Graham of Claverhouse.

New Zealand Graphic, 28 December 1907, Page 56

Graham of Claverhouse.

By

<BOOK IL

IAN MACLAREN.

CHAPTER 111. BETWEEN MOTHER AND LOVER. rOR no lens a time than fourteen. days did CLaverhouse and his men remain in Paisley, to the amazement of 1 he district and the fierce indignation of Eady Cochrane. During that time the soldiers made sudden journeys in various directions, but if they arrested any Covenanters they were never brought to 'Paisley, and although Lady Cochrane prophesied the murder of the saints every day, no new atrocity was laid to her guest’s charge. Once or twice he .wont out with his men himself, but he mostly contented himself with directing their operations, and he occupied his time with writing long despatches on the case of Sir John Cochrane and the state of affairs in Scotland. He was not so busy, however, that he Lad no leisure for the duties of a guest, and now that he had missed Pollock and had found out all he wanted about Sir John, he never came a thousand miles within controversy. lie was studiously courteous to the servants at the castle, who had regarded his coming with absolute terror; he calmed and gentled the timid old earl, and drew him out to tell stories of the days of the Commonwealth, when one of Cromwell’s troopers pulled the minister out of the pulpit of the Abbey kirk, and held forth himself on the sins both of Prelacy ami Presbytery, declaring that he was as good a priest as any man. Claverhouse made no objection when the minister of the Abbey, who had taken the indulgence, and was on good terms with the government, but whom Lady Cochrane detested ami considered to be a mere Gallio, came up to hold family worship in the castle. He attended the service himself, and explained that he always had prayers when he was at home, and that he generally had a chaplain with him. When he was not shut up in his room reading or writing despatches. he mingled freely with the family ami suited himself to each one’s taste with great tact ami good nature. It was not long since he had returned from Court at London, where he was now .1 popular and influential person, and he had many good tales for young Lord Cochrane, about bunting with the Duke of York. cock-lighting and other sports in vogue, and all the doings of the royal circle. For Jean he h i I endless interesting gossip from 1 he cipitil about the great ladies awl famous men, and the amusements of the Court ami the varied life of London. Rut he was careful never to tell any of those tales which buzzed through the land about the ways of Charles, but. •which w« re not fit for a maiden's ears. •From time to time. also, as they walked together in the pleas iunco of the castle fhey touched on deeper things, and Jean marked that, although this man bad lived a soldier's life, and had been much with people who were far vemoved from Puritanism, he was free from the coarseness of the day, and that, although he might be capable of severity and even cruelty, he was of more fastidious and chivalrous temper than anyone else she L a I met among the Covenanters except

Henry Pollock. Unconsciously Jean began to compare the two men, and to weigh their types of character. There was nothing to choose between them in honour or manliness, though the one was a minister of the Evangel and the other a colonel of his Majesty’s Horse, but they were different. Pollock, with all his narrowness of faith and extravagance of fashion, was a saint, and no one could say that of Claverhouse, even though they might admit he was not the devil of the Covenanting imagination. But John Graham was more human: he might not see visions, and there never came into his face that light of the other world which she had seen on Pollock’s, but he knew when a woman was walking by his side, and his eyes caressed her. His voice never had that indescribable accent of eternity 'which thrilled Henry Pollock’s hearers, and was to them as a. message from God, but Graham’s speech could turn from grave and courteous mockery, which was very taking in its way, to a gentle deference and respectful appeal, which, from a strong man with so dazzling a reputation, was irresistible to a woman’s heart. Then, no one could deny that his person was beautiful —-a rare thing to say of a man —or that his manner was gracious, and Jean began to admit to herself that if he set himself he would be a successful lover. The very contradiction of the man —with so graceful a form and so high a spirit, with so evil a name for persecution and so engaging a presence, with such a high tone of authority among the men in power and so modest a carriage towards maidens —made him «. captivating guest and dangerous to womens’ heart. There was also a natural sympathy between John Graham and Jean Cochrane, because, though they had been brought up under different traditions and were on opposite sides, they were both resolute, honest, independent, and loyal. No word or hint of love passed between them during those days, but Jean knew that for the first time her heart had been touched, and Claverhouse, who had seen all kinds of women and had been indifferent to them all, and who for the beauty of him had been tempted at Court quite shamelessly and had remained cold as ice, understood at last the attraction of a maid for a man, and also realized that Jean Cochrane was a fit mate for him because her spirit was as high as his own. They were trying days for Lady Cochrane in her self-enforced seclusion, and her temper was not improved by the news, brought diligently to her by her waiting-maid, that her daughter was doing her utmost to make the persecutor's time pass pleasantly. Her mother had no suspicion at. this point that Jean was real wavering in loyalty to the good cause, but as a woman with insight and discernment she knew the danger to which Jean was exposed, and blamed herself for her own inconvenient pride. What if by way of putting a slight on this arch enemy she were to sacrifice her own child? It was impossible, of course, that any daughter of hors should ever allow her affections to In- entangled by the murderer of the saints, and Claver-

house dared not, if he would, marry a Cochrane, for he might as well throw up his commission and join Henry Pollock at the next preaching on the moors. But foolish ideas might come into the girl’s head, and it was said that Claverhouse could appear as an angel of light. It might be as well to strengthen and safeguard her daughter against the wiles of the wicked one, so she summoned her to her room, and, as her manner was, dealt with Jean in a straightforward and' faithful fashion. Lady Cochrane had, however, learned that her daughter could not be browbeaten or captured by direct assault, but that, however thorough might be her own mind and uncompromising her will, she would have to walk warily with Jean. ’ 11. was an ill wind that blew' that evil man to this castle, and an ill work, I make no doubt, he has been after in this district. He came like a bloodhound to catch Henry Pollock, and like a fox to get what news he could about Sir John. What he lingers for his master only knows, but it grieves me, lassie, that ye have had the burden of him on your shoulders. They are too light, though they may be stronger than most, for such a weight; I will not deny your spirit, but he, as the Proverb goes, must have a lang spoon to sup wi’ the diel. Has he spoken civilly”—and Lady Cochrane eyed her daughter keenly—“or has he been saying evil of our house and the cause?” “Claverhouse nas said no evil of any man that 1 can mind of, mother,” replied Jean coldly; “and what he did say' about Mr. Henry Pollock would have rather pleased than angered you. He does not discourse without ceasing, as certain do when they come to the castle, about the times and all the black troubles; he seems to me rather to avoid matters of debate, I suppose because they' would give offence. 1 doubt whether you could quarrel with him if you met him.” “What, then, is the substance of his talk—for, if all stories be true it is not much he knows of anything but war and wicked people? What has he for a godlv maiden to hear?” “Nothing worth mentioning, mayhap” —and Jean spoke with almost studied indifference—“what is going on in London. and how the great ladies of the Court are dressed, and the clever things the king says, and how the Duke of York loves sport, and suchlike. It would please you to hear him, for ye have seen the Court.” "Once, Jean, and never again by God’s mercy, for it is a spring of corruption from which pours every evil work, where no man can live clean and no chaste woman should ever go. The like of it has not been seen for wickedness since the daughter of Herodias danced before. Herod and his lea”t courtiers, and obtained the head of John the Baptist on a charger for her reward. Black shame upon John Graham! Cruel he is, but I thought he would not pollute any girl’s edrs with stich immodest tales.” And Lady Cochrane was beginning to lose control of herself. “Colonel Graham said never a word which it were unbecoming a maiden to hear, and especially' a daughter of Lady Cochrane, and Jean grew hot with

indignation. “His talk was about tht ceremonies and the dresses; there was n< mention of any wrongdoings. Nor twat his speech always of London, for ha touched on many other things, and seemed to me to have right thoughts, both of how men should live and die. For example, he said, that though Mr. Henry Pollock and he differ, Mr. Senry was a good and brave gentleman.” “Did he, indeed?” and Lady Cochrane was very scornful. “Doubtless that was very cunning on his part, and meant to tickle your ears. But ye know, Jean, that if by evil chance, or rather, let us say, a dark ordering of the Lord, he had caught Mr. Henry here, like a bird in the snare of the fowler, he would have given him a short trial. If ye had eared to look ye would have seen that godly man shot in our own courtyard by six of Claverhouse’s dragoons. Aye, and ho would have given the order in. words as smooth as butter, and come back to tell you brave tales of the court ladies with a smile upon his bonnie face. May God smite his beauty with wasting and destruction!” Mother,” said Jean, flushing and throwing back her head, “ye speak what ye believe to be true, and many hard things are done in these black days on both sides; but after I have spoken with Claverhouse, I cannot think that he would have any good man killed in cold blood.” “What does it matter, Jean, what you think, for it is weel knt that a young lassie’s eye is caught in the snare of a glancing eye and a gallant’s lovelocks. Listen to me, and I will tell you what three weeks ago this fair-spoken and sfeet-smiling cavalier died. He was hunting for the hidden servants of the Lord in the wild places of Ayrshire, and he caught near his own house a faithful professor of religion, on whose head a price was set, and for whose blood those sons of Belial were thirsting. Claverhouse demanded that he should take the oath, which no honest man can swear, and of which ye have often heard. And when that brave heart would not, because he counted his life not dear to him for the Lord’s sake, Claverhouse gave him three minutes to pray before he died. You are hearing me, Jean, for 1 have not done? “The martyr of the Lord prayed so earnestly for his wife and children, for the down trodden Kirk of Scotland, and for his murderer, that Graham ordered him to rise from his knees, because his time was come. When he lost ,«e was made to stand upon the green before his own house, with his wife and bairns at the door; and Claverhouse commanded so many of his men to fire upon him. Ah! ye would have seen another Claverhouse than ye know in that hour. But that is not all. “His dragoons are ignorant and ungodly men, accustom'd to blood; but after hearing that prayer their hearts wens softened within them, and they refused to fire. So Graham took a pistol from his saddle, and with bis own hands slew the martyr. Ye are hearing, Jean; but there is more to follow. With het husband lying dead before her eyes. Claverhouse asked his wife what she thought of her man now. That brav®

woman, made strong in the hour of trial, wrapped her husband’s head in a white cloth and took it on her lap, and answered: ‘I have always honored him, but I have never been so proud of him as this day. Ye will have to answer to man and God for this.’ This is what he gave back to her: ‘I am not afraid of man, and God I will take into my own hands.’ That is how he can deal with women, Jean, whe'ri he is on his errands of blood, and that is what he thinks of God. But his day is coming, and the judgment of the Lord will not tarry.” “ My lady,” said Jean, who had grown very pale, and whose face had hardened through this ghastly story, “ that, I am certain as I live, is a lie. Colonel Graham might order the Covenanter to be shot, and that were dreadful enough. He would never have insulted his wife after such a base manner —none but a churl would do that, and Claverhouse is not base-born.”

“ He is base, girl, who does basely, it matters not how fair he be or how pleasing in a. lady’s room. And lam not sure about his respeet for ladies and the high ways of what ye would call his chivalry. Mayhap ye have not heard the story of his courting—then I have something else, and a lighter tale for your ears, but whether it please you better I know not. Though I begin to believe ye are easily satisfied.’’ At the mention of courting Lady Cochrane searched the face of her daughter, but though Jean was startled she gave no sign. “There be many tales which fly up and down the land', and are passed from mouth to mouth among the children of this world, and some of them are not for a godly maiden’s ears, since they are maistly concerned wi’ chambering and wantonness. But this thing ye had better hear, and then ye will understand what manner fom an in his walk and conversation we are harbouring beneath our roof. For a’ he look so grand and carries his head so high, he has little gold in his purse, but the black devil of greed is in his heart. So, like the lave of the gallants that drink and gamble and do waur things at the king’s court, he has been hunting for some lass that will bring him a tocher (dowry) and a title. For this is what the men of his generation are ever needing. Ye follow me, Jean? This may be news to a country lass wha has not been corrupted among the king’s ladies.

“Weel, it’s mair than three years ago our brave gentleman scented his game, and ever since has been trying to trap this misguided lass, for, like the rest o’ them, when he is not persecuting the saints, he is ruining innocent women soul and body. I would have you understand that, daughter, and maybe ye will walk with him less in the pleasaunce.” Both women were standing, and Lady Cochrane was watching Jean to see whether she had touched her. Her daughter gave no sign except that her face was hardening, and she tapped the floor with her foot.

“Ye may not have heard of Helen Graham, for she belongs to another world from ours, and one I pray God ye may never see the inside of, for a black clan to Scotland have been the Grahams from the Marquis himself, who was a traitor to the Covenant and a scourge to Israel, to this bonnie kinsman of his, who has the face of a woman and the dress of a popinjay and the heart of a fiend. Now. it happens that this fair lass, whom I pity both for her blood and for her company, for indeed she is a daughter of Heth and hath the portion of her people, is heiress to the Karl of Monteith, and whasoever marries her will succeed to what money there is and will be an earl in his own richt. A fine prize for an avaricious and ambitious worlding. “For years, then, as I was saying, Claverhouse has been scheming and plotting to capture Helen Graham, and to make himself Earl o’ Monteith. It wasna sic easy work as shootin’ God’s people on the hillside, and for a while the sun didna shine on his game. Some sav the Marquis wanted her for himself, and then John Graham of Claverhouse would have to go behind like a little dog to his master’s heel. Some say that her father had some compunction in handing over his daughter into sic cruel hands. Some say that the lass had a lover of her own. though that is neither here nor there with folk. But it’s no easy throwing a bloodhound off the track, and now I hear he has gained his purpose, and afore ho let the Court and came back to his evil trade in Scotland the contract of marriage was settled, and ane o’ these

days we will be hearing that a Graham has married a Graham, and that both o’ them have gotten the portion that belongeth to the unrighteous. Ye ken, Jean, that I have never loved the foolish gossip which fills the minds o’ idle folk when they had better be readin’ their Bibles and praying for their souls, but I judged it expedient that ye should know that Claverhouse is as gude as a married man.”

“If he were not,” said Jean, looking steadily at her mother, and drawing herself up to her full height, “there is little danger he would come to Paisley Castle for his love, or find a bride in my Lady Cochrane’s daughter. Ye have given me fair warning and have used very plain speech, but I was wondering with myself all the time” —and then as her mother waited and questioned her by a look—"whether miscalling a man black with the shameful lies of his enemies is not the surest way to turn the heart of a woman towards him. But doubtless ye ken best.” Without further speech Jean left her mother's room, who felt that she would have succeeded better if her daughter had been less like herself.

Jean gave, truth to tell, little heed to the stories of Claverhouse’s savagery, partly because rough deeds were being done on both sides, and they were not so much horrified in the West Country of that time at the shooting of a man as we are in our delicate days; partly, also, because she had been fed on those hoi - rors for years, and had learned to regard Claverhouse and the other Royalist officers as men capable of any atrocity. Gradually the dramatic stories had grown stale and lost their bite, and when she noticed that with every new telling it was necessary to strengthen the horrors, Jean had begun to regard them as works of political fiction. But this was another story about Claverhouse’s engagement to Helen Graham. Jean would not admit to herself, even in her own room or in her own heart, that she was in love with Graham, and she was ready to say to herself that no marriage could be more preposterous than between a Cochrane and a Graham. It did not really matter to her whether he had been engaged or was going to be engaged to one Graham or twenty Grahams. She had never seen him till a few days ago, and very likely, having done all he wanted, he would never come to Paisley Castle again. Their lives had touched just for a space, and then would run forever afterwards apart. They had passed some pleasant hours together, and she would ever remember his face; perhaps he might sometimes recall hers. So the little play would end without ill being done to her or him. Still, as she knew her mother was not over-scrupulous, and any stick was good enough wherewith to beat Claverhouse She would like to know, if onlv to gratify a womans curiosity, whether Claverhouse was really going to marry this kinswoman of his, and, m passing,'whether he was the mercenary adventurer of her mother s description. This was the reason of a friendly duel between that vivacious woman Howieson, Jean Cochrane’s maid and humble friend, and that hard ami far-seeing man of Angus, Jock Gnmond Claverhouse’s servant and only too loyal Cla “Tt™ a no true every time ‘Like master like man’” - and Kirsty bold opening, as was the v class—“for I never saw a woman wi bonnier face than cartes monv a lass would give ten rear Xr’life. aye. and mair. for ?m brown curls and his glancing eon. Im pidgin there have been sair hearts for him amang the fair Court ladies. “Ye mav weel say that, Kirsty. an swered Jock; “if Providence had been pleased to give von a continuance half ’as wintme, nae doot ye would have been married afore this, my lass. As for him. the women just rin after daverhouso in flooks. It doesna matter whether it be Holland or whether it bo London, whether it be duchesses at Whitehall or merchants’ daughters at Dundee, he could have married a hundred times over wi’ money and rank and beauty and power. Lord’s sake! the opportunities he has had. and the risks he has run. it’s boon a merciful thing he had me by his side to be. if I may say it. a guide and a protector.” "If the Almiehty hasna done muckle for your face, Jock, He’s given you a grand conceit o’ yoursel’, and that must be a rael comfort. I wish I’d a share o’

it. So you have preserved your inaister safe till this day. and he’s still gaeing about heart-fret; and hand-free."

"Na, Kirsty”—and Grimond looking shrewdly at her—“l’ll no say that Claverhouse isna bound to marry some day or ither, and, of course, in his posseetion it behove him to find a lady of his ain rank and his ain creed. Noo, what I’m tollin’ ye is strictly between oorsel’s, and ye’re no to mention it even to your ain mistress. (Jlaverhouse is contracted in marriage to Miss Helen Graham, the daughter of Sir James Graham ,his own uncle, and the heiress to the Earl of Monteith. Ye see, Miss Helen is bis kinswoman, and she brings him an earldom in her lap. Besides that she’s verra takin’ in her appearance and manner, and T needna say just hates a Convenanter as she would a brock (badger). It’s a niaist suitable match every way ye look at it, and it has my entire approbation. But no a word aboot this, mind ye. Kirsty—though I was juist thinkin’ this afternoon of recommendin’ Claverhouse to let this contract be known. He’s an honourable man. is the laird, and. by ordinary, well-livin’; but there’s nae doot he is awfu’ temptit by women, and 1 wouldna like to see their hearts broken.” “A word in season to my Lady Jean, if I’m m» sair mistaken” —and Jock chuckled to himself when Kirsty had gone — ‘ r and a warning to the laird micht no be amiss. It would be tine business for a Graham o' (Taverhous? to marry a Covenantin' fanatic and the daughter o’ sic a mither. Dod! it would be fair ruin for his career, ami misery for hiinsel . 111 n<> deny her looks, but I'll guarantee she has her mither's temper. What would Claverhon.-e have done without me—though I wouldna say that to onybody except mysel’—he would have them just an object —aye. aye. just a fair object. As Grimond had communicated the engagement of Claverhouse to Helen Graham under the form of a secret, he was perfectly certain that Kirsty would tell it that evening to h<?r mistress, and in the end to the whole castle. But he thought it wise to reinforce the resolution of the other side, and when he waited on his masher that evening he laid himself out for instruction. ‘Ye would have laughed hearty, Mr. John, if you had hoard the officers over their wine this afternoon in the town. Lord Hoss wasna there, and so they had the freedom o’ their tongues; and if Sir Adam Blair wasna holdin’ out that you had fall.-m in love wi' Lady Joan, and the next thing they would hear would be a marriage that would astonish Scotland. Earleshall nearly went mad. and said that if ye did that you would be fairly bewitched, ami that you might as well join the Covenanters. 1 tell ye. laird, thev nearly quarrelled over it. and 1 am tell they got so thirsty that they drank fourteen bottles o' claret to five o’ them besides what they had before. Ye will excuse me mentionin’ this, for it's no for me to tell you what the gentlemen speak aboot : but I thought a bit o «hiHin' (amusement) micht lichten ye after the day's work.*’ ’ It is no concern of mine what the officer- say between themselves, and I’ve told you before. Grimond. that you are not to bring any idle tales you pick up to my ears. You've done this more than once, and I lay it on you not to do it again.” “Surely. Mr. John, surely. I ken it’s no becomin*. ami I'll no give ye cause to complaint again. But as sure as death, when I heard them saying it as 1 took in your message to Earleshall I nearly dropped on the floor. I was that amused. ( laverhouse married to a Covenanter! It wa> vena takin’. “Na. na. Mr. John. I kent better than that, but I'm no just comfortable in my mind sic lang a< ye are in Paisley Castle and in the company o' Lady Jean. Her mither K an aide besom, and her young ladyship is terra deep. W hat I'm bearin' on the it her side <»’ the hedg.* is that she's trying to get round ve so as to get a pardon for Sir John, and to let him come home from Holland. No. (’laverhouse, ve maiinn be angry wi’ me. for I've waited on ye longer than ye mind, and 1 canna help bein' anxious. Ye are a grand soldier. ind ye’ve lieen a tine adviser to the < io\ei nimmt. 'I h. tv's no mony things \v r<‘ no fit for. Mr. John, but the women are cunning. and have aye made a fule o’ the men since Eve Jed Adam at! the straicht and made sic a mKbanter n’ the ha I race. They Bay dnnn Main* that Lady Jean is getting ve fine, and that

if it wasna that her family wanted something from you. you would never have had a blink u' her, ony inair than her auld jade o' a mither. For a hypocrite give me a Covenanter, and, of course, the higher they are the cleverer. “Just ae word more, Claverhouse, and I pray ye no to be angry, for there’s naebody hives ye better than Jock Grimond. I hear things ye canna hear, and I see things ye canna see. Naebody would tell you that Lady Jean and Pollock, the Cov‘mintin’ minister, are as glide as man and wife. They may no be married yet. but they will as sune as it’s safe; and that’s how he comes here so often. She has a good reason to speak ye fair, laird, ami she has a souple tongue and a h-guilin’ way, juist a Delilah. Laird, as sure as I'm a livin’ man this is a boose o' deceit, and we are encompassed wi fausehood as wi’ a garment.” And although Claverhouse’s rebuke was hot Grimond felt that he had not suffered in vair CHAPTER IV. THY PEOPLE SHALL BE MY PEOPLE. THY GOD MY GOD." A month had passed before Claverhouse returned to Paisley, and this time he made his headquarters in the town, and did not accept the hospitality of the castle, excusing himself on the ground of his many and sudden journeys. His real reason was that he thought it better to keep away, both for his own sake 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 himself that if lie were to marry he should prefer 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 marry him because he was the chief opponent of her cause, or if he succeeded in winning her. he would most likely be discredited at Court by this suspicious marriage, ft 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 be 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 sending 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. ho had received the very thoughtful and generous hospitality of the castle on his last visit, and as Lord Ross was constantly saying that the earl would like to see him. he determined to call on the afternoon before his departure. Ladv Cochrane, as usual, did not appear, and neither did her daughter, and after a futile 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 never seen Jean Cochrane again, and " IJ, ny things would not have happened. But there was a way of reaching the town through the pleasaunee. and under the attraction of past hours spent among its trees Claverhouse turned aside, and walking down one of its grass walks and thinking of an evening iii that place with Jean, he came suddenly upon her on her favourite seat beneath a spreading hooch. “I crave vour pardon, mv Ladv .Tenn.'’ said Claverhouse. recovering himself after an instant’s discomposure, “for this intrusion upon your chosen place and your meditation. My «xcuse is the peace of the garden after the wildness of the moors, hut I did not hope to find so good company. My success in Paisley Castle has been greater than among the moss-bags.” “If a brave work. Colonel Graham, to hunt unarmed peasants”—and fnr the first time Claverhouse caught the ironical note in .lean’s speech, and knew that for some reason she was nettled with him - “and it seems to bring little glory.

Though, the story did come to our ears, it sometimes brought risk, and—perhaps it was a lie of the Covenanters —once ended in the defeat of his Majesty’s

Horse. I seem to forget the name of the place.” “Yes,” replied Claverhouse with great good humour, “the rascals had the better

of us at Drumclog. They might have the same to-morrow again, for the bogs are not good ground for cavalry, and fanatics are dour fighters.” “It was Henry Pollock ye were after this time, we hear, and ye followed him hard, but ye have not got him. It was a sair pity that you did not come a day sooner to the castle, and then you could have captured him without danger.” And Lady Jean mocked him openly. “Ye would have tied his hands behind his back and his feet below the horse’s belly, and taken him to Edinburgh with a hundred of his Majesty’s Horse before him and a hundred behind to keep him safe; ye would have been a proud man, Colonel Graham, when ye came and 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 have been a prisoner of war—of war?” she repeated with an accent and look of vast contempt. Never had Claverhouse admired her more than at that moment, for the scorn on her face became her well, and ha, concluded that it must spring from ohq of two causes. Most likely, after all, Pollock was her lover. “ ’Tis not possible, my Lady Jean,’ softening his accent till it was as smooth as velvet, and looking at the girl through half-closed eyes, “to please everyone to whom he owes duty in this poor world. If 1 had been successful for my master his Majesty the King I cannot remember the name of any other master—then I would have arrested a rebel and a maker of strife in the land, and doubtlesss he would have suffered his just punishment. That would have been my part towards the king and towards Mr. Henry Pollock, too, and therein have 1 for the time failed. To-morrow Lady, Jean, I may succeed.” “Perhaps,” she said, looking at him from a height, “and perhaps not. And to whom else do you owe a duty, and have you filled it better?” “1 owe a service to a most gracious hostess, and that is to please her in every wav 1 can. Whether by mv will

or noi, 1 have surely given you satibiae tion by allowing Mr. Henry Pollock to escape, instead of bringing him tied with ropes to Paisley Castle. JSo far as my information goes you may sleep quietly 10-night, for he is safe in some rebel s house. Yet 1 am sorry from my heart,” said Claverhouse, •and 1 am sorry for jour sake, since 1 make no doubt he will die some day soon, either on the hill or on the scaffold.’ •’For my sake?” said Jean, looking at him in amazement. “What have 1 to do with him more than other women?” • If i have touched upon a secret thing which ought not to be spoken of, i ask your pardon upon my bended knees. But 1 was told, it seemed to me from a sure quarter, that there was some love passage between you and Henry Pollock, and that indeed you were betrothed for marriage.” As Claverhouse spoke the red blood flowed over Jean's face and ebbed as quickly. She looked at Claverhouse steadily, and answered him in a quiet and intense voice, which quivered with emotion. “Ye were told wrong, then, Claverhouse, for 1 have never been betrothed to any man, and 1 shall never be the wife of Henry Pollock. I am not worthy, for he is a saint, and God knows 1 am not that nor ever likely to be, but only a woman. But 1 tell you, face to face, that I respect him, suffering for his religion more than those who pursue linn unto his death. And when he dies, for his testimony, he will have greater honour than those who have murdered him. But they did me too much grace who betrothed me to Henry Pollock; if 1 am ever married it will be to more ordinary flesh and blood, and 1 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 me to see you standing while there is this fair seat, and, with your leave, may 1 sit beside you? Can you give me a few minutes of your time before we part —I to go on my way and you on yours. I hope mine will not bring me again to Paisley Castle, where 1 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. “W hen 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 the 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 elleminate beauty with 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 1 have been. Ilka man. and also woman, must walk the road as they see it before them, and do their part till the end comes; but the roads cross terribly on tin* 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 wen* made to

gang yir ain gait.” “Ye are wrong there. Ladv Jean, far w ron ,r .” Claverhouse suddenly turned round and looked at her with a new countenance. “I will not deny that I am mailc to be careless about tin* 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 me to the heart what you thought of me. 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 1 have loved you from the moment 1 saw j ou in the hall that day. Confess it, Jean, if that be not so. 1, with what 1 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 ot love to me and offering me insult in my father's house? Is this the chivalry of a Royalist, and am 1, 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 Hung aside like a Hower ye wore till it withered.” “Before God, what do ye mean by those words?” They were both stand ing now, and Graham's face was white as death. “Is the love of John Graham of Claverhouse a dishonour?” “Il is, and so is the love of any man if he be pledged to another woman. Though we go not to Court, think you 1 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 ministers of the kirk? Ye would play with me! 1 thank God my brother lives, and they say he is no mean swordsman.” “If it were as you believe, my lady, and 1 had spoken of love to you when 1 was betrothed to another woman, then \ e 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 1 am on my confession, that 1 desired to wed Helen Graham, and 1 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 1 should obtain rank and power, for I have ever hunger cd for both, that with them 1 might serve my cause. My suit did not prosper, so tnat we were never betrothed, and now 1 hear she is to be married to Captain Rawdon, the nephew of my Lord Conway. 1 would have married Helen Graham in her smock if need be, though I say again 1 craved that title, and I would have been a faithful husband to her. But 1 have never loved her, nor any other women before. Love, Jean” —he went on. and they both unconsciously had seatcj 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 me and tried to take me by the lure

of their eyes, but none has ever been so bonnie to me as you Jean, and your hair of burnished gold. Doubtless 1 have met holier women than you, though my wax has not lain much among the saints, but though one should show me a hundred faults in you, ye are to me to-day the best, and 1 declare if ye bad sinned 1 would love you for your sins only less tuan for your virtues. 1 love you as a man should love a woman: altogether, your fair body from the crown ol your dead to the sole of your foot, your hair, your eyes, 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 seorn, your temper, your fierce desires, your iierv 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 mv loyally, next to that 1 give my king, 1 love you, Jean.’ tie 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 eaptiva ting 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. "I>o I not know the sacrifice I am asking if you should consent io be my wife? .lean, I will tell you true: not for my love even and your bonnie self will 1 lie or palter with my faith. You will have to conn l to me. I will not go to yon; you will have to break with the Covenant, leave your fathers house and face your mother’s anger, ami be denounced by the godly, up an down the land, because ve married the man of blood and the persecutor of the saints. 1 will not change, ye understand that? No, not for the warm, soft clasp of your white arms round mv neck; no, not though ye tie me with the meshes of your shining hair. I judge that ye will not be a temptress, but'’! give you warning I am no Sampson, in his weakness to a woman’s witchery, when it comes to my faith and mv duty. 1 will love you night and day as’a man loveth a woman, but I will'do w hat I am told to do, even though it be against your own people, till the evil days be over. And it may be, Jean, that 1' shall have to lead a hopeless cause. Ye must be willing to give me to death without a grudge, and send me with a kiss to serve the king.

“Can you do this”—and how his voice sink almost to a whisper, and he stretched his hands towards her—“for the sake of love, for love’s sake only, 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, but women have never made me play the fool, and even your own folk, who hate me, 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 am away my love will be returning to you. If you be not in my empty arms, you shall ever be in my heart; if I win honour or wealth, it will now be for you. If I can shelter you from sorrows ami trouble, I will do so with my life, and if I die my last thought, after the cause, will be of you, mv ladv and my love.

“Jean Cochrane, can you trust yourself to me; will you be the wife of John Graham of Claverhouse?” 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 death,” and as she said “death” he clasped her in his arms. The brown 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 shoulders and looking steadfastly at him, she said: •Whither thou goest 1 will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge, thy people shall be my people, and thy God mv God.”

The sooner they were married the better pleased John Graham and Jean Cochrane would be, for life in Paisley Castle coidd not be a paradise for Jean after that bethrothal. Three weeks later Claverhouse rode down one Saturday from Edinburgh to Paisley against his marriage day on the following Tuesday. His love for Jean had steadily grown during those days, and now was in a white, heat of anticipation, for she was no nun, but a woman to stir a

man's senses. Yet there were many things to chasten and keep him sober. Xo 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 a Hairs. 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 professed to love, and, that in the end, Claverhouse 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 lident that neither Lady Cochrane nor her family would be able to shake Jean’s fidelity. But there were times, and they were her bitterest hours, when • lean was not sure whether she had not done selfishly and was not going to satisfy lo r love at the expense of her lovtT. On his part, he could not help being 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 law; while the Duke of Perth, an unprincipled vagabond. ready to play traitor to either king or religion, hated Claverhouse because he wa.s an honorable man. Claverhouse thought it necessary to write to the Duke of York, explain-

ing 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 me. So whoever think to misrepresent me on that head will find themselves mistaken; for both the king and the church’s interest, dryve as fast as they think fit, they will never see me behind.”

Lord Dundonald himself was pleased because the marriage secured Claverhouse’s influence, and so were his personal friends, such as Lord Hoss, who knew and admired Jean; Claverhouse could not hide from himself, however, that the world judged the marriage an irreparable mistake, and Grimond—so tar 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, thpeople 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 who 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 Dundonald'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 was going on in 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. Lady Cochrane was not supposed to be 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 lardy Cochrane spoke again. “Ye have gone your own way and done your own will. John Graham and Jean Cochrane, and the curse of Gods kirk am] 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. J here are those here present who will witness one day that 1 have spoken t rue.” < laverhoitse led his bride to the wing of the castle, where she lived, and from which she could look dow n 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 me,” and his smile was dashed with sadness. Two minutes later he rode out from the courtyard of tire castle to hunt the people of Lady Cochrane’s faith, while her daughter and his bride waved him God speed from her window.

(To be continued.)