over the wine cup at the -drinking of m.v lady's health. Verily thou did'st deceive a daughter of the godly, and she was willing'to be caught in the snare, of thy fair face and soft words. Judge ye whether the child who breaks the bond of, the Covenant : and turns against themother who bore her, is likely to be a true wife or a faithful widow. Again will I lift the veil, and thou wilt see with thine own eyes the things which are going to be, for as thou hast shown no mercy, mercy will not be shown to thee. Doet thou remember this place f Clayerhouse is again within the gallery, of Paisley Castle, andi he is looking upon a marriage service. Before him are the people of five years ago, except that now young Lord Cochrane is Earl Dimdonald, and is .giving away the bride, and my Lady Cochrane is not there cither to bless or to ban. For a while he cannot see the faces of the bride or bridegroom, nor tell what they' are, save that ho is a soldier, and she is tall and proud of carriage.

"My marriage day!" exclaimed Claverhouse, his defiant note softening into tenderness, and the underlying sorrow rising into joy. "For this vision at least I bless thee, spirit, whoever thou mayest be, Brown or any other. That was'the day of all my life, and.l am ready now or at any other time in this world or the other to have it over again and pledge my troth to my one and only one love, to my gallant lady and sweetheart, Jean."

"Thou wilt not. be asked to take thy marriage vow. again, Claverhouse, nor would thy presence bo acceptable on this day. It is the wedding of my Lady Viscountess Dundee, but be not too 6iire that thou art the bridegroom. She that broke' lightly the Covenant with her living: heavenly will have little scruple iu breaking,the bond to a dead earthly bridegroom., Thy Jean hath found another husband."

From the faces or the bride and bridegroom the mysterious shadow, which hides the future from tho present in mercy to ne all, lifted. It was Jean as majestic and as youthful as in the days when he wooed her in the pleasaurice, with her golden hair glittering as before in the sunshine, and the love-light again in her eye. And beside her, oh! fickleness of a woman's heart, oh! irony of life, oh! cruelty to the most, faithful ias)jion,_ Colonel Livingstone, now my Lord Kilsyth. And an expression of fierce satisfaction lit up the Covenanter's guastly face.

"This then was thy revenge, Jean, for the insult; I offered at Gienogilvio, and I was right in my fear that thy love was' shattered. Be it so," said Claverhouse, 1 boheve that thou wast loyal while I lived, and now, while I may have hoped other things of thee, I will not gruaVe. Thee in thy loneliness peace and protec-

tion. Wlicn tliis heart of mine, which ever beat for thee, lies cold in tlie grave, and my hair, thai, thou didst caress, has mingled with the dust, may joy he with thee, Jean, mxl God's sunshine, ever rest upon thy golden crown. Thou didst think, servant of the devil, to damn mv soul in the black depths of jealousy and hatred, as once I damned myself, 'but I have escaped, and. I defy thee. Do as thou pleaaest, thou canst not break my spirit or make me bend. Hast thou other visions?"

"Ono more," said the spirit, "and I have done with thee, proud and unrepentant fiinoer."

Jiefore Claverhouse is a room in wliicli there has been soma sudden disaster, for the roof has fallen and buried in its ruins a bed whereon someone had been sleeping, and a cradle in which some child had been lying. In. the foreground is a Coffin covered by a pall.

"She was called befgre her judge without warning, prepared or unprepared, and thou hadst better see her for the last time ere she goes to the place of. the dead." And then the cloth being lifted Claverhouse looked on the face of his wife, with, her infant child, not his, but Kilsyth's, lying at her feet. There was no abatement iii the splendour of her liair, nor the pride of her countenance; the flush is still upon her cheek, and though her cyefl were closed. there was courage in the' set of her lips. By an unexpected blow she had' been stricken and perished, but in the fulness of her magnificent womanhood, and undismayed. Lying there she seemed to defy death, and her mother's curse, which had ■ come true ,at last.

" So thou also art to be cut off in the midst of thy days, Jean. Better this way both for you and me than to grow old and become feeble, and be carried to and fro, and be despised. We were born to rule and not to serve, to conquer and not to yield, to persecute if need be, but not to be persecuted. Kilsyth, loved thee, it was not his blame, who would not? He did liia best to please thee. Mayhap it was not much he could do, but that was not his blame. He was thy husband tor awhile, but lam thy man forever. Thou art mine, and I am thino, for we are of the same creed and temper. I, John Graham, of Claverhouse, and not Kilsyth, will claim thee on the judgment dav, 'and thou shalt come with me, as the eagle follpws her mate, together we shall go to Heaven or to Hell, for we are one. Slain we may be, Jean, .but conquered never. We have lived, we have loved, and neither, in life nor death can anyone make us afraid."

Outside the trumpets sounded, and Claverhouse awoke, for the visions of the night ltad passed and the light of the morning was pouring into his room. . ' (To be continued.)