£ ■; 
 
 .'.('- . . - -;■'■■/■. ; ■;■
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 JAMES J. MC BRIDE
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER
 
 BOOKS BY S. R. CROCKETT. 
 
 Uniform edition. Each, i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Lads' Love* 
 
 Illustrated. 
 In this fresh and charming- story, which in some re- 
 spects recalls "The Lilac Sunbonnet," Mr. Crockett 
 returns to Galloway and pictures the humor and pathos 
 of the life which he knows so well. 
 
 J* 
 
 Cleg; Kelly, Arab of the City. 
 
 His Progress and Adventures. 
 Illustrated. 
 
 " A masterpiece which Mark Twain himself has never 
 rivaled. ... If ever there was an ideal character in fiction 
 it is this heroic ragamuffin." — London Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " In no one of his books does Mr. Crockett give us a 
 brighter or more graphic picture of contemporary Scotch 
 life than in ' Cleg Kelly.' It is one of the great books." 
 — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 Bog-Myrtle and Peat. 
 
 " Here are idyls, epics, dramas of human life written 
 in words that thrill and burn. . . . All are set down in 
 words that are fit, chaste, and noble. Each is a poem 
 that has the immortal flavor." — Boston Courier. 
 
 The Lilac Sunbonnet. 
 
 " A love story pure and simple — one of the old-fash- 
 ioned, wholesome, sunshiny kind, with a pure-minded, 
 sound- hearted hero, and a heroine who is merely a good 
 and beautiful woman ; and if any other love story half so 
 sweet has been written this year it has escaped our no- 
 tice." — New York Times. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
 
 The Standard Bearer 
 
 BY 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 THE LILAC SUNBONNET, BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT, 
 
 NEW YORK 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 1898
 
 Copyright, 1897, i8g3. 
 By S. R. CROCKETT.
 
 HSi 
 
 3 ^a*t 
 
 GRATEFULLY AND RESPECTFULLY 
 
 I DEDICATE 
 
 TO THE GOOD AND KINDLY FOLK 
 
 OF MY NATIVE PARISH OF BALMAGHIE 
 
 THIS RENDERING OF 
 
 STRANGE HAPPENINGS AMONG THEIR FOREBEARS, 
 
 OF WHICH THEY HAVE 
 
 NOT YET QUITE LOST THE MEMORY. 
 
 712507
 
 THE FOREWORD. 
 
 A book iron-grey and chill is this that I 
 have written, the tale of times when the passions 
 of men were still working like a yeasty sea after 
 
 k, 
 
 the storms of the Great Killing. If these pages 
 should chance to be read when the leaves are 
 greening, they may taste somewhat unseason- 
 ably in the mouth. For in these days the 
 things of the spirit had lost their old authority 
 without gaining a new graciousness, and save 
 for one man the ancient war-cry of " God and 
 the Kirk " had become degraded to " The Kirk 
 and God." 
 
 This is the story of the one man whose 
 weak and uncertain hand held aloft the Banner 
 of Blue that I have striven to tell — his failures 
 mostly, his loves and hates, his few bright days 
 and his many dark nights. Yet withal I have 
 found green vales of rest between wherein the 
 swallow swept and the cuckoo called to her 
 mate the cry of love and spring. 
 
 vii
 
 v iii THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Who would know further and better of the 
 certainty of these things must procure and read 
 A Cameronian Apostle, by my excellent friend, 
 the Reverend H. M. B, Reid, presently minis- 
 ter of the parish wherein these things were 
 done, in whose faithful and sympathetic narra- 
 tive they will find many things better told than 
 I can tell them. The book may be had of the 
 Messrs. Gardiner, of Paisley, in Scotland. 
 
 Yet even in this imperfect narrative of 
 strange events there may be heard the beating 
 of a man's heart, weak or strong, now arrogant, 
 and now abased, not according to the fear of 
 man or even of the glory of God, but more ac- 
 cording to the kindness which dwelt in wo- 
 man's eyes. 
 
 For there is but one thing stronger in the 
 world than the love of woman. And that is 
 not of this world.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. — The year terrible . 
 II. — The blood of the martyrs . 
 III. — The little Lady of Earlstoun 
 IV. — My sister Anna. 
 
 V. — I CONSTRUCT A RAFT . 
 
 VI. — Across the moonlight 
 VII. — My brother Hob 
 VIII. — The muster of the hill folk 
 IX. — I meet Mary Gordon for the second 
 X. — The blue banner is up 
 XI. — The red Grant . 
 XII. — The lass in the kirkyard 
 XIII. — My lady of pride 
 XIV. — The tale of Mess Hairry 
 XV. — Alexander-Jonita 
 XVI. — The corbies at the feast 
 XVII. — The bonny lass of Earlstoun 
 XVIII. — One way of love 
 XIX. — Another way of love 
 
 XX. — MUTTERINGS OF STORM 
 
 XXI. — The eyes of a maid . 
 
 XXII. — The anger of Alexander-Jonita 
 
 ix 
 
 TIME 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 15 
 
 22 
 
 30 
 
 42 
 52 
 60 
 69 
 7 6 
 85 
 
 93 
 105 
 112 
 120 
 129 
 
 137 
 144 
 
 154 
 169 
 
 185 
 
 193 
 204
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 CHAPTER PACE 
 
 XXIIL— At bay 215 
 
 XXIV. — Mary Gordon's last word . . .225 
 
 XXV. — Behind the broom 233 
 
 XXVI. — Jean Gemmell's bargain with God . . 240 
 
 XXVII.— Rumour of war 252 
 
 XXVIII. — Alexander-Jonita's victory . . .262 
 
 XXIX. — The elders of the hill folk . . . 269 
 
 XXX. — Silence is golden .... 
 
 XXXI. — The fall of Earlstoun 
 
 XXXII. — Love or duty 293 
 
 XXXIII. — The demoniac in the garret . . . 304 
 
 XXXIV. — The cursing of the Presbytery . . 310 
 
 XXXV. — Like the spirit of a little child . . 317 
 
 XXXVI. — The stone of stumbling .... 325 
 
 XXXVII. — Fare you well! 331 
 
 XXXVIII.— "I love you, Quintin!" . . . .338 
 XXXIX. — The last roaring of the bull . . 350 
 
 '/a 
 
 :S6
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE YEAR TERRIBLE. 
 
 This is what I, Quintin MacClellan, saw 
 on the grassy summit of the Bennan — a thing 
 which, being seen and overpast in an hour, 
 changed all my life, and so in time by the grace 
 of God and the chafe of circumstances made me 
 for good or evil the man I am. 
 
 I was a herd laddie at the time, like David, 
 keeping my father's flocks and kicking up my 
 heels among the collie tykes, with many an- 
 other shepherd-boy in the wide moorish par- 
 ishes of Minnigaff, Dairy and the Kells. 
 
 Now my father (and his father before him) 
 had been all his life " indweller " in the hill farm 
 of Ardarroch which sits on the purple braeface 
 above the loch of Ken, with a little circumambi- 
 ent yard enclosed by cattle-offices and a dozen 
 red-stemmed fir trees, in which the winds and
 
 2 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 the birds sing after their kind, winter and sum- 
 mer. 
 
 A sweet and grateful spot do I now remem- 
 ber that Ardarroch to be, and in these later days 
 when I have tried so mickle of bliss and teen, 
 and wearied my life out in so many wanderings 
 and strivings, my heart still goes out kindly to 
 the well-beloved place of my bairn-play. 
 
 It was the high summer of the fatal year 
 1685, when I saw the sight which put an end to 
 my childhood. Well do I mind it that year, 
 for amongst others, my father had to go for a 
 while into hiding — not that he was any over- 
 strenuous Covenant man, but solely because he 
 had never in his life refused bite and sup to any 
 neighbour hard pressed, nor yet to any decent 
 chiel who might scarcely be able to give an 
 account of the quarrel he had with the Tyrant's 
 laws. 
 
 So, during his absence, my brothers and I 
 had the work of the farm to attend to. No dawn 
 of day sifting from the east through the green- 
 ery of the great sloughing beeches and firs 
 about the door ever found any of the three of us 
 in our beds. For me, I was up and away to the 
 hills — where sometimes in the full lambing time 
 I would spend all night on the heathery fells or
 
 THE YEAR TERRIBLE. 3 
 
 among the lirks and hidden dells of the moun- 
 tain fastnesses. 
 
 And oh, but it was pleasant work and I liked 
 it well! The breathing airs; the wide, starry 
 arch I looked up into, when night had drawn 
 her night-cap low down over the girdling 
 blue-black hills; the moon glinting on the breast 
 of Loch Ken; the moor-birds, whaup and snipe, 
 plover and wild duck cheeping and chummer- 
 ing in their nests, while the wood-doves' moan 
 rose plaintive from every copse and covert — it 
 was a fit birthplace for a young lad's soul. 
 Though indeed at that time none was farther 
 from guessing it than Quintin MacClellan. For 
 as I went hither and thither I pondered on 
 nothing except the fine hunger the hills gave 
 me, and the glorious draughts of whey and but- 
 termilk my mother would serve out to me on 
 my return, calling me meantime the greatest 
 and silliest of her calves, besides tweaking my 
 ears at the milk-house door if she could catch 
 me ere I set my bare legs twinkling down the 
 loaning. 
 
 For the time being I say nothing more of 
 my father, " douce John of Ardarroch," as all 
 the parish called him, save that he was a mod- 
 erate man and no high-flier as he would have
 
 4 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 described himself — yet out of whom his wife 
 (and my good mother) had, by the constant 
 dropping of argument, made a Covenant man, 
 and even a fairly consistent follower of the Hill 
 Folk. Neither will I bide to speak of my 
 brothers Hob and David, for their names and 
 characters will have occasion to appear as I 
 write down my own strange history. Nor yet 
 can I pause to tell of the sweetness and grace of 
 my sister Anna, whose brown eyes held a charm 
 which even my boyish and brotherly insensi- 
 bility acknowledged and delighted in, being my 
 elder by half-a-dozen years, and growing up 
 amongst us rough louts of the heather like a 
 white rose in the stocky corner of an herb-gar- 
 den. 
 
 For I must tell of myself and what befell me 
 on the Bennan top the twenty-first day of June 
 — high Midsummer Day of the Year Terrible, 
 and of all that it brought to me. 
 
 I had heard, indeed, often enough of chas- 
 ings, of prisonments, of men and women sent 
 away over-seas to the cruel plantations, of the 
 boot and the thumbscrew, of the blood of slain 
 men reddening the heather behind dyke-backs. 
 There was indeed little talk of anything else 
 throughout all the land of the South and West.
 
 THE YEAR TERRIBLE. 5 
 
 But it so chanced that our House of Ardarroch, 
 being set high up on the side of Bennan, and 
 with no prominent Covenanters near by to be 
 a mark for the fury of the persecutor, we Mac- 
 Clellans had thus far escaped unquestioned and 
 scathless. 
 
 Once, indeed, Lidderdale of the Isle, with 
 twenty men, had made us a visitation and in- 
 quired somewhat curiously of us, and specially 
 of my mother, whom we had entertained on 
 such a night and whom on such another. After 
 this occasion it was judged expedient that my 
 father should keep wide of his own house for a 
 while, lest the strict laws against intercommun- 
 ing * should lay him by the heels in the gaol of 
 
 Kirkcudbright. 
 
 But to the young and healthy — so long at. 
 least as there is clothing for the back, good 
 filling for the hungry belly, and no startling and 
 personal evil befal — tales of ill, unseen and un- 
 proven, fall on the ear like the clatter of ancient 
 head-shaking beldames croaking to each other 
 
 * Tntercommuning— i. e., entertaining, assisting, or sheltering 
 any who were counted unfriendly to the Government, or had 
 been reported by the curates for not attending church. Even the 
 smallest converse with proscribed persons was thought deserving 
 of the pains of death.
 
 6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 by unswept ingle-nooks. At least, so it was 
 with me. 
 
 But to my tale of Midsummer Day of the 
 Terrible Year. 
 
 I had been out, since earliest morn, over 
 the rough rigs of heather looking tentily to my 
 sheep, for I had been " hefting " (as the business 
 is called in our Galloway land) a double score of 
 lambs which had just been brought from a 
 neighbouring lowland farm to summer upon 
 our scanty upland pastures. Now it is the na- 
 ture of sheep to return if they can to their 
 mother-hill, or, at least, to stray further and 
 further seeking some well-known landmark. 
 So, till such new-comers grow satisfied and 
 " heft " (or attach) themselves to the soil, they 
 must be watched carefully both night and day. 
 
 I was at this time thirteen years of my age, 
 well nourished and light of foot as a mountain 
 goat. Indeed, there was not a goat in the herd 
 that I could not run down and grip by the neck. 
 And when Hob, my elder brother, would take 
 after me because of some mischief I had 
 wrought, I warrant he had a long chase and a 
 sore sweat before he caught me, if I got but ten 
 yards' start and the heather free before me. 
 
 This day I had a couple of fine muckle
 
 THE YEAR TERRIBLE. 7 
 
 scones in my pocket, which my mother had 
 given me, besides one I had purloined for my- 
 self when she was not looking, but which my 
 sister Anna had seen me take and silently 
 shaken her head. That, however, I minded not 
 a fly. Also I snatched up a little square book 
 from the window-sill, hoping that in it I might 
 find some entertainment to while away the 
 hours in the bield of some granite stone or be- 
 hind some bush of heather. But I found it to 
 be the collect of Mr. Samuel Rutherford, his 
 letters from Aberdeen and Anwoth, and at first 
 I counted the reading of it dull enough work. 
 But afterwards, because of the names of kenned 
 places in our Galloway and also the fine well- 
 smacking Scottish words in it, I liked it none 
 so ill. 
 
 Ashie and Gray, my dogs, sat on either side 
 of me. Brother and sister they were, of one 
 year and litter, yet diverse as any human brother 
 and sister — Ashie being gay and frisky, ever full 
 of freits and caperings; his sister Gray, on the 
 other hand, sober as a hill-preaching when 
 Clavers is out on the heather looking for it. 
 
 As for Ashie, he nipped himself in the flank 
 and pursued after his own tail as if he had taken 
 some ill-will at it. But old-maidish Gray sat
 
 8 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 erect, cocking her short ears and keeping a 
 sharp eye on the " hefting " lambs, which went 
 aimlessly straying and cropping below, seeking 
 in vain for holms as kindly and pastures as suc- 
 culent as those of the valley-crofts from which 
 my father had driven them a day or two before. 
 
 For myself, in the intervals of my reading, 
 I had been singing a merry stave, one you may 
 be sure that I did not let my mother or my 
 sister Anna hear. I had learnt it from wild 
 David, who had brought the broad sheet back 
 with him from Keltonhill Fair. Thus I had 
 been carolling, gay as the laverock which I 
 watched flirting and pulsing upwards out of the 
 dun bents of the fell. But after a while the 
 small print of my book and, perhaps, aiso the 
 high instructiveness of the matter inclined me 
 towards sleep. 
 
 The bleating of the sundered lambs desirous 
 of lost motherly udders fell more soothingly 
 and plaintively upon my ear. It seemed to 
 bring dreams pleasant and delightful with it. I 
 heard the note sink and change to that heavenly 
 murmuring that comes with drowsiness, or 
 which, mayhap, is but the sound of the porter 
 opening the Poppy Gates of sleep — and which 
 may break yet more delightfully on our ears
 
 THE YEAR TERRIBLE. g 
 
 when the gates that open for us are the gates of 
 death. 
 
 I suppose that all the afternoon the whaups 
 had piped and " willywhaaed," the snipes 
 bleated and whinnied overhead, and that the 
 peewits had complained to each other of the 
 question boy-beast below them, which ran on 
 two legs and waved other two so foolishly in the 
 air. But I did not hear them. My ears were 
 dulled. The moorland sounds melted delicious- 
 ly into the very sough and murmur of re- 
 posefulness. I was already well on my way to 
 Drowsieland. I heard my mother sing me a 
 lullaby somewhere among the tranced fields. 
 Suddenly the cradle-song ceased. Through 
 shut eyelids I grew conscious of a disturbing 
 influence. Though my face nestled deep down 
 in the crook of my arm I knew that Ashie and 
 Gray had all suddenly sat up. 
 
 " Ouf-f! " quoth Ashie protestingly, deep in 
 his stomach so that the sound would carry no 
 further than his master's ear. 
 
 " Gur-r-r! " growled Gray, his sister, yet 
 more softly, the black wicks of her mouth pulled 
 away from her wicked shining eye-teeth. 
 
 Thinking that the sheep were straying and 
 that it might be as well by a timely shout to
 
 IO THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 save myself miles and miles of hot chase over 
 the heather, I sat up, ungraciously discontented 
 to be thus aroused, and yet more unreasonably 
 angry with the dogs whose watchfulness had re- 
 called me to the realities of life. As I raised 
 my head, the sounds of the hills broke on my 
 ear suddenly loud — indeed almost insolently 
 insistant. The suppressed far-away hush of 
 Dreamland scattered itself like a broken glass 
 before the brisk clamour of the broad wind- 
 stirred day. 
 
 I glanced at the flock beneath me. They 
 were feeding and straying quietly enough — 
 rather widely perhaps, but nothing to make a 
 fret about. 
 
 'Restless tykes!" I muttered irritably, 
 striking right and left at the dogs with my staff. 
 ' De'il take you, silly beasts that ye are!" 
 
 " Ouf-fl " said Ashie, warningly as before, 
 but from a safer distance, his nose pointing 
 directly away from the hefting lambs. Gray 
 said nothing, but uncovered her shining teeth 
 a little further and cocked her ears more di- 
 rectly towards the summit of the Bennan be- 
 hind me. 
 
 I looked about me high and low, but still I 
 could see no cause for alarm.
 
 THE YEAR TERRIBLE. Ir 
 
 "Daft brutes! Silly beasts!" I cried again 
 more crossly than ever. And with that I was 
 about to consign myself to sleep again, or at 
 least to seek the pleasant paths of the day- 
 dreamland from which I had been so abruptly 
 recalled. 
 
 But the dogs with bristling hair, cocked ears 
 and proudly-plumaged tails were already ten 
 yards up the slope towards the top of the fell, 
 sniffing belligerently as though they scented 
 an intrusive stranger dog at the entering in of 
 the sacred enclosure of the farmyard of Ardar- 
 roch. 
 
 I was reaching for my stick to deal it liber- 
 ally between them when a waft of warm summer 
 wind brought to my ear the sound of the dis- 
 tant crying of men. Then came the clear, im- 
 perative "Crack! Crack!" of musket shots — 
 first two, and then half-a-dozen close together, 
 sharp and distinct as an eager schoolboy snap- 
 ping his finger and thumb to call the attention 
 of the master to whom he has been forbidden to 
 speak. 
 
 Then, again, on the back of this arrived si- 
 lence, issuing presently in a great disturbed 
 clamour of peewit flocks on the table-lands 
 above me, clouds of them stooping and swoop-
 
 12 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ing, screaming and scolding at some unlicensed 
 and unprincipled intruders by me unseen. 
 
 I knew well what it meant in a moment. 
 The man-hunt was afoot. The folk of God were 
 once more being pursued like the partridge 
 upon the mountain. It might be that the blood 
 of my own father was even now making another 
 crimson blossom of martyr blood upon the 
 moors of Scotland. 
 
 'Down, down, Ashie!" I cried, but under 
 my breath. "Come in to my foot, Gray!" 
 And, knowing by the voice that I was much 
 in earnest, very obediently the dogs slung be- 
 hind with, however, many little protesting 
 " gurrs " and chest rumblings of muffled rage. 
 
 " It must be Lag himself from the Garry- 
 horn," I thought; " he will be at his old work 
 of pursuing the wanderers with bloodhound and 
 troop-horse." 
 
 Then, with the craft which had perhaps been 
 born in me and which had certainly been fos- 
 tered by the years of watching and hiding, of 
 open hatred and secret suspicion, I crept cau- 
 tiously up the side of the fell, taking advantage 
 of every tummock of heather and boss of tall 
 bent grass. Ashie and Gray crawled after me, 
 stiff with intent hate, but every whit as flatly
 
 THE YEAR TERRIBLE. j, 
 
 prone and as infinitely cautious as their mas- 
 ter. 
 
 For they, too, had been born in the Days of 
 Fear, and the spirit of the game had entered 
 into them ere ever they emerged from the 
 blindness of puppydom. 
 
 As we ascended, nearer and nearer sounded 
 the turmoil. I heard, as it were, the sound of 
 men's voices encouraging each other, as the 
 huntsmen do on the hillsides when they drive 
 the red fox from his lair. Then came the bay- 
 ing of dogs and the clattering of irregular mus- 
 ketry. 
 
 Till now the collies and I had been sheltered 
 by the grey clints and lichened rocks of the 
 Bennan, but now we had to come out into the 
 open. The last thirty yards of ascent were bare 
 and shelterless, the short, mossy scalp of turf 
 upon them being clean shaven as if cut with a 
 razor. 
 
 My heart beat fast, I can tell you who read 
 this tale so comfortably by the ingle-nook. I 
 held it down with my hand as I crept upwards. 
 Ashie and Gray followed like four-footed guard- 
 ian angels behind, now dragging themselves 
 painfully yard by yard upon their bellies, now 
 lying motionless as stone statues, their moist
 
 I4 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 jowls pressed to the ground and their dilated 
 nostrils snuffing the air for the intelligence 
 which only my duller eyes could bring me. 
 
 Yet I knew the risks of the attempt. For as 
 soon as I had left the shelter of the boulders and 
 scattered clumps of heather and bent, I was 
 plain to the sight as a fly crawling over the shell 
 of an egg. 
 
 Nevertheless, with a quick rush I reached 
 the top and set my head over.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE BLOOD OF THE MARTYRS. 
 
 The broad, flat table-top of the Bennan sum- 
 mit spread out before me like an exercise ground 
 for troops or a racecourse for horses. 
 
 Yet not all barren or desolate, for here and 
 there among the grey granite peeped forth the 
 bloom of the young heather, making a livelier 
 purple amid the burnt brown of the short grass, 
 which in its turn was diversified by the vivid 
 emerald green circling the " quacking-quaas " 
 or bottomless moss-holes of the bogs be- 
 neath. 
 
 Now this is what I saw, lying on my face, 
 with no more than my chin set over the edge — 
 two men in tattered, peat-stained clothing run- 
 ning for their lives towards the edge of the little 
 plateau farthest from me. 
 
 Between me and them twenty or thirty 
 
 dragoons were urging their horses forward in 
 
 pursuit, weaving this way and that among the 
 
 15
 
 l6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 soft lairy places, and as many more whose steeds 
 had stuck fast in the moss were coursing the 
 fugitives on foot as though the poor men had 
 been beasts of the field. 
 
 Every now and then one of the pursuers 
 would stop, set his musket to his shoulder and 
 blaze away with a loud report and a drift of 
 white smoke, shouting joyously as at a rare jest 
 whether he hit or missed. And I thought that 
 the poor lads would make good their escape 
 with such sorry marksmen. But even whilst I 
 was putting up a prayer for them as I lay pant- 
 ing upon the manifest edge, a chance shot 
 struck the smaller and more slender of the wan- 
 derers. He stumbled, poor wretch, and fell for- 
 ward upon his face. Then, mastering himself, 
 and recognising his grievous case and how 
 much of mercy he had to look for if his enemies 
 came up with him, his strong spirit for an in- 
 stant conquered his bodily hurt. 
 
 He rose immediately, set his hands one over 
 the other upon his side, doubtless to stay the 
 welling gap the bullet had riven there, and ran 
 yet more determinedly after his companion. 
 But close to the further verge his power went 
 from him. His companion halted and would 
 have come back to aid him, or more likely to
 
 THE BLOOD OF THE MARTYRS. 
 
 17 
 
 die with him. But the wounded man threw 
 out his hand in vehement protest. 
 
 " Run, Sandy," he cried, so loudly and 
 eagerly that I could easily hear him through 
 all the shouting and pother. " It will do no 
 good. I am sped. Save yourself — God have 
 mercy — tell Margaret ! " 
 
 But what he would have told Margaret I 
 know not, for even then he spread out his arms 
 and fell forward on his face in the spongy moss. 
 
 At this his companion turned sharply and 
 ran on by himself, finally disappearing among 
 the granite boulders amid a brisk crackling of 
 the soldiers' pieces. 
 
 But their marksmanship was poor, for though 
 they were near to him, what with the breathless 
 race and the unevenness of the ground, not a 
 shot took effect. Nor showed he any sign of 
 scathe when last I saw him, leaping nimbly from 
 clump to clump of bent, where the green slimy 
 moss wet with the peat-brew keeps all soft as a 
 quicksand, so that neither hoof of a charger 
 nor heavy military boot dare venture upon it, 
 though the bare accustomed foot of one bred 
 to the hills may carry him across easily enough. 
 So the fugitive, a tall, burly man, cumbered with 
 little besides a doublet and short hose, disap-
 
 !8 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 peared out of my sight, and the plain was bare 
 save for the disappointed dragoons in their red 
 coats and the poor man left fallen on his face in 
 the morass. 
 
 I could never see him move hand or foot 
 after he fell; and, indeed, it was not long that 
 he had the chance. For even as I continued to 
 gaze fascinated at the scene of blood which so 
 suddenly had broken in upon the pastoral peace 
 of our Kells hills, I saw a tall, dark soldier, one 
 evidently of some authority among them, stride 
 up to the fallen man. He strove to turn him 
 over with his foot, but the moss clung, and he 
 could not. So without a moment's hesitation 
 he took a musket from the nearest dragoon, 
 glanced coolly at the priming of the touch, set 
 the butt to his shoulder, and with the muzzle 
 within a foot shot the full charge into the back 
 of the prostrate man. 
 
 At this I could command myself no longer. 
 The pursuit and the shooting at the fugitives, 
 even the killing when at least they had a chance 
 for their lives, seemed nothing to this stony- 
 hearted butchery. I gat me up on my feet, and 
 in a boyish frenzy shouted curses upon the mur- 
 derer. 
 
 " God shall send thee to hell for this, wicked
 
 THE BLOOD OF THE MARTYRS. 
 
 19 
 
 man, black murderer that thou art ! ' I cried, 
 shaking my clenched hand, like the angry im- 
 potent child I was. 
 
 The soldiers who were searching here and 
 there, as it were, for more victims among the 
 coverts turned their heads my way and gazed, 
 hearing the voice but seeing no man. Others 
 who stood upon the verge, taking shots as fast 
 as they could load at the man who had escaped, 
 also turned. I yelled at them that they were to 
 show themselves brave soldiers, and shoot me 
 also. The tall, dark buirdly man in the red coat 
 who had fired into the wounded man cried to 
 them " to take a shot at the damned young 
 Whig." But I think the men were all too much 
 surprised at my bold words to do it, for none 
 moved, so that the speaker was obliged to 
 snatch a pistol from his own belt, and let fly at 
 me himself. 
 
 The whistle of the pistol ball as it sped harm- 
 lessly by waked me as from a dream. A quick 
 horror took me by the throat. I seemed to see 
 myself laid face down on the turf and the mur- 
 derer of the poor wanderer pouring shot after 
 shot into my back. I felt my knees tremble, 
 and it seemed (as it often does in a nightmare) 
 that if he pursued I should be unable to move.
 
 2o THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 But even as I saw the man in red reach for his 
 other pistol the power came back to my limbs. 
 
 I turned and ran without knowing it, for the 
 next thing I remember was the scuff of the wind 
 about my ears as I sped recklessly down the 
 steepest slope, with no feeling that my feet were 
 touching the ground at all. I saw Ashie and 
 Gray scouring far before me, with their tails 
 clapped between their legs, for I suppose that 
 their master's fear had communicated itself to 
 them. Yet all the time I knew well that a 
 single false step, a stumble upon a twisted root 
 of burnt heather, a treacherous clump of grass 
 amid the green slime of the morass, and the fate 
 of the fallen martyr would be mine. 
 
 But ere I passed quite out of range 1 heard 
 the rattle of a dropping fusillade from the edge 
 of the hill above me, as a number of the soldiers 
 let off their pieces at me, firing, I think, half in 
 sport and half from a feeling of chagrin that 
 they had let a more important victim escape 
 them. I heard the whisk-whisk of the balls as 
 they flew wide, and one whizzed past my ear and 
 buried itself with a vicious spit in the moss a 
 yard or two before me as I ran — but all harm- 
 less, and soon I was out of range. For I think 
 it was more in cruel jest and with raffish laugh-
 
 THE BLOOD OF THE MARTYRS. 2 I 
 
 ter than with any intent to harm me that the 
 soldiers fired. 
 
 Nevertheless, my boy's heart was full of wild 
 fear. I had seen murder done. The wholesome 
 green earth was spotted black with crime. Red 
 motes danced in the sunshine. The sun himself 
 in thewide blue heavens seemed turned to blood. 
 
 Then, all suddenly, I thought of my mother, 
 and my heart stood still. It would soon be 
 the hour at which it was her custom to take 
 out victual to the little craggy linn where my 
 father was in hiding. So with a new access of 
 terror I turned towards our house of Ardarroch, 
 and ran to warn her of what I had seen upon 
 the Bennan top. 
 
 I felt as I sped along that life could never be 
 the same to me again. From a heedless boy I 
 had grown into a man in one unutterable hour. 
 I had, of course, heard much of killings, and 
 even as a child the relation of the cruelties of 
 the Highland Host had impressed me so that 
 the red glinting of a soldier's coat would send 
 me into the deepest thickets of Ardarroch wood. 
 But it was the musket shot poured into the 
 back of the poor helpless lad on the Bennan 
 that made a lifelong Covenanter of Quintin 
 MacClellan.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE LITTLE LADY OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 But it was not the will of God that I should 
 warn my mother that day; for even as I ran, 
 threading my way among the scattered boulders 
 and whin bushes of the lower slopes, I came 
 upon that which surprised me almost as greatly 
 as the shooting itself. 
 
 Right in my path a little girl was sitting on 
 a green mound like a deserted ant hillock. She 
 had long yellow hair, and a red cloak was about 
 her, with a hood to it, which came over her head 
 and partly shaded her brow. A wooden pail 
 had been placed carefully on the heather at her 
 feet. Now, what with the perturbation of my 
 spirits and my head being full of country tales of 
 bogles and elves, at the first glance I took the 
 maid for one of these, and would have avoided 
 and given her a wide berth as something much 
 less than canny. 
 
 But she wiped her eyes with her little white 
 
 22
 
 THE LITTLE LADY OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 23 
 
 hand, and as I looked more closely I saw that 
 she had been crying, for her face was rubbed 
 red, and her cheeks all harrowed and begrutten 
 with tears. 
 
 So at that I feared no more, but went nearer. 
 She seemed about seven or eight, and very well 
 grown for her age. 
 
 "Why do you cry, little maid? " I said to 
 her, standing before her in the green path. 
 
 For a while she did not answer, but contin- 
 ued to sob. I went near to comfort her, but she 
 thrust her hand impatiently out at me. 
 
 ' Do not touch me, ragged boy," she said; 
 " it is not for herd laddies to touch little ladies." 
 
 And she spoke the words with such might- 
 ily offended dignity that on another occasion I 
 would have laughed. 
 
 Then she commanded herself and dried her 
 eyes on her red cloak. 
 
 " Carry the can and come with me to find 
 my father," she ordered, pointing imperiously 
 with her finger as if I had been no better than 
 a blackamoor slave in the plantations. 
 
 I lifted the wooden pail. It contained, as I 
 
 think, cakes of oatmeal with cheese and butter 
 
 wrapped in green leaves. But the little girl 
 
 would not let me so much as look within. 
 3
 
 24 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 'These are for my father," she said; "my 
 father is the greatest man in the whole world! " 
 
 " But who may your father be, little one? ' : 
 I asked her, standing stock still on the green 
 highway with the can in my hand. She was 
 daintily arranging the cloak about her like a 
 fine lady. She paused, and looked at me very 
 grave and not a little indignant. 
 
 " That is not for you to know," she said, 
 with dignity; "follow me with the pail." 
 
 So saying she stalked away with dignified 
 carriage in the direction of the hill-top. A wild 
 fear seized me. One of the two men I had seen 
 fleeing might be the little girl's father. Per- 
 haps he into whose back — ah! at all hazards I 
 must not let her go that way. 
 
 " Could we not rest awhile here," I sug- 
 gested, " here behind this bush? There are 
 wicked men upon the hill, and they might take 
 away the pail from us." 
 
 " Then my father would kill them," she said, 
 shaking her head sagely, but never stopping 
 a moment on her upward way. ' Besides, my 
 mother told me to take the pail to the hill-top 
 and stand there in my red cloak till my father 
 should come. But it was so hot and the pail so 
 heavy that "
 
 THE LITTLE LADY OF EARLSTOUN. 2 $ 
 
 " That you cried? " I said as she stopped. 
 
 " Nay," she answered with an offended look; 
 " little ladies do not cry. I was only sorry out 
 loud that my father should be kept waiting so 
 long." 
 
 " And your mother sent you all this way by 
 yourself; was not that cruel of her? " I went on 
 to try her. 
 
 " Little ragged boy," she said, looking at 
 me with a certain compassion, " you do not 
 know what you are saying. I cannot, indeed, 
 tell you who my father is, but I am Mary 
 Gordon, and my mother is the Lady of Earls- 
 toun." 
 
 So I was speaking to the daughter of Alex- 
 ander Gordon of Earlstoun, the most famous 
 Covenanter in Scotland, and, next to my Lord 
 Viscount of Kenmure, the chief landowner in 
 our countryside. 
 
 " And have you come alone all the way from 
 Earlstoun hither? " I asked in astonishment, for 
 the distance was at least four or five miles and 
 the road rough and ill-trodden. 
 
 " Nay," she made answer, " not so. My 
 mother set me so far upon the way, and now she 
 waits for me by the bushes yonder, so that I 
 must make haste and return. We came in a
 
 26 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 boat to your water-foot down there where the 
 little bay is and the pretty white sand. 
 
 And she pointed with her hand to where the 
 peaty water of the moorland stream mingled 
 with and stained the deep blue of the loch. 
 
 " Haste you, laddie," she cried sharply a 
 moment after; " my father is not a one to be 
 kept waiting. He will be impatient and angry. 
 And because he is so great a man his anger is 
 hard to bide." 
 
 " You must not go up to the hill-top," I 
 said, " for there are many bad men on the Ben- 
 nan to-day, and they would perhaps kill you." 
 
 " But my father is there," said she, stopping 
 and looking at me reproachfully. ' I must go; 
 my mother bade me." 
 
 And haply at that moment I saw the entire 
 company of soldiers, led by the man in the red 
 coat, stringing down the farther side of the 
 mountain in the line of flight by which the sec- 
 ond fugitive had made good his escape. So I 
 judged it might be as well to satisfy the lass and 
 let her go on to the top. Indeed, short of laying 
 hold of her by force, I knew not well how to 
 hinder so instant and imperious a dame. 
 
 Besides, I thought that by a little general- 
 ship I would be able to keep her wide of the
 
 THE LITTLE LADY OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 27 
 
 place where lay the poor body of the slain 
 man. 
 
 So straight up the hill upon which I had 
 seen such terrible things we went, Ashie and 
 Gray slinking unwillingly and shamefacedly be- 
 hind. And as I went I cast an eye to my flock. 
 And it appeared strange to me that the lambs 
 should still be feeding quietly and peacefully 
 down there, cropping and straying on the green 
 scattered pastures of Ardarroch. Yet in the 
 interval all the world had changed to me. 
 
 We reached the summit. 
 
 " Here is the place I was to wait for my 
 father," said Mary Gordon. ' I must arrange 
 my hair, little boy, for my father loves to see me 
 well-ordered, though he is indeed himself most 
 careless in his attiring." 
 
 She gave vent to a long sigh, as if her father's 
 delinquencies of toilette had proved a matter of 
 lifelong sorrow to her. 
 
 " But then, you see, my father is a great 
 man and does as he pleases." 
 
 She put her hand to her brow and looked 
 under the sun this way and that over the moor. 
 
 " There are so many evil men hereabout — 
 your father may have gone down the further 
 side to escape them," I said. For I desired to
 
 28 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 withdraw her gaze from the northern verge of 
 the tableland, where, as I well knew, lay a poor 
 riven body, which, for all I knew, might be that 
 of the little maid's father, silent, shapeless, and 
 for ever at rest. 
 
 ' Let us go there, then, and wait," she said, 
 more placably and in more docile fashion than 
 she had yet shown. 
 
 So we crossed the short crisp heather, and 
 I walked between her and that which lay off 
 upon our right hand, so that she should not 
 see it. 
 
 But the dogs Ashie and Gray were almost 
 too much for me. For they had gone straight 
 to the body of the slain man, and Ashie, ill-con- 
 ditioned brute, sat him down as a dog does 
 when he bays the moon, and, stretching out 
 his neck and head towards the sky, he gave 
 vent to his feelings in a long howl of agony. 
 Gray snuffed at the body, but contented her- 
 self with a sharp occasional snarl of angry pro- 
 test. 
 
 ' What is that the dogs have found over 
 there? " said the little maid, looking round me. 
 
 ' Some dead sheep or other; there are many 
 of them about," I answered, with shameless 
 mendacity.
 
 THE LITTLE LADY OF EARLSTOUN. 29 
 
 " Have your Bennan sheep brown coats? ' : 
 she asked, innocently enough. 
 
 I looked and saw that the homespun of the 
 man's attire was plain to be seen. ' My father 
 has been here before me, and has cast his mantle 
 over the sheep to keep the body from the sun 
 and the flies." 
 
 For which lie the Lord will, I trust, pardon 
 me, considering the necessity and that I was 
 but a lad. 
 
 At any rate the maid was satisfied, and we 
 took our way to the northern edge of the Ben- 
 nan top.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MY SISTER ANNA. 
 
 Wending our way through the tangle of 
 brown morass and grey boulder, we arrived, the 
 little maid and I, at the extremity of the spur 
 which looks towards the north. Immediately 
 beneath us, already filling in with the oozy peat, 
 I saw the ploughing steps of the successful fugi- 
 tive, where he had leaped and slid down the soft 
 mossy slopes. There to the right was the harder 
 path by which the dragoons had led their horses, 
 jibbing and stumbling as they went. But all 
 were now passed away, and the landscape from 
 verge to verge was bare and empty save for a 
 few scarlet dots bobbing and weaving athwart 
 one another down on the lake-shore, as the sol- 
 diers drew near their camp. Even the clamor- 
 ous peewits had returned, and were already 
 sweeping and complaining foolishly overhead, 
 
 doubtless telling each other the tale of how 
 30
 
 MY SISTER ANNA. 3! 
 
 the noise and white-blowing smoke had fright- 
 ened them from their eggs among the heather. 
 
 The little lass stood awhile and gazed about 
 her. 
 
 ' Certainly my father will see me now," she 
 said, cheerfully enough; " I am sure he will be 
 looking, and then he will know that all is well 
 when his little girl is here." 
 
 And she looked as if she were ready to pro- 
 tect Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun against 
 Lag and all his troopers. But after a little I 
 saw an anxious look steal over her face. 
 
 ' He is not coming. He does not see his 
 little Mary! " she said, wistfully. 
 
 Then she ran to the top of the highest knoll, 
 and taking off her red cloak she waved it, crying 
 out, " Father, father, it is I — little Mary! Do 
 not be afraid! " 
 
 A pair of screeching wildfowl swooped in- 
 dignantly nearer, but no other voice replied. I 
 feared that she might insist upon examining 
 that which lay under the brown coat, for that 
 it covered either her father or one of her kins- 
 folk I was well persuaded. The Bennan top 
 had been without doubt the hiding-place of 
 many besides Alexander Gordon. But at this 
 time none were sought for in the Glenkens save
 
 32 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 the man upon whose head, because of the late 
 plot anent the King's life, there was set so great 
 a price. And, moreover, had the lady of Earls- 
 toun not sent her daughter to that very place 
 with provender, as being the more likely to win 
 through to her husband unharmed and unsus- 
 pected? 
 
 Suddenly Mary burst into tears. 
 
 "I can not find him!" she cried; "and he 
 will be so hungry, and think that his little 
 girl dared not come to find him! Besides, all 
 the oaten cakes that were baked but this morn- 
 ing will be quite spoiled! " 
 
 I tried my best to comfort her, but she 
 would not let me so much as touch her. And, 
 being an ignorant landward lad, I could not 
 find the fitting words wherewithal to speak to a 
 maiden gently bred like the little Mary Gordon. 
 
 At last, however, she dried her tears. ' Let 
 us leave the cakes here, and take the basket 
 and go our way back again. For the lady my 
 mother will be weary with waiting for me so 
 long by the waterside." 
 
 So we two went down the hill again very 
 sadly, and as we passed by she cast her eyes 
 curiously over at the poor lad who lay so still on 
 his face in the soft lair of the peat moss.
 
 MY SISTER ANNA. 
 
 33 
 
 "That is a strange sheep," she said; "it 
 looks more like a man lying asleep." 
 
 So, passing by, we went down both of us 
 together, and as we pushed a way through the 
 bracken towards our own house of Ardarroch, 
 I saw my sister Anna come up the burn-side 
 among the light flickering shadows of the birch 
 and alder bushes. And when we came nearer 
 to her I saw that she, too, had been weeping. 
 Now this also went to my heart with a heavy 
 sense of the beginning of unknown troubles. 
 Ever since, from my sweet sleep of security on 
 the hillside I had been suddenly flung into the 
 midst of a troublous sea, there seemed no end to 
 the griefs, like waves that press behind each 
 other rank behind rank to the horizon. 
 
 " Has my father been taken? " I cried anx- 
 iously to Anna, as she came near. For that 
 was our chief household fear at that time. 
 
 " Nay," she answered, standing still to look 
 in astonishment at my little companion; "but 
 there are soldiers in the house, and they have 
 turned everything this way and that to seek for 
 him, and have also dealt roughly with my 
 mother." 
 
 Hearing which, I was for running down to 
 help, but Anna bade me to bide where I was. I
 
 34 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 would only do harm, she said. She had been 
 sent to keep Hob and David on the hill, my 
 mother being well assured that the soldiers 
 would do her no harm for all the roughness of 
 their talk. 
 
 " And who is this? " said Anna, looking 
 kindly down at little Mary Gordon. 
 
 I expected the little maid to answer as high 
 and quick as she had done to me; but she stood 
 fixed and intent awhile upon Anna, and then 
 she went directly up to her and put her hand 
 into that of my sister. There was ever, indeed, 
 that about Anna which drew all children to her. 
 And now the proud daughter of the laird of 
 Earlstoun went to her as readily as a tottering 
 cottar's bairn. 
 
 " You will take me to my mother, will you 
 not?" she said, nestling contentedly with her 
 cheek against Anna's homespun kirtle. 
 
 " That will I, and blithely, lambie! " my sis- 
 ter answered, heartily, " if ye will tell me who 
 the mother o' ye may be, and where she bides." 
 
 But when I had told her, I saw Anna look 
 suddenly blank, and the colour fade from her 
 face. 
 
 " By the waterside — your mother! " she said, 
 with a kind of fluttering uncertain apprehension
 
 MY SISTER ANNA. 
 
 35 
 
 in her voice. For my sister Anna's voice was 
 like a stringed instrument, quavering and thrill- 
 ing to the least thought of her heart. 
 
 We three turned to go down the hill to the 
 waterside. I caught Anna's eye, and, observ- 
 ing by its signalling that she wished to speak 
 with me apart, I allowed the little girl to pre- 
 cede us on the winding sheep track, which was 
 all the path leading up the Bennan side. 
 
 " The soldiers had taken her mother away 
 with them in the boat to question her. They 
 suspected that she came to the water foot to 
 meet her husband," whispered Anna. : You 
 must take the little one back to her folk — or 
 else, if you are afraid to venture, Hob or David 
 will go instead of you." 
 
 " Neither Hob nor yet David shall get the 
 chance; I will go myself," cried I, firing at the 
 notion that my two brothers could carry out 
 such a commission better than I. ' If you, 
 Anna, will look to the sheep, I will leave Ashie 
 and Gray behind to help you." 
 
 " I will indeed gladly stay and see that all 
 is kept in due order," said Anna, and I knew 
 that she was as good a herd as any one, and that 
 when she undertook a thing she would surely 
 perform it.
 
 2,6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 So I took leave of my sister, and she gave 
 me some pieces of barley bread and also a few 
 savoury crumblings she had discovered in the 
 pocket which was swung on the outside of her 
 short kirtle. 
 
 " I will not go with you; I want to stay 
 with this nice great girl, or else go home to 
 my mother!" cried the imperious little maid, 
 stamping her foot and shaking her yellow curls 
 vehemently as if she cherished a spite against 
 me. 
 
 ' Your mother has been obliged to go home 
 without you," I said, " but she has left word 
 that you are to come with me, and I will take 
 you home." 
 
 " I do not believe it; you are nothing but a 
 little, ragged, silly boy," she answered, shaking 
 her finger contemptuously at me. 
 
 I appealed to Anna. 
 
 " Is it not so? " I said. 
 
 Anna turned gently to little Mary Gordon. 
 'Go with him, childie," she said; "your 
 mother was compelled to go away and leave 
 you. My brother will bring you safe. Quin- 
 tin is a good lad and will take great care of you. 
 Let him take you home, will you not? " 
 
 And the child looked long up into the deep,
 
 MY SISTER ANNA. 
 
 37 
 
 untroubled brown eyes of Anna, my sister, and 
 was vanquished. 
 
 " I will go with the boy anywhere if you bid 
 me," she said. 
 
 (Note and Addition by me, Hob MacClel- 
 lan, Elder Brother of the Writer.) 
 
 It chances that I, Hob MacClellan, have 
 come into possession of the papers of Quintin, 
 my brother, and also of many interesting docu- 
 ments that belonged to him. In time I shall 
 leave them to his son Quintin, but ere they pass 
 out of my hands it is laid upon me that I insert 
 sundry observes upon them for the better under- 
 standing of what Quintin hath written. 
 
 For this brother of mine, whom for love I 
 served forty years as a thirled labourer serves 
 for his meat, whom I kept from a thousand 
 dangers, whom I guided as a mother doth a 
 bairn that learns to walk, holding it by the 
 coaties behind — this Quintin whose fame is in 
 all Scotland was a man too wrapt and godly to 
 be well able to take care of the things of the 
 moment, and all his life needed one to be in 
 tendance upon him, and to see that all went 
 forward as it ought. 
 
 My mother and his, a shrewd woman of the
 
 38 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 borderside stock, Elliot her name, used often to 
 say, " Hob, keep a firm catch o' Ouintin. For 
 though he may stir up the world and have the 
 care of all the churches, yet like a bairn he needs 
 one to draw tight the buckle of his trews, and 
 see that he goes not to preach in the habit in 
 which he rose from bed! " 
 
 So it came about that I, having no clearness 
 as to leaving him to himself, abode mostly near 
 him, keeping the door of his chamber, as it were, 
 on all the great occasions of his life. And Quin- 
 tin my brother, though we differed ofttimes,ever 
 paid me in love and the bond of an unbroken 
 brotherhood. Also what he had I had, hand 
 and siller, bite or sup, poverty and riches. I 
 tilled his glebe. I brought home his kye and 
 milked them. I stood at his back in the day of 
 calamity. I was his groom when first he mar- 
 ried so strangely. Yet through all I abode 
 plain dour Hob MacClellan, to all the parish 
 and wider far — the " minister's brother! " 
 
 And there are folk who have held me stupid 
 because that ordinarily I found little to say, or 
 dull in that I mixed not with their pothouse 
 jollity, or proud because I could be better com- 
 pany to myself than a score of clattering fools. 
 
 Not that I despised the friendly converse in
 
 MY SISTER ANNA. 39 
 
 the green loaning when a man meets a man, or 
 a man a bonny lass, nor yet the merry meeting 
 about the ingle in the heartsome forenights, for 
 I own that at one time my mind lay greatly that 
 way. 
 
 I have loved good sound jocund mirth all 
 my days; aye, and often learned that which 
 proved of great advantage at such times, just 
 because folk had no fear, but would speak freely 
 before me. Whereas, so soon as Quintin came 
 in, there passed a hush over every face and a 
 silence of constraint fell upon them, as if he had 
 fetched the two tables of stone with all the Ten 
 Commandments upon them in his coat-tail 
 pocket. 
 
 Now, though I hold to it that there never 
 was a man in the world like our Quintin, at 
 least, never since Richard Cameron was put 
 down in red-running blood on the Moss of Ayr, 
 yet I am free to admit that Quintin often saw 
 things without that saving salt of humour which 
 would have given him so much easier a tramp 
 through the whins and thickets of life. 
 
 But this could not be. Quintin had by 
 nature mother-wit enough, but he ever took 
 things too hardly, and let them press upon his 
 spirit when he had better have been on the ice
 
 40 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 at the channel-stanes than on his knees in his 
 closet. At least that is my thought of it. 
 
 For some men see the upper side of human 
 affairs, and some the under. But few there be 
 who see both sides of things. And if any of the 
 doctrines for which our Ouintin fought seemed 
 to me as the thin wind-clouds streaked like 
 mare's tails high in the lift, the heartsome mirth 
 and country gif-gaf* which ofttimes made my 
 heart cheerier, appeared to him but as the crack- 
 ling of thorns under a pot. 
 
 And so when it shall be that this wondrous 
 narrative of my brother Quintin's life (for it 
 is both wondrous and true) is finally set forth 
 for the edification of men and women, I recom- 
 mend whoever has the perusal of it to read 
 over also my few chapters of observes, that he 
 may understand the true inwardness of the 
 narrative and, as it were, the ingates as well 
 as the outgates of it. 
 
 Now, for instance, there is this matter of the 
 killing of the man upon the hill. Quintin hath 
 written all his story, yet never said in three 
 words that the man was not Muckle Sandy Gor- 
 
 * Gif-gaf, *". e., give and take, the interchange of pleasantry, 
 parry of wit, the cut-and-thrust encounter of tongues, innocent 
 enough but often rough.
 
 MY SISTER ANNA. 4I 
 
 don, the father of the little lass. He was, in 
 fact, the son of one Edgar of Milnthird, and 
 reported a clever lad at his trade, which was 
 that of a saddler in Dumfries. He had in his 
 time great fights with the devil, who beset him 
 roaring like a lion in the caves of Crichope and 
 other wild glens. But this John Edgar would 
 always vanquish him till he put on the red coat 
 of Rob Grier of Lag, that noted persecutor. 
 And so the poor lad got a settling shot through 
 the back even as Quintin has written. 
 
 And, again, when Quintin says that it was 
 the memory of that day which set him march- 
 ing to Edinburgh with me at his elbow, to hold 
 Clavers and his troop of Lairds and Highland- 
 men in order — well, in my opinion we both 
 marched to Edinburgh because my father bade 
 us. And at that time even Quintin did not 
 disobey his father, though I will say that, hav- 
 ing the soft side of my mother, he got more of 
 his own way even from a bairn than is good for 
 any one.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I CONSTRUCT A RAFT. 
 
 [The Narrative is again from the MS. of Quintin 
 
 MacClellan.] 
 
 It was growing dusk when Mary Gordon and 
 I came to the edge of the lake. Now, Loch 
 Ken, though a narrow and winding piece of 
 water, and more the extension of the river than, 
 as it were, a lake of set intent, has yet many 
 broad, still stretches and unexpected inlets, 
 where it is a paradise for children to play. And 
 these I knew like the way to our well at Ardar- 
 roch. 
 
 As Anna had foretold, we found upon the 
 
 white sands neither the Lady of Earlstoun, nor 
 
 yet the boat in which Mary and she had come 
 
 from the head of the loch. We saw, however, 
 
 the rut which the prow of the boat had made 
 
 in taking the pebbles, and the large stone to 
 
 which it had been fastened was there. The 
 42
 
 I CONSTRUCT A RAFT. 43 
 
 shingle also was displaced, and all about were 
 deeply marked footprints like those made by- 
 men who bear a heavy burden. 
 
 Then, when I had sat down on a boulder by 
 the water's edge, I drew the little maid to my 
 knee, and told her that I must take her home 
 to find her mother. And also that because 
 the Earlstoun was a long way off, she must 
 let me carry her sometimes when she grew 
 weary. 
 
 'Is that what Anna would wish?' 1 she 
 asked, for from the first she had called my sister 
 nothing else. 
 
 I told her that it was, and immediately she 
 put her hand in mine, yet not willingly nor yet 
 trustingly as she had done to Anna, but rather 
 with an air of protest and like one who does an 
 irksome but necessary duty. 
 
 At the point of the loch at which we had 
 arrived the trees crept down the hillside quite to 
 the edge of the water, so that for the first quar- 
 ter of a mile Mary Gordon and I proceeded 
 nothwards without ever needing to show our- 
 selves out in the open. 
 
 Then there comes the narrow pass between 
 the steepest crags of the Bennan and the water's 
 edge. We had been moving cautiously through
 
 44 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 the trees, and were indeed just about to emerge 
 from the brushwood, when a rotten stick 
 cracked beneath my foot. Instantly a soldier's 
 challenge rang sharply out in front of us. 
 
 "Halt! Who goes there?" 
 
 Though little better than bairns Mary Gor- 
 don and I cowered with the instinctive craft 
 born of years of persecution and concealment. 
 Again the man cried, " Show yourselves there, 
 or I fire!" 
 
 But as we lay still as death behind the tree 
 he did not think it necessary to enter the wood 
 — where, indeed, for all he knew a score of 
 armed and desperate Whigs might have been in 
 hiding. 
 
 Then we could hear his neighbours hail him 
 from the next post and ask what the matter 
 was. 
 
 " I heard a noise in the wood," he returned, 
 gruffly enough. 
 
 " A wandering pig or a goat from the hill! " 
 cried his comrade higher up, cheerily. ' There 
 are many of them about." But the man in 
 front of us was sullen and did not reply. 
 
 " Sulky dog! ' : cried the man who had 
 spoken — as it were, in order to close the con- 
 versation pleasantly.
 
 I CONSTRUCT A RAFT. 45 
 
 The sound of his voice caused me to stop 
 and reflect. 
 
 The hail of the second soldier had come dis- 
 tinctly from the rocks of the Bennan, therefore 
 their commander had established a cordon of 
 sentries in order to prevent the escape of some 
 noted fugitive. What chance was there for a 
 couple of children to pass the guarded line? 
 By myself I might, indeed, have managed. I 
 could well enough have rushed across the line 
 when the sentry was at the extreme point of his 
 beat, and risked a bullet as I plunged into the 
 next belt of woodland; but, cumbered with the 
 care of a maiden of tender years, this was im- 
 possible. 
 
 The night had drawn down into a cool, 
 pleasant darkness. Softly Mary Gordon and I 
 withdrew, taking care that no more rotten 
 sticks should snap beneath our feet. For I 
 knew that in the present state of the sentry's 
 temper we would certainly not escape so easily. 
 
 Presently, at the southern verge of the strag- 
 gling copse of hazel, and therefore close to the 
 edge of the lake, we came upon a couple of 
 sheepfolds. One of these belonged to our own 
 farm of Ardarroch, and the other to our kindly 
 neighbour, John Fullerton of the Bennan.
 
 46 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ' I am tired — take me home. You prom- 
 ised to take me home! " 
 
 The little maid's voice was full of pitiful- 
 ness and tears as she found herself going further 
 and further from the house of Earlstoun. 
 
 ' We cannot pass that way — the soldier men 
 would shoot us," I answered her with truth. 
 
 ' Then take me to my Auntie Jean," she 
 persisted, catching at my hand pettishly, and 
 then throwing it from her, " and my mother will 
 come for me in the morning." 
 
 " But where does your Auntie Jean live? " 
 
 ' How can I tell — it is such a long way? ' : 
 she answered. " It is in a house in the middle 
 of a loch!" 
 
 Now this could only mean in the old tower 
 of Lochinvar. But that was a yet longer and 
 more difficult road than to the Earlstoun, and 
 the line of sentries up the Bennan side barred 
 our progress as completely as ever. 
 
 Nevertheless there was something attract- 
 ive in the little maid's idea. For that ancient 
 strength, alone among all the neighbouring 
 houses, sheltered no band of troopers. Ken- 
 mure, Earlstoun, Gordonston, and even our own 
 little farm town of Ardarroch were all manned 
 and watched, but the half-ruinous block-house
 
 I CONSTRUCT A RAFT. 
 
 47 
 
 of Lochinvar set in the midst of its moorland 
 loch had been left untenanted. Its owner, Wal- 
 ter Gordon, the famous swordsman, was in exile 
 abroad, so they said, and the place, save for a 
 room or two, totally disrupted and broken 
 down. 
 
 There was, therefore, no safer refuge for 
 little Mary, if indeed her aunt dwelt there and 
 we could find our way. Suddenly, as we looked 
 about, an idea came to me, and, what is not so 
 common, the means of carrying it out. 
 
 The sheepfolds (or " buchts ") in which we 
 were hiding were walled in with rough stones 
 from the hill, piled so as to form dry dykes, high 
 and strong, and the entrances were defended by 
 heavy wooden gates swung upon posts driven 
 deep into the ground. The gates lifted away 
 easily from their hinges. Two or three of these 
 would make a secure enough raft if I could only 
 fasten them together. And even as I set about 
 to find ways and means, I was conscious of a 
 change. A strange elation took me at the heart, 
 and ran through my veins like unaccustomed 
 wine. 
 
 I was no longer the careless herd laddie. 
 I had entered life. I knew the penalty of fail- 
 ure. The man in the brown coat lying prone
 
 48 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 on his face up there above me on the crest of 
 the Bennan quite clearly and sufficiently pointed 
 that moral. 
 
 So, with the little girl close behind me, I 
 searched both sets of " buchts " from end to 
 end. I found three gates which could be easily 
 detached from their posts. These I dismounted 
 one after another. 
 
 How, then, was I to get them to the water's 
 edge, for they were far too heavy for my puny 
 strength? I could only break a limb from a 
 tree and draw them down to the loch shore on 
 that, even as I had often helped my father to 
 bring home his faggots of firewood from the hill 
 upon a carr, or trail-cart of brushwood. 
 
 So we set off for the wood to break our 
 branch. It was not long before I had one of 
 beech lying upon the ground, with all its wealth 
 of rustling leaves upon it. But the snap I made 
 in breaking it off from the tree would certainly 
 have betrayed us, had I not been cautious to 
 keep a sufficient breadth of wood between us 
 and our surly sentry. 
 
 Trailing this behind us we came again to the 
 " ewe-buchts." 
 
 It was now no difficult job to transport the 
 raft of gates down to the water. I gave Mary
 
 I CONSTRUCT A RAFT. 
 
 49 
 
 Gordon a branch to tug at, which made her 
 happier than anything I had done since Anna 
 committed her to my care, for she pleased her- 
 self with thinking that she did the whole 
 work. 
 
 I was almost on the point of using a hay- 
 rope to bind them together as the best I could 
 do, when I remembered that in the corner of 
 our own " buchts " my father kept some well- 
 tarred hempen cord, which I had seen him place 
 there only the day before he had been compelled 
 to go into hiding. If it chanced not to be re- 
 moved, without doubt it would prove the very 
 thing. 
 
 I found it where he had laid it, in the little 
 shelf-press rudely constructed in the wall of 
 four blocks of stone split into faces. There 
 was little enough of it when I rove it out, 
 but I thought I could make shift with it. 
 It was, at any rate, far beter than miles of hay- 
 rope. 
 
 With this I tied the bars closely together by 
 the corners and cross-bars, and presently had 
 built up a very commodious raft indeed, though 
 one more than a trifle heavy. It was some time 
 before I hit upon a plan of launching my top- 
 heavy craft. With the loose "stob " of a gate-
 
 50 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 post I managed to lever the crank construc- 
 tion to the edge of a sloping bank down 
 which she slid so quickly that I had to set my 
 heels into the grass and hold back with all my 
 might. 
 
 But a moment after, without a splash more 
 than a wild duck might make, the raft floated 
 high above the water. With the end of the rope 
 in my hand I climbed on board, but soon found 
 that with my weight the top " liggate " of my 
 craft was within an inch of the water. Clearly, 
 then, it could not keep both of us dry. 
 
 But this troubled me little. I had not lived 
 all my life on the shores of a loch to be afraid 
 of swimming behind a raft on a midsummer 
 night. For among other ploys Hob and I 
 would often play at a sort of tilting or tourna- 
 ment, sitting astride of logs and trying to knock 
 each other off into the water in the warm sum- 
 mer shallows. 
 
 So I placed the little girl upon the raft, cau- 
 tioning her that as she hoped to see her mother 
 again, she must in no circumstances make the 
 least noise nor yet move from the centre of the 
 raft where I had placed her. Soon she had be- 
 gun to take an interest in the adventure, and 
 had forgotten her weariness. She did not, how-
 
 I CONSTRUCT A RAFT. 
 
 51 
 
 ever, again speak of her mother, but said that 
 she was ready to " go for a sail " with me if I 
 was quite sure that on the other side she should 
 see her aunt. And this, speaking somewhat 
 hastily, I promised without condition.'
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ACROSS THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 For just then I became aware of a quickly 
 growing light behind the eastern hills. It was 
 the moon rising. I had not thought of this, 
 and for a moment I was disconcerted. I knew 
 that she would doubtless throw a sharp light 
 upon the water, and that from the shore the raft 
 would be as easily seen black against the broad 
 and shining silver streak as if the time had been 
 midday instead of midnight. 
 
 Then I remembered the branch which I had 
 brought with me from the wood. I thrust the 
 butt of it through the bars of the gates, and so 
 disposed the leaves that from the shore they 
 made at once a perfect shelter and a secure hid- 
 ing-place for Mary, who sat there in state upon 
 the raft, proud of going such an adventurous 
 voyage, and perhaps also not a little elated to be 
 up so late. 
 
 Being already stripped to the shirt and small 
 52
 
 ACROSS THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 53 
 
 clothes, I took off the former also, and dropped 
 silently into the water behind the raft. I found 
 the water warm, for the hot sun of June had 
 beat upon it all the long day. A chill wind had 
 sprung up within the last hour, and the wave- 
 lets broke on my back and upon the raft at my 
 chin with a little jabble of sound. But it blew 
 upon the leaves of the branch which acted as a 
 sail and sent us so quickly northward that I had 
 to swim sideways in order to keep in the right 
 line of our voyaging. 
 
 The moon rose as we left the shallows of 
 the shore. She looked coldly and blankly at 
 us over the black Parton moors on the other 
 side. But all the same she did us a mighty ill 
 turn. For I knew that in her light the raft 
 would be apparent to every one on the bank 
 where the soldiers lay. 
 
 I dived instantly and came up on the side 
 furthest from the land. There I held the raft 
 so that the branch would keep its thickest cover 
 towards the sentry. 
 
 I could see him now, pacing to and fro in 
 the moonlight across the grey turf and strip 
 of white sand. He was plain to be seen against 
 the shining beach, and his helmet sometimes 
 flashed momentarily against the dark line of
 
 54 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 the woods behind. So that I knew how plainly 
 he in his turn must be able to see us, as we 
 crossed the broad silver stream of moonlight 
 upon the water. 
 
 A camp fire glowed sullenly red among the 
 trees, from which I gathered that the com- 
 mander of the soldiers was very much in earnest 
 indeed, in his resolve to catch his man. For it 
 was but seldom that any of the red soldiers 
 would consent to lie out at night, preferring 
 instead to quarter themselves upon the people, 
 to harry their houses and gear, insult their 
 women folk, and requiring to be called " your 
 Honour " at every other word. 
 
 Meanwhile, the wind was doing its work, 
 if not swiftly, at least with deliberate and un- 
 halting steadiness. Mary sat like a statue un- 
 der the green bough, and smiled at the dancing 
 ripples. She looked very beautiful to see, aye, 
 and winsome too, with my shirt-collar turned 
 up about her ears and the empty sleeves hang- 
 ing down on either side. 
 
 But I had small time to observe such like, 
 for soon we were crossing the bright water in 
 front of the soldier. 
 
 He had paced down to the water's edge and 
 now stood looking out towards us, leaning upon
 
 ACROSS THE MOONLIGHT. 55 
 
 his musket. I could see the tails of his military 
 coat blow back in the chill wind from the hills. 
 He hugged himself as if he had been a-cold. 
 Yet he stood looking so long that I feared 
 he might suspect something. But after all it 
 was only that he was a contemplative man, and 
 that the object on the water was as good as any- 
 thing else to fix his eyes upon. At any rate, all 
 he did see was a floating branch being driven 
 northward with the wind. 
 
 Presently, to my immense relief, he shoul- 
 dered his piece and tramped away up towards 
 the woods. 
 
 I drew a long breath, and swimming on my 
 back I pushed the raft across the lake with my 
 head. 
 
 Yet it seemed an age before we took ground 
 on the further side, and I could carry the brave 
 little maid ashore. She dropped almost in- 
 stantly asleep on my shoulder. 
 
 " Have you given Matt his supper? ' : ' was 
 her last speech. I thought Matt must be some 
 pet dog of her's. In time, however, I found 
 that he was a certain green caterpillar which 
 she kept in a wooden box and fed upon cabbage 
 leaves. 
 
 After this there came a long and weary tramp 
 5
 
 56 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 with many rests, and the infinite weariness of 
 carrying the sleeping maid. She grew heavier 
 and heavier every moment as I stumbled over 
 the rough moor, so that my back was well nigh 
 broken before I came to the verge of the little 
 lake with the tower of Lochinvar in the midst 
 of it. 
 
 Here, in the dawning light, I laid her down 
 under a bush of bog-myrtle, and swimming to 
 the castle hand over hand I clamoured at the 
 door. 
 
 For a time none answered, and I got a sharp, 
 chilling fear in my stomach that I had brought 
 the maid to a house uninhabited, but at long 
 and last a window shot up and a voice 
 hailed me. 
 
 " Who knocks so early at the door of Loch- 
 invar? 
 
 "Who are you that speers?" I returned, giv- 
 ing question for question in the Scots manner. 
 
 A kindly mellow voice laughed. 
 
 " Surely only an honest country lad would 
 have answered thus," said the voice; " but since 
 the times are evil, tell me who's bairn ye may 
 be?" 
 
 So with that, somewhat reassured, I told 
 very briefly for what cause I had come.
 
 ACROSS THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 57 
 
 The window shut down again, and in a few 
 minutes I heard a foot within coming slowly 
 along a stone passage. Bolts withdrew, and 
 the door was opened, creaking and squealing 
 upon unaccustomed hinges. 
 
 A pleasant-faced old lady, wrapped about in 
 a travelling cloak of blue frieze, stood there. 
 She had a white nightcap on her head, frilled 
 and goffered much more elaborately than my 
 mother's at Ardarroch. 
 
 " Ye have brought Sandy Gordon's daugh- 
 ter to me. Her faither and her mother are 
 taken, ye tell me. God help them!" she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 So I told her that I knew not as to her 
 father's taking with any certainty, for he might 
 have been slain for aught I knew. I told her 
 also the terrible thing I had been witness to on 
 the top of Bennan, and the word of the lad in 
 brown when he cried for Margaret. She set her 
 hand to her heart. 
 
 " Poor lads," she said, and again, " poor mis- 
 guided lads! " 
 
 I thought in my heart that that was a 
 strange way to speak of the martyrs, but it was 
 not for a boy like me to make any objection. 
 
 The woman undid the boat which swung by
 
 53 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 a chain at the northern side of the castle secure 
 within a litle breakwater of hewn stone. We 
 rowed across to the loch's edge, and there, in 
 the first ruddy glow of the rising sun, with col- 
 our on her lips and her lashes lying long and 
 dark upon her cheek, was the little Mistress 
 Mary, safe under her bush of bog-myrtle, look- 
 ing lovely as a fairy, aye, or the queen of the 
 fairies herself. 
 
 Then I know not what cantrip took me, for 
 at most times, both then and after, I was an 
 awkward Scots boy, as rough and landward as 
 Ashie or Gray, my questing collies. But cer- 
 tain it is that I stooped and kissed her on the 
 cheek as she lay, and when I lifted her would 
 have given her to her aunt. 
 
 But she stirred a little as I took her in my 
 arms, and with a little petulant whimper she 
 nestled her head deeper into my neck. My 
 heart stirred strangely within me at the touch 
 of the light curls on her forehead. 
 
 She opened her eyes of sleepy blue. ' Has 
 Matt had his breakfast? ' : she said. And in- 
 stantly fell to the sleeping again. 
 
 We laid her all comfortably in the stern of 
 the boat. Her aunt stepped in and took the 
 oars. She did not invite me to follow.
 
 ACROSS THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 59 
 
 " Good morrow, lad," she said, not unkindly, 
 " S e ^ y ou home speedily. I will see to the child. 
 You have done well by Sandy's bairn. Come 
 and see her and me in happier times. I promise 
 you neither she nor I will ever forget it." 
 
 And I watched these two as the boat went 
 from me, leaving three long wakes upon the 
 water, one oily and broad where the keel stirred 
 the peaty water, and two smaller on either side 
 winking with bubbles where the oars had dipped. 
 
 And there in the stern I could just see the 
 edge of the blue hood of frieze, wherein lay the 
 golden head of Mary Gordon. 
 
 She was but a bairn. What did a grown 
 laddie care for bairns? Yet was my heart heavy 
 within me. 
 
 And that was the last I saw of Mary Gordon 
 for many and many a year.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MY BROTHER HOB. 
 
 The years which took me, Ouintin Mac- 
 Clellan, from the boyishness of thirteen to 
 eighteen and manhood were eventful ones for 
 Scotland. The second Charles had died just 
 when the blast was strongest, and for a while 
 it looked as if his brother would be the worst of 
 the two. But because he wished well to the 
 Papists, and could not ease them without also 
 somewhat benefiting us of the Covenant, the 
 bitterness of the shower slacked and we had 
 some peace. 
 
 But, as for me, it mattered not greatly. My 
 heart within me was determined that which it 
 should do. Come storm or peaceful years, come 
 life or death, I was determined to stand in the 
 forefront and hold up again the banner which 
 had been dabbled in the blood of Richard Cam- 
 eron at Ayrsmoss, and trailed in the dust of vic- 
 tory by the haughty and the cruel. 
 60
 
 MY BROTHER HOB. 6l 
 
 That very year I went to my father, and I 
 asked of him a wage to be spent in buying me 
 books for my learning. 
 
 " You want to be a minister? ,: said my 
 father, looking, as he well might, no little aston- 
 ished. " Have you gotten the grace of God in 
 your heart? " 
 
 " Nay, father," I answered him, " that I 
 know not. But nevertheless I have a desire to 
 know and to learn " 
 
 But another voice cut into the matter and 
 gravity of our discourse. 
 
 ' Bless the lad, and so you shall, Quintin! " 
 cried my mother from the door. 
 
 I heard my father sigh as though he would 
 have said, "The fat is in the fire now!' : Yet 
 he refrained him and said nothing, standing 
 as was his custom with his hands deep in the 
 long side flaps of his waistcoat. Then he 
 showed how hard it was to become a minister, 
 and ever my mother countered his objections, 
 telling how such-an-one's son had gone forward 
 and been successful. 
 
 " And they had none such a comfortable 
 down-sitting nor yet any such blessing in 
 flocks and herds as you, goodman! " she would 
 say.
 
 62 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " Nor yet a mother so set and determined in 
 her own way! " cried my father a little sharply. 
 
 ' Nay, now, John," she made answer; " I 
 did but mention those other lads, because not 
 one of them is to be compared with our Quin- 
 tinl" 
 
 My father laughed a little. 
 
 " Well," he said, " at all events there is time 
 enough. The lad is but fourteen, and muckle 
 much good water will run under the*' brigs ere 
 it be time to send him to the college. But I 
 will speak to Gilbert Semple, the Edinburgh 
 carrier, to ask his cousin, the goodly minister, 
 what books are best fitted for a lad who desires 
 to seek learning and college breeding. And in 
 the meantime the laddie has aye his Bible. I 
 mind what good Master Rutherford said when 
 he was in Anwoth: ' If so be ye want manners 
 e'en read the Bible. For the Bible is no ill-bred 
 book. It will take you unashamed through an 
 earthly court as well as through the courts of 
 the Master of Assemblies, through the Star 
 Chamber as well as through the chamber of the 
 stars.' " 
 
 And though at the time I understood not 
 well then what my father meant, yet I read in 
 my Bible as I had opportunity, keeping it with
 
 MY BROTHEB HOB. 63 
 
 one or two other books in the poke-nook of my 
 plaid whenever I went to the hills. After a while 
 Gilbert Semple, the carrier, brought me from 
 Edinburgh certain other volumes — some of 
 Latin and Greek grammar, with one or two 
 in the mathematics which were a sore puzzle 
 and heartbreak to me, till there came among 
 us one of the Hill Folk, a well-learned man, 
 who, being in hiding in a Whig's hole on the 
 side of Cairn Edward, was glad for the passing 
 of the time to teach me to thread the stony 
 desolation of verbs irregular and the quags of 
 the rules of syntax. 
 
 Nevertheless, at this time, I fear there was 
 in me no very rooted or living desire for the 
 ministry. I longed, it is true, for a wider and 
 more ample career than the sheep-herding on 
 the hills of Kells could afford. And in this my 
 mother supported me. Hob and David also, 
 though they desired not the like for themselves, 
 yet took some credit in a brother who had it in 
 him to struggle through the narrow and thorn- 
 beset wicket gate of learning. 
 
 Many a time did our great, stupid, kindly, 
 butter-hearted Hob come to me, as I lay prone 
 kicking my heels to some dyke-back with my 
 Latin grammar under my nose, and stand
 
 64 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 looking over with a kind of awe on his honest 
 face. 
 
 " Read us a bit," he would say. 
 
 Whereat very gladly I would screed him off 
 half a page of the rules of the syntax in the 
 Latin tongue, according to the Dutch pronun- 
 ciation which the preacher lad of the Cairn Ed- 
 ward cave had taught me.* 
 
 And as I rolled the weighty and sounding 
 words glibly off, Hob would listen with an air of 
 infinite satisfaction, like one that rolls a sweet 
 morsel under his tongue. 
 
 " Read that leaf again! It's a grand-sound- 
 in' ane that! Like 'And the Lord said unto 
 Moses ' in the Book of Exodus. Certes, what 
 it is to have learning! " 
 
 Then very gravely I would read to the foot 
 of the page and stop. 
 
 Hob would stand a moment to digest his 
 meal of the Humanities. 
 
 " Lie ye there, laddie," he would say; 
 " gather what lear ye can out of your books. I 
 will look to the hill sheep for you this day! ' 
 
 I shall never forget his delight when, after 
 
 * This was really the sweet and gentle youth James Renwick, 
 though I knew not his name, till I saw them hang him in the 
 Grassmarket of Edinburgh in the first year of my college-going.
 
 MY BROTHER HOB. 
 
 65 
 
 great wrestlings, I taught him the proper cases 
 of Penna, " a pen," which in time he attained 
 so great a mastery over that even in his sleep he 
 could be heard muttering, "Penna, a pen; 
 pcnnac, of a pen." And our David, slinking 
 sulkily in at a wolf-lope from his night-raking 
 among the Glenkens lasses, would sometimes 
 bid him to be silent in no kindly tones, at which 
 the burly Hob, who could have broken slender 
 David over his knee, would only grunt and turn 
 him over, recommencing monotonously under 
 his breath, "Penna, a pen! " 
 
 My father smiled at all this — but covertly, 
 not believing, I think, that there was any out- 
 gate for me into the ministry. And with the 
 state of things in Scotland, indeed, I myself saw 
 none. Nevertheless, I had it in me to try. And 
 if Mr. Linning, Mr. Boyd, Mr. Shields, Mr. Ren- 
 wick and others had gotten their learning in 
 Holland, why should not I? 
 
 In return for Penna, a pen (pennae, of a pen, 
 et cetera), Hob taught me the use of arms, the 
 shooting to the dot of an " i " with a gun and a 
 pistol, the broad sword and the small sword, 
 having no mercy on me at all, but abusing me 
 like a sheep-stealer if I failed or grew slack at 
 the practice.
 
 66 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ' For," he said, " if ever you are to be a right 
 minister in Scotland, it is as like that ye will 
 need to lead a charge with Richard Cameron, as 
 that ye will spend all your time in the making of 
 sermons and delivering them." 
 
 So he taught me also single-stick till I was 
 black and blue all over. He would keep on so 
 long belabouring me that I could only stop him 
 with some verbal quib, which as soon as it 
 pierced his thick skull would make him laugh so 
 long and so loudly that the lesson stopped of 
 itself. Yet for all that he had in after time the 
 mighty assurance to say that it was I who had 
 no true appreciation of humour. 
 
 One day, when he had basted me most un- 
 mercifully, I said to him, " I also would ask you 
 one thing, Hob, and if you tell me without sleep- 
 ing on it, I will give you the silver buckle of my 
 belt." 
 
 " Say on," said he, casting an eager eye at 
 the waist-leather which Jean Gordon had sent 
 me. 
 
 ' Wherein have I the advantage over the 
 leopard? " I asked him. 
 
 He thought it over most profoundly. 
 
 ' I give it up," he said at last. " I do not 
 know."
 
 MY BROTHER HOB. 
 
 6 7 
 
 " Why," said I, as if it had been the simplest 
 thing, " because when I play back-sword with 
 you I can change my spots and Scripture de- 
 clares that the leopard cannot." 
 
 This he understood not at the time, but the 
 next Sabbath morning it came upon him in the 
 time of worship in the kitchen, and in the midst 
 of the solemnity he laughed aloud, whereat my 
 father, much incensed, asked him what ailed 
 him and if his wits had suddenly taken leave of 
 him. 
 
 " It was our Ouintin," dithered Hob, tremu- 
 lously trying to command his midriff; " he told 
 me that when I played back-sword with him he 
 could change his spots and that the leopard 
 could not." 
 
 ' When said he that? " asked my father, with 
 cold suspicion, for I had been sitting demure as 
 a gib cat at his own elbow. 
 
 ' Last Monday in the gloaming, when we 
 were playing at back-sword in the barn," said 
 Hob. 
 
 : Thou great fool," cried my father, " go to 
 the hill breakfastless, and come not in till ye 
 have learned to behave yourself in the time of 
 worship." 
 
 To which Hob responded nothing, but rose
 
 68 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 and went obediently, smothering his belated 
 laughter in his broad bonnet of blue. 
 
 He was waiting for me after by the sheep- 
 buchts, when I went out with a bicker of por- 
 ridge under my coat. 
 
 ' I am sore vexed to have made our father 
 angry," he said, " but the answer came upon me 
 suddenly, and in truth it was a proper jest — for, 
 of course, a leopard could not play back-sword."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE MUSTER OF THE HILL FOLK. 
 
 Men who know the strange history of the 
 later life of me, Quintin MacClellan, may won- 
 der that the present narrative discovers so little 
 concerning my changes of opinion and stresses 
 of spiritual conflict. But of these things I have 
 written in extension elsewhere, and those who 
 desire more than a personal narrative know well 
 where to find the recital of my difficulties, cov- 
 enantings, and combatings for the cause. 
 
 For myself, the memory of the day on the 
 Bennan top was more than enough, and made 
 me a high Covenant man for life. So that when 
 I heard how King James was fled and his son-in- 
 law, William of Orange, landed I could not con- 
 tain myself, but bade Hob and David to come 
 with me and light a beacon-fire on the top of 
 the Millyea, that fair and shapely mountain. 
 This after severe labour we did, and they say 
 
 that the light was seen over a dozen parishes. 
 
 69
 
 JO THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Then there came word to the Glenkens that 
 there was to be a Convention in Edinburgh of 
 men chosen out of every shire and county, called 
 and presided over by Duke Hamilton. But it 
 was the bruit of the countryside that this parlia- 
 ment would turn out even as the others, and be 
 ground under the heel of the old kingsmen and 
 malignants.* 
 
 So about this time there came to see my 
 father two men grave and grey, their beards 
 blanched with dripping hill-caves and with 
 sleeping out in the snell winds and biting frosts 
 of many a winter, without better shelter than 
 some cold moss-hag or the bieldy side of a snow 
 wreath. 
 
 ' There is to be a great rising of the Seven 
 Thousand. The whole West is marching to 
 Edinburgh! " cried in at the door the elder of 
 the two — one Steel, a noted Covenanter from 
 Lesmahago. 
 
 But the other, when his dark cloak blew 
 back, showed a man of slender figure, but with a 
 face of calm resolve and indomitable courage — 
 the proven face of a soldier. He was in a fair 
 
 * /. <?., those who by the Covenanters were supposed to have 
 malignantly pursued and opposed their cause in the council or in 
 the field.
 
 THE MUSTER OF THE HILL FOLK. 
 
 71 
 
 uniform — that, as I afterwards found, of one of 
 the Prince of Orange's Scots-Dutch regiments. 
 
 " This," said Steel to my father, " is Colonel 
 William Gordon, brother of Earlstoun, who is 
 come directly from the Prince of Orange to 
 represent his cause in his own country of the 
 West." 
 
 In a moment a spark lighted in my heart, 
 blazed up and leaped to my tongue. 
 
 "What," I cried, "William Gordon— who 
 carried the banner at Sanquhar and fought 
 shoulder to shoulder with Cameron at Ayrs- 
 moss." 
 
 For it was my mother's favourite tale. 
 
 The slender man with the calm soldier-like 
 face smiled quietly and made me a little bow, 
 the like of which for grace I had never seen in 
 our land. It had so much of foreign habitude 
 in it, mixed with a simple and personal kindli- 
 ness native to the man. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " I am ten years older since 
 then — I fear me not ten years wiser." 
 
 His voice sounded clear and pleasant, yet 
 it was indubitably the voice of a man to be 
 obeyed. 
 
 ' How many sons and limber house-carles 
 can you spare, Ardarroch," said he, watching
 
 72 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 my father's face, " to march with me to keep the 
 Convention out of the clutches of my Lord 
 Dundee?" 
 
 ' Of the devil's hound, Clavers, mean ye? " 
 corrected my father suddenly, the fierce, rooted 
 light of hatred gleaming keen and sharp, like 
 the blade of a dagger which is drawn just an 
 inch from its sheath and then returned. " There 
 are three of us on the farm, besides the boy 
 Quintin, my youngest son. And every one of 
 them shall ride to Edinburgh with you on their 
 own horses." 
 
 " Four shall ride, father," said I, stepping 
 forward. " I am the youngest, but let me also 
 strike a blow. I am as fit of my body as either 
 Hob or David there, and have a better desire 
 and goodwill than either of them." 
 
 " But, lad," said my father, not ill pleased, 
 " there are your mother and sister to look after. 
 Bide you here and take care of the house." 
 
 " There needs none to take care of the house 
 while ye leave us here with a musket or two and 
 plenty of powder and lead," cried my mother. 
 " Anna and I shall be safer, aye, and the fuller 
 of gladness that ye are all in Edinburgh doing 
 the Lord's work. Ride ye, therefore, all the 
 four of you ! "
 
 THE MUSTER OF THE HILL FOLK. 73 
 
 ' Yes," added Anna, with the sweet stillness 
 of her eye on the ground, " let Quintin go, 
 father. None would harm us in all the country- 
 side." 
 
 ' Indeed, I think so," growled my father, 
 " having John MacClellan to reckon with on our 
 return." 
 
 Whereat for very thankfulness I took the 
 two women's hands, and Colonel Gordon said, 
 " Aye, Ardarroch, give the lad his will. In time 
 past I had my share of biding by the house 
 while my elders rode to battle, and I love the 
 boy's eagerness. He has in him the stuff of 
 good soldiers." 
 
 And for these words I could have kissed the 
 feet of Colonel William Gordon. The muster 
 was appointed to be at Earlstoun on the mor- 
 row, and immediately there befell at Ardarroch 
 a great polishing of accoutrement and grinding 
 of swords, for during the late troubles the arms 
 had been searched for over and over again. So 
 it befel that they were hidden in the thatch of 
 outhouse roofs, wrapped in cloths and carried to 
 distant sandhills to be buried, or laid away in 
 the damp caves of the linns. 
 
 Yet by the time all was brought in we were 
 armed none so ill. My father had first choice,
 
 74 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 and then we three lads drew lots for the other 
 weapons. To me came the longest straw, and 
 I took the musket and a broad-bladed dagger, 
 because I knew that our madcap David had set 
 his heart on the basket-hilted sword to swing 
 by his side, and I saw Hob's eyes fixed on the 
 pair of excellent horse-pistols which my father 
 had bought when the effects of Patrick Verner 
 (called " the Traitor ") were sold in Dumfries. 
 
 At Earlstoun, then, we assembled, but not 
 immediately at the great house — for that was 
 presently under repair after its occupation by 
 troops in the troubles — but at a farmhouse near 
 by, where at the time were abiding Mistress 
 Alexander Gordon and her children, waiting for 
 the final release of her husband from Blackness 
 Castle. 
 
 When it came to the point of our setting 
 out, there came word from Colonel Gordon that 
 no more than two of us were to go to Edin- 
 burgh on horseback, owing to the scarcity of 
 forage in the city and the difficulty of stabling 
 horses. 
 
 ' Let us again draw lots! " said my father. 
 
 But we told him that there was no question 
 of that, for that he and David must ride while 
 Hob and I would march afoot.
 
 THE MUSTER OF THE HILL FOLK. 75 
 
 " And if I cannot keep up with the best that 
 our David can ride on Kittle Kate, I will drown 
 myself in the first six-inch duck-pond upon the 
 road to Edinburgh!" cried Hob MacClellan. 
 
 So we went down the green loaning of Ar- 
 darroch with the women's tears yet wet upon 
 our cheeks, and a great opening of larger hopes 
 dominating the little hollow qualms of parting 
 in our hearts. Wider horizons beckoned us on. 
 Intents and resolves, new and strange, thrilled 
 us. I for one felt for the first time altogether a 
 man, and I said within my heart as I looked at 
 the musket which my father carried for me 
 across his saddle-bow in order that I might run 
 light, " Gladly will I die for the sake of the lad 
 whom I saw murdered on the Bennan top! "
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I MEET MARY GORDON FOR THE SECOND TIME. 
 
 And when we arrived, lo! before the little 
 white farm there was a great muster. My Lord 
 Kenmure himself rode over to review us. For 
 the Committee of Estates drawn together by 
 the Duke Hamilton had named him as respon- 
 sible for the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright. 
 
 But that which was of greater interest to 
 me than any commission or enrollment was the 
 appearing of two women upon the doorstep of 
 the cottage — the Lady of Earlstoun and her 
 daughter Mary. 
 
 Now it is to be remembered that Alexander 
 Gordon's wife was a sister of Sir Robert Hamil- 
 ton, the commander at Bothwell Brig — a man 
 whose ungovernable temper, and genius for set- 
 ting one man at variance with his fellow, had 
 lost us Bothwell Brig and the life of many a 
 brave lad of the hills. And Mary's mother, Jean 
 
 Hamilton, was like her brother in that some- 
 76
 
 I MEET MARY GORDON THE SECOND TIME. 
 
 77 
 
 what pretentious piety which is of all things the 
 most souring and embittering. 
 
 So that even my father said — good, honest 
 man, that would speak ill of none all the days of 
 his life: " If I had a wife like yon woman, I de- 
 clare I would e'en turn Malignant and shoot her 
 without warrant of law or benefit of clergy." 
 
 Jean Gordon came down off the doorstep 
 and stood in front of us four MacClellans, look- 
 ing out upon us with her keen, black eyes, and 
 seeming as it had been, ready to peck at us with 
 her long nose, which was hooked like a parrot's 
 in the middle. 
 
 " Have any of you paid the King's cess,* or 
 had any dealings with the malignants? " she 
 said, speaking to us as to children taken in a 
 fault. 
 
 ' Not save along the barrel of a musket, my 
 lady of Earlstoun! " quoth my father, drily. 
 
 The stern-visaged woman smiled at the ready 
 answer. 
 
 " E'en stick to that, goodman of Ardarroch 
 — it is the safest commerce with such ill-fa- 
 voured cattle! " she said. 
 
 And with that she stepped further on to in- 
 
 * /. e., the taxes for the support of the military establishments.
 
 78 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 terrogate some newcomers who had arrived 
 after us in the yard of the farm. 
 
 But indeed I minded her nothing. For 
 there was a sweeter and fairer thing to see 
 standing by the cheek of the door — even young 
 Mary Gordon, the very maid I had once carried 
 so far in my arms, now grown a great lass and a 
 tall, albeit still slender as a year-old wand of 
 willow by the water's edges. Her hair, which 
 had been lint white when I brought her down 
 the side of Bennan after the shooting of the poor 
 lad, was now darkening into a golden brown, 
 with thick streaks of a warmer hue, ruddy as 
 copper, running through it. 
 
 This girl leaned against the doorstep, her 
 shapely head inclined a little sideways, and her 
 profile clear and cold as the graving on a seal 
 ring, turned away from me. 
 
 For my life I could not take my eyes off 
 her. 
 
 " I, even I, Quintin MacClellan, have carried 
 that girl in my arms and thought nothing of 
 it! ' : I said the words over and over to myself, 
 and somehow they were exceedingly pleasing 
 to me. 
 
 I had ever sneered at love and lovemaking 
 before, but (I own it) after seeing that fair
 
 I MEET MARY GORDON THE SECOND TIME. 
 
 79 
 
 young lass stand by the low entering in of the 
 farmhouse door, I scoffed no more. 
 
 Yet she seemed all unconscious that I or 
 any other was near her. But it came to me 
 with power I could not resist, that I should 
 make myself known to her. And though I ex- 
 pected nothing of remembrance, grace, or fa- 
 vour, yet — such is the force of compelling love, 
 the love that comes at the first sight (and I be- 
 lieve in no other kind) that I put all my pride 
 under my feet, and went forward humbly to 
 speak with her, holding my bonnet of blue in 
 my hand. 
 
 For as yet we of the Earlstoun levies had 
 fallen into no sort of order, neither had we been 
 drilled according to the rules of war, but stood 
 about in scattering groups, waiting for the end 
 of the conference between my Lord of Kenmure 
 and Colonel William Gordon. 
 
 As I approached, awkwardly enough, the 
 maid turned her eyes upon me with some sur- 
 prise, and the light of them shone cold as winter 
 moonlight glinting upon new-fallen snow. 
 
 I made my best and most dutiful obedience, 
 even as my mother had showed me, for she was 
 gentle of kin and breeding, far beyond my 
 father.
 
 80 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " Mistress Mary," I said, scarce daring to 
 raise my eyes to hers, but keeping them fixed 
 upon the point of my own rough brogans. 
 " You have without doubt forgotten me. Yet 
 have I never for an hour forgotten you." 
 
 I knew all the while that her eyes were burn- 
 ing auger holes into me. But I could not raise 
 my awkward coltish face to hers. She stood 
 a little more erect, waiting for me to speak 
 again. I could see so much without looking. 
 Whereat, after many trials, I mustered up cour- 
 age to go on. 
 
 " Mind you not the lad who brought you 
 down from the Bennan top so long ago, and 
 took you under cloud of night to the tower of 
 Lochinvar on the raft beneath the shelter of 
 beech leaves? " 
 
 I knew there was a kindly interest growing 
 now in her eyes. But, dolt that I was, I could 
 not meet them a whit the more readily because 
 of that. 
 
 " I scarcely remember aught of it," she said, 
 " yet I have been told a hundred times the tale 
 of your bringing me home to my aunt at Loch- 
 invar. It is somewhat belated, but I thank you, 
 sir, for your courtesy." 
 
 " Nay," said I, " 'tis all I have to be thank-
 
 I MEET MARY GORDON THE SECOND TIME. 8l 
 
 ful for in my poor life, that I took you safely 
 past the cruel persecutors." 
 
 She gave me a quick, strange look. 
 
 " Yet now do I not see you ready to ride and 
 persecute in your turn? " 
 
 These words, from the daughter of Alex- 
 ander Gordon of Earlstoun, who was scarcely 
 yet liberate from the prison of Blackness, aston- 
 ished me so much that I stood speechless. 
 
 " To persecute in my turn? " said I. " Nay, 
 my dear mistress, I go to uphold the banner of 
 Christ's Kingdom against those that hate Him." 
 
 Very scornfully she smiled. 
 
 " In my short life," she said, " I've heard 
 overmuch of such talk. I know to an ell how 
 much it means. I have a mother, and she has 
 friends and gossips. To me the triumph of 
 what you call ' the Kingdom ' means but two 
 things — the Pharisee exalted and the bigot tri- 
 umphant. Prince Jacob of Orange may sup- 
 plant his father and take the crown; every cant- 
 ing Jack may fling away the white rose and 
 shout for the Orange lily. But not I — not I? " 
 
 She flaunted a little white hand suddenly 
 palm upward, like an apple blossom blown off 
 the branch by the wind. 
 
 To say that I was astounded by this out-
 
 82 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 break is to say little. It was like an earthquake, 
 the trembling- and resolving of solid land under 
 my feet. Alexander Gordon's child — " the Bull 
 of Earlstoun's " daughter — standing openly and 
 boldly for the cause of those who had prisoned 
 and, perhaps, tortured her father, and brought 
 about the ruin of her house! 
 
 At last I managed to speak. 
 : You are a young maiden," I said, as quietly 
 as I could, " and you know nothing of the great 
 occasions of state, the persecutions of twenty- 
 five years, the blood shed on lonely hillsides, the 
 deaths by yet wearier sickness, the burials under 
 cloud of night of those who have suffered ! " 
 
 I would have said more, but that she pre- 
 vented me imperiously. 
 
 " I know all there is to know," she cried, 
 almost insolently. " Have I not broken fast 
 with it, dined with it, taken my Four-hours with 
 it, supped with it ever since I was of age to hear 
 words spoken? But to my thinking the root of 
 the matter is that you, and those like you, will 
 not obey the rightful King, who alone is to be 
 obeyed, whose least word ought to be suffi- 
 cient." 
 
 " But not in religion — not in the things of 
 conscience," I stammered.
 
 I MEET MARY GORDON THE SECOND TIME. 83 
 
 Again she waved her hand floutingly. 
 
 " 'Tis not my idea of loyalty only to be loyal 
 when it suits my whim, only to obey when 
 obedience is easy and pleasant. The man whom 
 I shall honour shall know nothing of such sum- 
 mer allegiance as that ! ' : 
 
 She paused a moment and I listened intently. 
 
 " Nay," she said, " he shall speak and I shall 
 obey. He shall be my King, even as King 
 James is the sovereign of his people. His word 
 shall be sacred and- his will law." 
 
 There was a light of something like devout 
 obedience in her eyes. A holy vestal flame for a 
 moment lighted up her face. I knew it was use- 
 less to argue with her then. 
 
 " Nevertheless," I answered very meekly, 
 " at least you will not wholly forget that I 
 brought you to a place of safety, sheltering you 
 in my arms and venturing into dark waters for 
 your sake! " 
 
 Now though I looked not directly at her, I 
 could see the cold light in her eyes grow more 
 scornful. 
 
 " You do well to remind me of my obliga- 
 tion. But do not be afraid; you shall be satis- 
 fied. I will speak of you to my father. Doubt- 
 less, when he comes home he will be great with
 
 84 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 the Usurper and those that bear rule under him. 
 You shall be rewarded to the top of your de- 
 sires." 
 
 Then there rose a hot indignation in my 
 heart that she should thus wilfully misunder- 
 stand me. 
 
 " You do me great wrong, my Lady Mary," 
 I answered; " I desire no reward from you or 
 yours, saving only your kindly remembrance, 
 nor yet any advancement save, if it might be, 
 into your favour." 
 
 " That," she said, turning petulantly away, 
 " you will never get till I see the white rose in 
 your bonnet instead of those Whiggish and 
 rebel colours."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BLUE BANNER IS UP. 
 
 Now though at first I was grievously aston- 
 ished that the daughter of Alexander Gordon 
 and his wife Janet Hamilton should so speak, 
 yet when I come to consider further of the 
 matter it apppears noways so wonderful. 
 
 For her father, when I came to know him, 
 showed himself a great, strong, kindly, hard- 
 driving " nowt " of a man, with a spiritual con- 
 ceit equal to his knowledge of his bodily powers. 
 But, for all his great pretensions, Sandy Gordon 
 was essentially a man carnal and of the world, 
 ever more ready to lay on lustily with the arm of 
 the flesh than trust to the sword of the Spirit. 
 
 The " Bull of Earlestoun " was he right fitly 
 called. 
 
 And with his children his method of train- 
 ing would doubtless be " Believe this! Receive 
 that other! " Debate and appeal there would 
 
 be none. So there is nothing to wonder at in 
 
 85
 
 S6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 the revolt of a nature every whit as imperious 
 as that of her father, joined to a woman's natural 
 whimsies and set within the periphery of a girl's 
 slender form. 
 
 And then her mother! 
 
 If Sandy Gordon had proved trying to such 
 a mind as that of Mary Gordon, what of Janet 
 Hamilton, his wife? 
 
 She had been reared in the strictest sect of 
 the Extremists. Every breath of difference or 
 opposition to her orthodoxies or those of her 
 brother Sir Robert was held rank treason to the 
 cause. She had constant visions, and these 
 visions pointed ever to the cardinal truth that 
 Janet Hamilton was eternally right and every 
 one else eternally wrong. 
 
 So Alexander Gordon, as often as he was at 
 home, bullied back and forth concerning Cove- 
 nants and sufferings, while at other times his 
 wife worried and yammered, bitter as the east 
 wind and irritant as a thorn in the flesh, till the 
 girl was driven, as it were, in self-defence into 
 other and as intolerant extremes. 
 
 Yet when her parents were most angered 
 with her for this perversity, some sudden pretty 
 wile or quaint bairnliness would set them laugh- 
 ing in spite of themselves, or a loving word of
 
 THE BLUE BANNER IS UP. 
 
 37 
 
 penitence bring the tears into their eyes. And 
 while she chose to be good Mary Gordon, the 
 family rebel, the disgrace of a godly home, would 
 be again their own winsome little May, with a 
 smile as sweet as the Benediction after sermon 
 on a summer Sabbath morn, when the lilac and 
 the hawthorn blossom scent all the kirk. 
 
 But as for me, having had trial of none of 
 these wiles and witchcrafts, I was grieved in- 
 deed to hear one so fair take the part of the 
 cruel persecutors and murderers of our brethren, 
 the torturers of her father, the men to whose 
 charge could be laid the pillage and spoiling of 
 the bonny house of Earlstoun, and the turning 
 of her mother out upon the inclement pitiless- 
 ness of a stormy winter. 
 
 But with old and young alike the wearing 
 iteration of a fretful woman's yammering tongue 
 will oftentimes drive further and worse than all 
 the clattering horses and pricking bayonets of 
 persecution. 
 
 Yet even then I thought within me, " Far 
 be it from me that I should ever dream of win- 
 ning the heart of so fair and great a lady. But 
 if by the wondrous grace of God, so I ever did, 
 I should be none afraid but that in a little blink 
 
 of time she would think even as I did. And this 
 7
 
 88 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 was the beginning of the feeling I had for Mary 
 Gordon. Yet being but little more than a shep- 
 herd lad from off the hills of heather she was to 
 me almost as one of the angels, and I thought of 
 her not at all as a lad thinks in his heart of a 
 pretty lass, to whom one day if he prosper he 
 may even himself in the way of love. 
 
 After a day or two at Earlstoun, spent in 
 drilling and mustering, in which time I saw 
 nothing more of Mary Gordon, we set off in 
 ordered companies towards Edinburgh. The 
 word had been brought to us that the Conven- 
 tion was in great need of support, for that 
 Clavers (whom now they called my Lord Dun- 
 dee) was gathering his forces to disperse it, so 
 that every one of the true Covenant men went 
 daily in fear of their lives. 
 
 Whereupon the whole Seven Thousand of 
 the West and South were called up by the El- 
 ders. And to those among us who had no arms 
 four thousand muskets and swords were served 
 out, which were sent by the Convention to the 
 South and West under cover of a panic story 
 that the wild Irishers had landed and burnt 
 Kirkcudbright. 
 
 Hob and I marched shoulder to shoulder, 
 and our officer was of one name with us, one
 
 THE BLUE BANNER IS UP. 89 
 
 Captain Clelland,a young soldier of a good stock 
 who in Holland had learnt the art of war. 
 But Colonel William Gordon, the uncle of the 
 lass Mary, commanded all our forces. 
 
 So in time we reached the brow of the hill 
 of Liberton and looked northward towards the 
 town of Edinburgh, reeling slantways down its 
 windy ridge, and crowned with the old Imperial 
 coronet of St. Giles where Knox had preached, 
 while the castle towered in pride over all. 
 
 It was a great day for me when first I saw 
 those grey towers against the sky. But down 
 in the howe of the Grassmarket there was a place 
 that was yet dearer — the black ugly gibbet 
 whereon so many saints of God, dear and pre- 
 cious, had counted their lives but dross that they 
 might win the crown of faithfulness. And when 
 we marched through the West Port, and passed 
 it by, it was in our heart to cheer, for we knew 
 that with the tyrant's fall all this was at an end. 
 
 But Colonel William Gordon checked us. 
 
 " Rather your bonnets off, lads," he cried, 
 " and put up a prayer! " 
 
 And so we did. And then we faced about 
 and filed straight up into the town. And as the 
 sound of our marching echoed through the nar- 
 rows of the West Bow, the waiting faithful
 
 go 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 threw up their windows and blessed us, hailing 
 us as their saviours. 
 
 Company after company went by, regular 
 and disciplined as soldiers; but in the Law- 
 market, where the great folk dwelt, there were 
 many who peeped in fear through their barred 
 lattices. 
 
 " The wild Whigs of the West have risen 
 and are marching into Edinburgh! " so ran the 
 cry. 
 
 We of Colonel Gordon's Glenkens Foot were 
 set to guard the Parliament House, and as 
 we waited there, though I carried a hungry 
 belly, yet I stood with my heart exulting 
 proudly within me to see the downtrodden 
 at last set on high and those of low estate ex- 
 alted. 
 
 For the sidewalks and causeways of the 
 High-street were filled with eager crowds, but 
 the crown of it was kept as bare as for the pass- 
 ing of a royal procession. And down it towards 
 Holyrood tramped steadily and ceaselessly, com- 
 pany by company, the soldiers of the Other 
 Kingdom. 
 
 Stalwart men in grey homespun they were, 
 each with his sword belted to him, his musket 
 over his shoulder, and his store of powder and
 
 THE BLUE BANNER IS UP. 
 
 91 
 
 lead by his side. Then came squadrons of horses 
 riding two and two, some well mounted, and 
 others on country nags, but all of them steady 
 in their saddles as King's guards. And when 
 these had passed, again company after company 
 of footmen. 
 
 Never a song or an oath from end to end, 
 not so much as a cheer along all the ranks as 
 the Hill Men marched grimly in. 
 
 "Tramp! tramp! tramp! ' : So they passed, 
 as if the line would never end. And at the head 
 of each company the blue banner of Christ's 
 Covenant — the standard that had been trailed 
 in the dust, but that could never be wholly put 
 down. 
 
 Then after a while among the new flags, 
 bright with silk and blazening, there came one 
 tattered and stained, ragged at the edges, and 
 pierced with many holes. There ran a whisper. 
 " It is the flag of Ayrsmoss! " 
 
 And at sight of its torn folds, and the writing 
 of dulled and blistered gold upon it, " For 
 Christ's Cause and Covenant," I felt the tears 
 well from the heart up to my eyes, and some- 
 thing broke sharply with a little audible cry in 
 my throat. 
 
 Then an old Covenant man who had been
 
 9 2 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 both at Drumclog and the Brig of Bothwell, 
 turned quickly to me with kindly eyes. 
 
 " Nay, lad," he said, " rather be glad! The 
 standard that was sunken in a sea of blood is 
 cleansed and set up again. And now in this 
 our day woe be to the persecutors! The banner 
 they trailed in the dust behind the dripping 
 head of Richard Cameron shall wave on the 
 Nether Bow of Edinburgh, where the corbies 
 picked his eyes and his fair cheeks blackened in 
 the sun." 
 
 And so it was, for they set it there betwixt 
 the High-street and the Canongate, and from 
 that day forth, during all the weeks of the Con- 
 vention, the Covenant men held the city quiet 
 as a frighted child under their hand.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE RED GRANT. 
 
 It was while we continued to sojourn in 
 Edinburgh for the protection of the Conven- 
 tion that first I began to turn my mind to the 
 stated ministry of the Kirk, for I saw well that 
 this soldiering work must ere long come to an 
 end. And yet all my heart went out towards 
 something better than the hewing of peats upon 
 the moor and the foddering of oxen in stall. 
 
 Yet for long I could not see how the matter 
 was to be accomplished, for the Cameronian hill- 
 folk had never had a minister since James Ren- 
 wick bade his farewell to sun and moon and De- 
 sirable General Meetings down in the Edinburgh 
 Grassmarket. There was no authority in Scot- 
 land capable of ordaining a Cameronian min- 
 ister. I knew how impossible it was that I could 
 go to Holland, as Renwick and Linning and 
 Shields had done, at the expense of the societies 
 — for the way of some of these men had even 
 
 93
 
 94 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 now begun to sour and disgust the elders of the 
 Hill Folk. 
 
 So since no better might be I turned my 
 mind to the ministry of the Reformed Kirk as it 
 had been established by law, and resolved to 
 spend my needful seasons as a student of the 
 theologies in the town of Edinburgh. I spoke 
 to my father of my decision, and he was willing 
 that I should try the work. 
 
 " I will gladly be at your college charges, 
 Quintin," he said; "but mind, lad, it will de- 
 pend how I sell my sheep, whether ye get 
 muckle to put in your belly. Yet, perchance, as 
 the auld saw hath it, ' hungry dogs hunt best.' 
 So mayhap that may likewise hold true of the 
 getting of learning." 
 
 So in the autumn of that year of the Con- 
 vention, and some months after our return, I 
 made me ready to go to college, and to my in- 
 finite surprise Hob, my brother, declared that he 
 would come also. 
 
 " For," said he, " my father does not need 
 me now at home, at least, not till the spring and 
 the lambing time." 
 
 My father demurred a little. But Hob got 
 his way because he had, as I well saw, my 
 mother behind him. Now Hob was (and is) the
 
 THE RED GRANT. 
 
 95 
 
 best of brothers — slow, placid, self-contained, 
 with little humour in him, but filled with a great, 
 quiet faithfulness. And he has abode with me 
 through many tears and stern trials. 
 
 So in due time to Edinburgh we twain went, 
 and while I trudged it back and forth to the 
 college Hob bought with his savings a pedlar's 
 pack, and travelled town and country with 
 swatches of cloth, taches for the hair, pins for 
 the dresses of women-folk, and for the men 
 chap-books and Testaments. But the strange 
 thing is that, slow and silent as our Hob is at 
 most times, he could make his way with the 
 good wives of the Lothians as none of those 
 bred to the trade could do. They tell me he 
 was mightily successful. 
 
 I only know that many a day we two might 
 have gone hungry to bed had it not been for 
 what Hob brought home, instead of, as it was, 
 having our kites panged full with good meat, 
 like Tod Lowrie when the lambs are young on 
 the hill.* 
 
 And often when my heart was done with 
 the dull and dowie days, the hardness of my 
 heart, and the wryness of learning, Hob would 
 
 * Like a fox in lambing-time.
 
 96 the standard bearer. 
 
 come in with a lightsome quirk on his queer 
 face, or a jest on his tongue, picked up in some 
 of the outlying villages, so that I could not help 
 but smile at him, which made the learning all 
 the easier afterward. 
 
 Yet the hardest part of my sore toil at col- 
 lege was the thought that the more I travailed 
 at the theologies, the less of living religion was 
 in my soul. Indeed, it was not till I had been 
 back some time among the common folk who 
 sin and die and are buried, that I began again 
 to taste the savour of vital religion as of old. 
 For to my thinking there is no more godless 
 class than just the young collegers in divinity. 
 Nor is this only a mock, as Hob would have 
 made of it, saying with his queer smile, li Quin- 
 tin, what think ye o' a mission to the heathen 
 divinity lads — to set the fire o' hell to their tails, 
 even as Peden the Prophet bade Richie Cam- 
 eron do to the border thieves o' Annandale? ' 
 
 Connect and Addition to Chapter XL made in after 
 years by Me, Hob MacClcllan. 
 
 It is well seen from the foregoing that Ouin- 
 tin, my brother, had no easy time of it while he 
 was at the college, where they called him " Sepa- 
 rator," " Hill Whig," " Young Drumclog," and
 
 THE RED GRANT. 
 
 97 
 
 other nicknames, some of which grieved the lad 
 sore. 
 
 Now they were mostly leather-jawed, slack- 
 twisted Geordies from the Hieland border that 
 so troubled our Quintin — who, though he was 
 not averse to the sword or the pistol in a good 
 cause, yet would not even be persuaded to lift 
 his fist to one of these rascals, lest it should 
 cause religion to be spoken against. But I was 
 held by none of these scruples. 
 
 So it chanced that one night as we came out 
 of the College Wynd in the early falling winter 
 gloaming, one of these bothy-men from the 
 North called out an ill name after us — " por- 
 ridge-fed Galloway pigs," or something of the 
 kind. Whereat very gladly I dealt him so sound 
 a buffet on the angle of his jaw that his head 
 was not set on straight again all the winter. 
 
 After this we adjourned to settle our differ- 
 ences at the corner of the plainstones; but 
 Quintin and the other theologians who had 
 characters to lose took their way home, grieved 
 in spirit. Or so at least I think he pretended 
 to himself. 
 
 For when I came in to our lodging an hour 
 after his first words were: " Did ye give him 
 his licks, Hob? ' : And that question, to which
 
 98 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 I answered simply that I had and soundly, did 
 not argue that the ancient Adam had been fully 
 exorcised from our Quintin. 
 
 All the same the Highlandman was none so 
 easy to handle, being a red-headed Grant from 
 Speyside, and more inclined to come at you with 
 his thick skull, like a charging boar of Rothie- 
 murchus, than decently to stand up with the 
 brave bare knuckles, as we are wont to do in the 
 South. 
 
 A turn or two at Kelton Hill fair would have 
 done him no harm and taught him that he must 
 not fight with such an ungodly battering-ram as 
 his head. I know lads there who would have met 
 him on the crown with the toe of their brogans. 
 
 But this I scorned, judging it feater to deal 
 him a round-arm blow behind the ear and leap 
 aside. The first of these discouraged the Grant; 
 the second dropped him on the causeway dumb 
 and limp. 
 
 'Well done, Galloway!' cried a voice 
 above; " but ye shall answer for this the morn, 
 every man o' ye! " 
 
 'Run, lads, run! Tis the Regent!" came 
 the answering cry from the collegers. 
 
 And with that every remaining student lad 
 ran his best in the direction of his own lodging.
 
 THE RED GRANT. go 
 
 ' Well, sir, have ye killed the Speyside Hie- 
 landman?" said the Doctor from his window, 
 when I remained alone by the fallen chieftain. 
 The Regent came from the West himself, and, 
 they say, bore the Grants no love, for all that 
 he was so holy a man. 
 
 " I think not," I answered doubtfully, " but 
 I'll take him round to the infirmary and 
 see!" 
 
 And with that I hoisted up the Red Grant 
 on my shoulders, carried him down the Infirm- 
 ary Close, and hammered on the door till the 
 young chirurgeon who kept the place, thinking 
 me to be drunk, came to threaten me with the 
 watch. 
 
 Then, the bolts being drawn, I backed the 
 Highlandman into the crack of the door and 
 discharged him upon the floor. 
 
 ' There's a heap of good college divinity," 
 I said. " The Regent sent me to bid ye find out 
 if he be dead or alive." 
 
 So with no more said we got him on a board, 
 and at the first jag of the lancet my Grant lad 
 sat him up on end with a loup like a Jack-in-the- 
 box. But when he saw where he was, and the 
 poor bits of dead folk that the surgeon laddies 
 had been learning on that day, he fetched a yell
 
 IOO THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 up from the soles of his Highland shoon, and 
 bounced off the board, crying, " Ye'll no cut me 
 up as lang as Donald Grant's a leeving man, 
 whatever ye may do when he's dead! ' : 
 
 And so he took through the door as if the 
 dogs had been after him. 
 
 Then the blood-letting man was for charg- 
 ing me with the cost of his time, but I bade him 
 apply to Regent Campbell over at the college, 
 telling him that it was he who had sent me. 
 But whether ever he did so or not I never heard. 
 
 Now the rarest jest of the whole matter was 
 on the morrow, when Quintin went to attend 
 his prelection in Hall. The lesson, so he told 
 me, was in the Latin of Essenius, his Compend, 
 and Quintin was called up. After he "had an- 
 swered upon his portion, and well, as I presume, 
 for Quintin was no dullard at his books, Dr. 
 Campbell looked down a little queerly at him. 
 
 ' Can you tell me which is the sixth com- 
 mandment?" says he. 
 
 ' Thou shalt not kill! " answers Quintin, as 
 simple as supping brose. 
 
 ' Then, are you a murderer or no — this 
 morning? " 
 
 Quintin, thinking that, after the fashion of 
 the time, the Regent meant some divinity quirk
 
 THE RED GRANT. IO i 
 
 or puzzle, laid his brains asteep, and answered 
 that as he had certainly " hated his brother," in 
 that sense he was doubtless, like all the rest of 
 the human race, technically and theologically 
 a murderer. 
 
 ' But," said the Professor, " what of the 
 Highland Grant lad that ye felled like a bullock 
 yestreen under my window? " 
 
 Now it had never struck me that I was like 
 my brother Ouintin in outward appearance, save 
 in the way that all we black MacClellans are 
 like one another — long in the nose, bushy in the 
 eyebrows, which mostly reach over to meet one 
 another. And I grant it that Ouintin was ever 
 better mettle for a lass's eye than I — though not 
 worth a pail of calf's feed in the matter of mak- 
 ing love as love ought to be made, which counts 
 more with women than all fine appearings. 
 
 But for the nonce let that fly stick to the 
 wall; at any rate, sure it is that the Professor 
 loon had taken me for Ouintin. 
 
 Now it will greatly help those who read this 
 chronicle to remember what Ouintin did on this 
 occasion. I would not have cared a doit if he 
 had said, in the plain hearing of the class, that 
 it was his brother Plob the Lothian packman 
 who had felled the Red Grant.
 
 IG 2 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 But would the lad betray his brother? No! 
 He rather hung his head, and said no more than 
 that he heard the Red Grant was not seriously 
 hurt. For as he said afterwards, " I did not 
 know what such a tribe of angry, dirked High- 
 landmen might have done to you, Hob, if they 
 had so much as guessed it was no colleger's fist 
 which had taken Donald an inch beneath the 
 ear." 
 
 ' Then," said the Regent to Quintin, " my 
 warrior of Wild Whigdom, you may set to the 
 learning of thirty psalms by heart in the original 
 Hebrew. And after you have said them without 
 the book I will consider of your letters of certi- 
 fication from this class." 
 
 To which task my brother owes that fa- 
 miliarity with the Psalms of David which 
 has often served him to such noble purpose — 
 both when, like Boanerges, he thundered in 
 the open fields to the listening peoples, and 
 when at closer range he spoke with his ene- 
 mies in the gate. For thirty would not suit 
 this hungrisome Quintin of ours. He must 
 needs learn the whole hundred and fifty (is it 
 not?) by rote before he went back to the Re- 
 gent. 
 
 ' Which thirty psalms are ye prepared to re-
 
 THE RED GRANT. ^3 
 
 cite? ' : queried the Professor under the bush 
 of his eyebrows. 
 
 "Any thirty! " answered brave Quintin, un- 
 abashed, yet noways uplifted. 
 
 Now the rest of my brother's college life may 
 be told in a word. I know that he had written 
 many chapters upon his struggles and heart- 
 questionings as to duty and guidance at that 
 time. But whether he destroyed them himself, 
 or whether they exist in some undiscovered re- 
 pository, certain it is that the next portion of 
 his autobiography which has come into my 
 hands deals with the time of his settlement in 
 the parish of Balmaghie, where he was to endure 
 so many strange things. 
 
 It is enough to say that year after year Quin- 
 tin and I returned to the college with the fall of 
 the leaf, I with my pack upon my back, ever 
 gaining ready hospitality because of the songs 
 and merry tales in my wallet. When we jour- 
 neyed to and fro Quintin abode mostly at the 
 road-ends and loaning-foots while I went up to 
 chaffer with the good-wives in the hallans and 
 ben-rooms of the farmhouses. Then, in the 
 same manner as at first, we fought our way 
 through the dull, iron-grey months of winter in 
 
 8
 
 104 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Auld Reekie. Each spring, as the willow buds 
 furred and yellowed, saw us returning to the 
 hill-farm again with our books and packs. And 
 all the while I kept Quintin cheerful company, 
 looking to his clothes and mending at his stock- 
 ings and body-gear as he sat over his books. 
 Mainly it was a happy time, for I knew that the 
 lad would do us credit. And as my mother said 
 many and many a time, " Our Quintin has 
 wealth o' lear and wealth o' grace, but he hasna 
 as muckle common-sense as wad seriously blind 
 a midge." 
 
 So partly because my mother put me 
 through a searching catechism on my return, 
 and also because I greatly loved the lad, I 
 watched him night and day, laid his clothes out, 
 dried his rig-and-fur hose, greased his shoon 
 of home-tanned leather to keep out the search- 
 ing snow-brew of the Edinburgh streets. For, 
 save when the frost grips it, sharp and snell, 'tis 
 a terrible place to live in, that town of Edin- 
 burgh in the winter season. 
 
 Here begins again the narrative of Quintin my 
 
 brother.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE LASS IN THE KIRKYARD. 
 
 I had been well-nigh a year about the great 
 house of Girthon as family chaplain to the laird, 
 when there came a call to accept the ministry 
 of the Gospel among the people of Balmaghie. 
 It was a parish greatly to my mind. It lies, as 
 all know, in the heart of Galloway, between the 
 slow, placid sylvan stretches of the Ken and 
 the rapid, turbulent mill-race of the Black 
 Water of Dee. 
 
 From a worldly point of view the parish was 
 most desirable. For though the income in 
 money and grain was not great, nevertheless the 
 whole amount was equal to the income of most 
 of the smaller lairds in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Yet for all these things, I trust that those 
 in future times who may read this my life rec- 
 ord will acquit me of the sin of self-seeking. 
 
 I mind well the first time that I preached 
 
 in the parish which was to be mine own. I 
 
 105
 
 I 6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 had walked with naught but my Bible in my 
 pocket over the long, lone hill-road from Gir- 
 thon to Balmaghie. I had with me no prov- 
 ender to comfort my stomach by the way, or 
 to speed my feet over the miles of black heather 
 moors and green morass. 
 
 For the housekeeper, to whom (for reasons 
 into which I need not enter) everything in the 
 laird's house of Girthon was committed, was a 
 fair-faced, hard-natured, ill-hearted woman, who 
 liked not the coming of a chaplain into the 
 house — as she said, '' stirring up the servants 
 to gad about to preachings, and taking up their 
 time with family worship and the like foolish- 
 ness." 
 
 So she went out of her way to ensure that 
 the chaplains would stay only until they could 
 obtain quittance of so bare and thankless a 
 service. 
 
 When I arrived at the kirk of Balmaghie, 
 having come all the long journey from Girthon 
 on foot and fasting, I sat me down on a flat 
 stone in the kirkyard, near by where the mar- 
 tyrs lie snug and bieldy at the gable-end. 
 
 So exhausted was I that I know not what 
 I should have done but for a young lass, comely 
 and well put on, who gave me the farle of oat-
 
 THE LASS IN THE KIRKYARD. i j 
 
 cake she had brought with her for her " morn- 
 
 ing." 
 
 " You are the young minister who is to 
 preach to us this day? " she said, going over 
 to the edge of the little wood which at that time 
 bounded the kirkyard. 
 
 I answered her that I was and that I had 
 walked all the way from the great house of 
 Girthon that morning — whereat she held up her 
 hands in utter astonishment. 
 
 " It is just not possible," she cried. 
 
 And after pitying me a long time with her 
 eyes, and urging me to eat her ' piece " up 
 quickly, she featly stooped down to the water 
 and washed her feet and ankles, before draw- 
 ing upon them a pair of white hosen, fair and 
 thin, and fastening her shoes with the buckles 
 of silver after a pretty fashion which was just 
 coming in. 
 
 It was yet a full hour and a half before the 
 beginning of the morning diet of worship, for 
 I had risen betimes and travelled steadily. Now 
 the kirk of Balmaghie stands in a lonely place, 
 and even the adjoining little clachan of folk 
 averts itself some distance from it. 
 
 Then being hungry I sat and munched at 
 the lass's piece, till, with thinking on my ser-
 
 IOS THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 mon and looking at her by the waterside, I had 
 well-nigh eaten it every snatch. So when I 
 awoke from my reverie, as from a deep sleep, 
 I sat with a little bit of bread, the size of my 
 thumb, in my hand, staring at it as if I had seen 
 a fairlie.* 
 
 And what was worse, the lass seeing me 
 thus speechless, and with my jaws yet working 
 on the last of the crust, went off into peal after 
 peal of laughter. 
 
 ' What for do ye look at me like that, young 
 lad? " she said, when she had sufficiently com- 
 manded herself. 
 
 " I — I have eaten all your midday piece, 
 whiles I was thinking upon my sermon," I said. 
 
 " More befitting is it that you should think 
 upon your sermon than of things lighter and 
 less worthy," said she, without looking up at 
 me. I was pleased with her solid answer and 
 felt abashed. 
 
 ' But you will go wanting," I began. 
 
 She gartered one shapely stocking of silk 
 ere she answered me, holding the riband that 
 was to cincture the other in her mouth, as ap- 
 pears to be the curious fashion of women. 
 
 * /. e., a marvel.
 
 THE LASS IN THE KIRKYARD. 
 
 IO9 
 
 " What matter," she said, presently, as she 
 stroked down her kirtle over her knee modestly, 
 with an air that took me mightily, it was so 
 full of distance and respect. ' I come not far, 
 but only from the farm town of Drumglass 
 down there on the meadow's edge. Ye are 
 welcome to the bit piece; I am as glad to see 
 ye eat it as of a sunny morn in haytime. You 
 have come far, and a brave day's wark we are 
 expecting from you this Sabbath day." 
 
 Then, as was my duty, I rebuked her for 
 looking to man for that which could alone come 
 from the Master and Maker of man. 
 
 She listened very demurely, with her eyes 
 upon the silver buckles of her shoon, which 
 she had admiringly placed side by side on the 
 grass, when she set herself down on the low 
 boundary wall of the kirkyard. 
 
 " I ken I am too young and light and foolish 
 to be fit company even for a young minister," 
 she said, and there was a blush upon her cheek 
 which vexed me, though it was bonny enough 
 to look upon. 
 
 " Nay," answered I quickly; ' there you 
 mistake me. I meant no such thing, bonnie 
 lass. We are all both fond and foolish, minister 
 and maid." (Well might I say it, for — God
 
 HO THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 forgive me! — at that very moment my mind ran 
 more on how the lass looked and on the way 
 she had of tapping the grass with her foot than 
 on the solemn work of the day.) 
 
 " No, no," she interrupted, hastily; " I am 
 but a silly lass, poor and ignorant, and you do 
 well to fault me." 
 
 Now this put me in a painful predicament, 
 for I still held in my hand the solitary scraplet 
 left of the young lass's " piece," and I must 
 needs, like a dull, splenetic fool, go on fretting 
 her for a harmless word. 
 
 She turned away her head a little; never- 
 theless, I was not so ill-learned in the ways of 
 maids but that I could see she was crying. 
 
 " What is your name, sweet maid? " Tasked, 
 for my heart was wae that I had grieved her. 
 
 • She did not answer me till she had a little 
 recovered herself. 
 
 " Jean Gemmell," she said, at last, " and my 
 father is the tenant of Drumglass up by there. 
 He is an elder, and will be here by kirk-time. 
 The session is holding a meeting at the Manse." 
 
 I had pulled a Bible from my pocket and 
 was thinking of my sermon by this time. 
 
 Jean Gemmell rose and stood a moment 
 picking at a flower by the wall.
 
 THE LASS IN THE KIRKYARD. m 
 
 " My father will be on your side," she said, 
 
 slowly. 
 
 "But," cried I, in some astonishment, ''your 
 father has not yet heard me preach." 
 
 " No more have I," she made answer, smil- 
 ing on me with her eyes, " but, nevertheless, 
 my father will be on your side." 
 
 And she moved away, looking still very 
 kindly upon me. 
 
 I cannot tell whether or no I was helped by 
 this rencounter in my conduct of the worship 
 that day in the parish kirk of Balmaghie. At 
 any rate, I went down and walked in the mead- 
 ows by the side of Dee Water till the folk gath- 
 ered and the little cracked bell began to clank 
 and jow from the kirk on the hill.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MY LADY OF PRIDE. 
 
 Within the kirk of Balmaghie there spread 
 from gable to gable a dim sea of faces, men 
 standing in corners, men holding by windows, 
 men peering in at the low doorway, while the 
 women cowered upon folded plaids, or sat close- 
 ly wedged together upon little creepie stools. 
 So great a multitude had assembled that day 
 that the bairns who had no voice in the -minis- 
 terial call were in danger of being put without 
 to run wild among the gravestones. But this 
 I forbade, though I doubt not many of the 
 youthful vagabondage would have preferred 
 such an exodus to the hot and crowded kirk 
 that day of high summer. 
 
 I was well through my discourse, and enter- 
 ing upon my last " head," when I heard a stir 
 at the door. I paused somewhat markedly lest 
 there should be some unseemly disturbance. 
 But I saw only a great burly red-bearded gen- 
 
 112
 
 MY LADY OF PRIDE. 
 
 "3 
 
 tleman with his hair a little touched with grey. 
 The men about the porch made room for him 
 with mighty deference. 
 
 Clinging to his arm was a young girl, with 
 a face lily-pale, dark eyes and wealth of hair. 
 And instead of the bare head and modest snood 
 of the country maid, or the mutch of the douce 
 matron, there was upon the lady's head a brave 
 new-fashioned hat with a white feather. 
 
 I knew them in a moment — Alexander Gor- 
 don of Earlstoun and his daughter Mary. 
 
 I cannot tell if my voice trembled, or 
 whether I showed any signs of the abounding 
 agitation of my spirit. But certain it is that 
 for a space, which to me seemed ages, the course 
 of my thought went from me. I spoke words 
 idle and empty, and it was only by the strongest 
 effort of will that I recalled myself to the solemn 
 matters in hand. That this should have hap- 
 pened in my trial sermon vexed me sore. For 
 at that time I knew not that these disturbances, 
 so great-seeming to the speaker, are little, if at 
 all, observed by his hearers, who are ever willing 
 to lay the blame upon their own lack of com- 
 prehension rather than upon their instructor's 
 want of clearness. 
 
 But the moment after, with a strong up-
 
 114 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 rising of my spirit, I won above the turmoil 
 of my intellects, and ended with a great outgo- 
 ing of my heart, charging those before me to 
 lay aside the evils of their life and enter upon 
 the better way with zeal and assured confidence. 
 
 And seeing that the people were much 
 moved by my appeal I judged wise to let them 
 go with what fire of God they had gotten yet 
 burning in their hearts. I closed therefore 
 quickly, and so dismissed the congregation. 
 
 Then, when I came down to go from the 
 kirk, the people were already dispersing. The 
 great red-bearded man came forward and put 
 his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 " Young sir," he said, " it is true that ye 
 have left the hill-folk, and with your feet have 
 walked in devious ways. Notwithstanding, 
 if what we have heard to-day be your message, 
 we shall yet have you on your knees before the 
 Eldership of the Societies. For the heart of 
 the man who can thus speak is with us of the 
 wilderness, and not among the flesh-pots of an 
 Erastian Egypt." 
 
 At which I shook my head, not seeing how 
 true his words were to prove, nor yet how soon 
 the Kirk of Scotland was to bow the head, 
 which hitherto had only bent to her heavenly
 
 MY LADY OF PRIDE. 
 
 115 
 
 Lord, to the sceptre of clay and the rule of a 
 feckless earthly monarch. 
 
 But though I looked wistfully at Mary Gor- 
 don, and would have gone forward to help her 
 upon her horse where it stood tethered at the 
 kirk-liggate, she passed me by as though she 
 had not seen me, which surely was not well done 
 of her. Instead she beckoned a young man 
 from the crowd in the kirkyard, who came for- 
 ward with his hat in his hand and convoyed 
 her to her horse with a privileged and courtly 
 air. Then the three rode off together, Alex- 
 ander Gordon turning about in his saddle and 
 crying back to me in his loud, hearty manner, 
 " Haste ye and come over to the Earlstoun, 
 and we will yet show you the way across the 
 Red Sea out of the Land of Bondage." 
 
 And I was left standing there sadly enough, 
 yet for my life I cannot tell why I should have 
 been sad. For the folk came thronging about 
 me, shaking me by the hand, and saying that 
 now they had found their minister and would 
 choose me in spite of laird or prince or presby- 
 tery. For it seems that already some of my 
 sayings had given offence in high quarters. 
 
 Yet it was as if I heard not these good folk, 
 for (God forgive me) even at that solemn mo-
 
 U6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ment my thoughts were circling about that 
 proud young lass, who had not deigned me a 
 look even in the hour of triumph, but had rid- 
 den so proudly away with the man who was 
 doubtless her lover. 
 
 Thus I stood awhile dumbly at gaze, with- 
 out finding a word to say to any. And the folk, 
 thinking that the spirit of the spoken Word was 
 yet upon me, drew off a little. 
 
 Then there came a voice in mine ear, low 
 and persuasive, that awoke me from my dream. 
 
 " This is my father, who would bid ye wel- 
 come, and that kindly, to his house of Drum- 
 glass." 
 
 It was the young maid whose piece I had 
 eaten in the morning. 
 
 The feeling in my heart that I had been 
 shamed and slighted by Mary Gordon made 
 Mistress Jean Gemmell's word sweet and agree- 
 able to me. I turned me about and found my- 
 self clasping the hands of a rugged old man 
 with a broad and honest face, who took snuff 
 freely with one hand, while he shook mine with 
 the other. 
 
 " I'm prood to see ye, young sir," he said, 
 " prood to see ye! My dochter Jean here, a 
 feat and bonny bit lass, has telled me that I am
 
 MY LADY OF PRIDE. 
 
 117 
 
 to gie ye my guid word. And my guid word 
 ye shall hae. And mony o' the elders and kirk- 
 members owes siller to auld Drummie; aye, 
 aye, and they shall do as I say or I shall ken 
 the reason " 
 
 " But, sir," I said hastily, " I desire no un- 
 due influence to be used. Let my summons, if 
 it come, be the call of a people of one mind con- 
 cerning the fitting man to have the oversight 
 of them in the things of the spirit." 
 
 " Of one mind! '' exclaimed the old man, 
 taking snuff more freely than ever. ' Ye are 
 dootless a maist learned and college-bred young 
 lad, with rowth o' lear and lashin's o' grace, 
 but ye dinna ken this pairish o' Balmaghie if 
 ye think that ye can ever hae the folk o' wan 
 mind. Laddie, the thing's no possible. There's 
 as mony minds in Balmaghie as there's folk in 
 it. And a mair unruly, camsteery pairish there's 
 no between Kirkmaiden and the wild Hieland 
 border. But auld Drummie can guide them — 
 ow, aye, auld Drummie can work them. He 
 can turn them that owes him siller round his 
 finger, and they can leaven the congregation — 
 hear ye that, young man! " 
 
 ' If the people of this parish desire me for 
 their minister, they will send me the call," an-
 
 Il8 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 swered I, pointedly. For these things, as I 
 have ever believed, are in a Higher Hand. 
 
 " Doubtless, doubtless," quoth auld Drum- 
 mie; " but the Balmaghie folk are none of the 
 waur o' a bit spur in their flank like a reesty * 
 powny that winna gang. They mind a min- 
 ute's jag frae the law mair nor the hale grace o' 
 God for a month, and mind ye that! Gin ye 
 come amang us, lad, I'll learn ye a trick or twa 
 aboot the folk o' Balmaghie that ye will be the 
 wiser o\ Mind, I hae been here a' my life, and 
 an elder o' the kirk for thirty year! ' : 
 
 ' I am much indebted, sir, for your good in- 
 tentions, but " 
 
 " Nae buts," cried auld Drummie. " I hae 
 my dochter Jean's word that ye are a braw cal- 
 lan and deserve the pairish, and the pairish ye 
 shall hae." 
 
 " I am much indebted to your daughter," I 
 made answer. " She succoured me with bread 
 to eat this morning, when in the kirkyard I was 
 ready to faint with hunger. Without her kind- 
 ness I know not how I would have come 
 through the fatigues of this day's exercises." 
 
 " Ow, aye," said the old man; " that's just 
 
 * Restive.
 
 MY LADY OF PRIDE. Hq 
 
 like my dochter Jean. And a douce ceevil las- 
 sock she is. But ye should see my ither dochter 
 afore ye craw sae croose aboot Jean." 
 
 ' You have another daughter? " I said, po- 
 litely. 
 
 " Aye," he cried, with enthusiasm. " Man, 
 where hae ye corned frae that ye haena heard 
 o' Alexander-Jonita, the lass wha can tame a 
 wild stallion that horse-dealers winna tackle, 
 and ride it stride-leg like a man. There's no' 
 a maiden in a' the country can haud a cannle to 
 Alexander-Jonita, the dochter o' Nathan Gem- 
 mell of Drumglass, in the pairish o' Balmaghie."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE TALE OF MESS HAIRRY. 
 
 So the service being ended for the day, I 
 walked quietly over to Drumglass with Jean 
 and her father. There I found a house well 
 furnished, oxen and kine knee-deep in water, 
 meadows, pastures, crofts of oats and bear in 
 the hollows about the door, and over all such 
 an air of bien and hospitable comfort that the 
 place beckoned me to abide there. 
 
 Nathan Gemmell went beside me, regaling 
 me with tales of the ancient days spoken in the 
 broad and honourable sounding speech of the 
 province. 
 
 " Hear ye, laddie," he said, " gin ye come to 
 the pairish o' Balmaghie ye will need the legs 
 o' a racer horse, and the airms o' Brawny Kim, 
 the smith o' Carlinwark. Never a chiel has 
 been fit to be the minister o' Balmaghie since 
 Auld Mess Hairry died! 
 
 120
 
 THE TALE OF MESS HAIRRY. I2 i 
 
 ' He was a man — losh me, but he was a 
 man! 
 
 " I tell ye, sir, this pairish needs its relee- 
 gion tightly threshed into it wi' a flail. Sax 
 change-houses doon there hae I kenned oot o' 
 seven cot-houses at the Kirk-clachan o' Shandk- 
 foot, and a swearin', drinkin' set in ilka yin o' 
 them. 
 
 " And siccan reamin swatrochs of Hollands 
 an' French brandy, lad! Every man toomin' 
 his glass and cryin' for mair, tossing it ower 
 their thrapples hand ower fist, as hard as the 
 sweatin' landlords could open the barrels. And 
 the ill words and the fechtin' — Lord, callant, ye 
 never heard the like! They tell me that ye 
 come frae the Kells. A puir feckless lot they 
 are in the Kells! Nae spirit in their drink. 
 Nae power or variety in their oaths and curs- 
 ings! 
 
 "But Balmaghie! That was a pairish' 
 
 in the old time, till Mess Hairry came in the 
 days after John Knox. He had been a Papish 
 priest some-gate till he had turned his cassock 
 alang wi' dour black Jock o' the Hie Kirk o' 
 Edinburgh. But Mess Hairry they aye caa'ed 
 him, for a' that. And there were some that 
 said he hadna turned that very far, but was a
 
 122 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Papish as great as ever under the black Geneva 
 gown ! 
 
 ' For he wad whiles gie them swatches o' 
 the auld ill-tongued Laitin, till the folk kenned 
 na whether they werena bein' made back again 
 into limbs o' Rome, and their leave never so 
 much as speered. 
 
 " But Pope or reform, mass or sacrament, 
 the pairish cared no a bursten chanter. Doon 
 at the clachans the stark Hollands flowed like 
 the water in a running spate, and the holy day 
 o' the Sabbath was their head time for the evil 
 wark — that is, till Mess Hairry cam', and oh, 
 but he was the maisterfu' man, as my auld 
 grandfather used to say. What did he? — man, 
 I will tell ye. And let it be a lesson to ye, 
 young man, gin ye come to the pairish o' Bal- 
 maghie. The folk here like a tairgin' maisterfu' 
 man. Hark ye to that! They canna bide 
 chiels that only peep and mutter. The lads 
 atween the waters o' Dee and Ken tak' a man 
 maistly at his ain valuation, and if a minister 
 thinks na muckle o' himself — haith, they will 
 e'en jaloose that he kens best, and no think 
 muckle o' him either! 
 
 " At ony rate, the drinking gaed on, as I 
 was tellin' ye, till yae day it cam' to a head.
 
 THE TALE OF MESS HAIRRY. 12 $ 
 
 There had been a new cargo brought into the 
 Briggus — it was afore the days o' the ill-set 
 customs duties — foul fa' them and the officers 
 that wad keep a man frae brewin' his decent 
 wormfu', or at least gar him tak' the bother o' 
 doin' it in the peat-stack or on some gairy-face 
 instead o' openly on his kitchen floor. 
 
 " But be that as it may, it was when Mess 
 Hairry was at his fencing prayer in the kirk on 
 a Sabbath, as it micht be on this day o' June. 
 He was just leatherin' aff the words that fast 
 the folk couldna tell whether he is giein' them 
 guid Scots or ill-contrived Laitin, when Mess 
 Hairry stops and cocks his lug doon the kirk 
 like a collie that hears a strange fit in the 
 loanin'. 
 
 " The folk listens, too, and then they heard 
 the ower word o' a gye coarse sang from the 
 clachan doon by, and the Muckle Miller o' 
 Barnboard, Black Coskery, leadin' it wi' a voice 
 like the thunder on Knockcannon. 
 
 ' The deil cam up to oor loan en' 
 Smoored wi' the reck o' his black den.' 
 
 " There was nae mair sermon that day. 
 Mess Hairry gied them but ae word. I wasna 
 there, for I wasna born; but the granddaddy
 
 124 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 o' me was then a limber loon, and followed after 
 to see what wad befa'. " The sermon will be 
 applied in the clachan this day in the name o' 
 God and the blessed saints,' cried Mess Hairry. 
 
 " So the auld priest claught to him a great 
 oak clickie stick he had brocht frae some en- 
 chanted wood, and doon the kirk road he linkit 
 wi' strides that were near sax foot frae tae to 
 heel. Lord, but he swankit it that day. 
 
 :< And ever as he gaed the nearer, louder and 
 louder raise Barnboard's chorus, ' The deil he 
 cam' to our loan en' ' — till ye could hear the 
 verra window-frames dirl. 
 
 ' But Mess Hairry he strode like the angel 
 o' destruction to the door o' the first hoose. 
 The bar was pushed, for it was sermon time, and 
 they had that muckle respect. But the noise 
 within was fearsome. Mess Hairry set the 
 broad sole o' his foot to the hasp, and, man, he 
 drave her in as if she had been paper. It was 
 a low door as a' Galloway doors are. The min- 
 ister dooked doon his heid, and in he gaed. 
 Nane expected ever to see him come oot in life 
 again, and a' the folk were thinking on the dis- 
 grace that the pairish wad come under for killin' 
 the man that had been set over them in the 
 things o' the Lord. For bravely they kenned
 
 THE TALE OF MESS HAIRRY. 125 
 
 that Black Coskery wad never listen to a word 
 o' advice, but, bein' drunk as Dauvid's soo, wad 
 strike wi' sword, or shoot wi' pistol as soon as 
 drink another gill. 
 
 " There was an awesome pause after Mess 
 Hairry gaed ben. 
 
 " The folk they stood aboot the doors and 
 they held up their hands in peety. ' Puir man,' 
 they said; ' they are killin' him the noo. There's 
 Black Coskery yellin' at the rest to keep him 
 doon and finish him where he lies. Puir man, 
 puir man! What a death to dee, murdered in 
 a change-hoose on the Lord's Day o' Rest, 
 when he micht hae been by " Thirdly " in his 
 sermon and clearin' the points o' doctrine wi' 
 neither tinker nor miller fashin' him! This 
 comes o' meddlin' wi' the cursed drink.' 
 
 " Wilder and ever wilder grew the din. It 
 was like baith Keltonhill Fair and Tongland 
 Sacrament on a wet day. They had shut the 
 doors when the priest gaed in to keep him close 
 and do for him on the spot. 
 
 " My grand-daddy telled me that there was 
 some ga'ed awa' for the bier-trams and the 
 mort-claiths to carry the corpse to the manse 
 to be ready for his coffining! 
 
 " If they gang on like that there will no be
 
 126 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 enough left o' him to haud thegither till they 
 row him in his shroud! Hear till the wild 
 renegades ! 
 
 " And ever the thresh, thresh o' terrible blows 
 was heard, yells o' pain an' mortal fear. 
 
 "'Mercy! Mercy! For the Lord's dear 
 sake, hae mercy ! ' 
 
 " The door burst frae its hinges and fell blaff 
 on the road! 
 
 " ' They are bringin' him oot noo. Puir 
 man, but he will be an awesome sicht ! ' 
 
 " There cam' a pour o' men folk frae 'tween 
 the lintels, some bareheaded, wi' the red bluid 
 rinnin' frae aboot their brows, some wi' the 
 coats fair torn frae their backs — every man o' 
 them wild wi' fear. 
 
 " ' They hae murdered him! Black Coskery 
 has murdered him,' cried the folk withoot. 
 ' And the ither lads are feared o' the judgment 
 for the bluid o' the man o' God.' 
 
 " But it wasna that — indeed, far frae that. 
 For on the back o' the men skailin', there cam' 
 oot o' the cot-hoose wha but Mess Hairry, and 
 he had Black Coskery by the feet trailin' him 
 heid doon oot o' the door. He flang him in 
 the ditch like a wat dish-clout. Syne he gied 
 his lang black coat a bit hitch aboot his loins
 
 THE TALE OF MESS HAIRRY. 127 
 
 wi' a cord, like a butcher that has mair calves 
 to kill. Then he makes for the next change- 
 hoose. But they had gotten the warnin'. 
 They never waited to argue, but were oot o' the 
 window, carrying wi' them sash and a' — so they 
 say. 
 
 " And so even thus it was wi' the lave. The 
 grace o' God was triumphant in the Kirk Clach- 
 an o' Ba'maghie that day. 
 
 " They took up a' that was mortal o' Black 
 Coskery to the Barnboard on the bier they had 
 gotten ready for the minister. He got better, 
 but he was never the same man again ; for when- 
 ever he let his voice be heard, or got decently 
 fechtin' drunk, some callant wad be sure to 
 get ahint a tree and cry, ' Rin, Coskery, here's 
 Mess Hairry.' He couldna bide that, but cow- 
 ered like a weel-lickit messan tyke. 
 
 " When they gaed into the first change- 
 hoose, they say that the floor was a sicht to 
 see. A' thing driven to kindlin' wood; for 
 Mess Hairry had never waited to gie a word o' 
 advice, but had keeled ower Black Coskery wi' 
 ae stroke o' his oak clickie on the haffets. 
 Then, faith, he took the fechtin' miller by the 
 feet and swung him aboot his head as if he had 
 been a flail.
 
 128 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ' Never was there sic fechtin' seen in the 
 Stewartry. The men fell ower like nine-pins, 
 and were richt glad to crawl to the door. But 
 for a judgment on them it was close steekit, for 
 they had shut it to be sure o' Mess Hairry. 
 
 ' They were far ower sure o' him, and they 
 say that if the hinges had no' given way it 
 micht hae been the waur for some o' them. 
 
 " And that was the way that Mess Hairry 
 preached the Gospel in Ba'maghie. Ow, it's 
 him that had the poo'er — at least, that's what 
 my granddaddy telled me. 
 
 " Ow, aye' Ba'maghie needs a maisterfu' 
 man. But we'll never see the like o' Mess 
 Hairry — rest his soul. He was indeed a mir- 
 acle o' grace."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ALEXANDER-JONITA. 
 
 We had been steadily approaching the farm- 
 steading of Drumglass, where it sits pleasantly 
 under the hill looking down over the water- 
 meadows, the while Nathan Gemmell told me 
 his grandfather's tale showing how a man ought 
 to rule the parish of Balmaghie. 
 
 We had gotten almost to the door of the 
 farm when we saw a horse and rider top the 
 heathery fell to the left, and sweep down upon 
 us at a tearing gallop. 
 
 The old man, hearing the clatter of stones, 
 turned quickly. 
 
 " Alexander-Jonita! " he exclaimed, shaking 
 his head with fond blame towards the daring 
 rider, " I declare that lassie will break neck- 
 bone some o' thae days. And that will be 
 seen! " 
 
 With dark hair flying in the wind, eyes 
 
 gleaming like stars, short kirtle driven back 
 
 129
 
 130 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 from her knees by the rush of the horse's stride, 
 came a girl of eighteen or twenty on the back 
 of a haltered but saddle-free mare. 
 
 Whether, as her father had boasted, the girl 
 was riding astride, or whether she sat in the 
 new-fangled way of the city ladies, I cannot 
 venture to decide. For with a sharp turn of 
 the hempen bridle she reined her beast within 
 a few yards of us, and so had leaped nimbly to 
 the ground before the startled senses could 
 take in all the picture. 
 
 ' Lassie," cried the elder, with a not intol- 
 erant reproof in his tones, " where hae ye been 
 that the kirk and the service of God saw ye 
 not this day? " 
 
 The girl came fearlessly forward, looking 
 me directly in the yes. The reins were yet in 
 her hand. 
 
 ' Father," she said, gently enough, but 
 without looking at him, " I had the marches to 
 ride, the ' aval ' sheep to turn, the bitten ewes 
 to dress with tar, the oxen to keep in bound, 
 the horses to water; besides which, Jean wanted 
 my stockings and Sunday gear to be braw the 
 day at the kirk. So I had e'en to bide at 
 hame!" 
 
 " Thing shame o' yoursel', Alexander-
 
 ALEXANDER-JONITA. 131 
 
 Jonita!" cried her father, "ye are your mith- 
 er's dochter. Ye tak' not after the douce ways 
 o' your faither. Spite o' a' excuses, ye should 
 hae been at the kirk." 
 
 " Is this the young minister lad? " said Al- 
 exander-Jonita, looking at me more with the 
 assured direct gaze of a man than with the cus- 
 tomary bashfulness of a maid. Singularly fear- 
 less and forthlooking was her every glance. 
 
 " Even so," said her father, " the lad has 
 spoken weel this day! ' : 
 
 She looked me through and through, till I 
 felt the manhood in me stir to vexation, not 
 with shyness alone, but for very shame to be 
 thus outfaced and made into a bairn. 
 
 She spoke again, still, however, keeping her 
 eyes on me. 
 
 " I am no kirk-goer — no, nor yet great kirk- 
 lover. But I ken a man when I see him," said 
 the strange maid, holding out her hand frankly. 
 And, curiously enough, I took it with an odd 
 sense of gratitude and comradeship. 
 
 " The kirk," said I, " is not indeed all that 
 it might be, but the kirk and conventicle alike 
 are the gathering places of those that love the 
 good way. We are not to forsake the assem- 
 bling of ourselves together."
 
 I32 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ' Even so, minister! " she said, with some 
 sudden access of gravity, " and this day I have 
 been preaching the Gospel to the sheep and the 
 oxen, the kye and the horse-beasts within the 
 bounds of my parish, while ye spake your good 
 word to human creatures that were maybe 
 somewhat less grateful." 
 
 ' The folk to whom I spake had immortal 
 souls," said I, a little indignant to be thus 
 bearded by a lassie. 
 
 " And how," she retorted, turning on me 
 quick as a fire-flash, " ken ye that the beasts 
 have none, or that their spirit goeth downward 
 into the earth? Have they not bodies also and 
 gratitude? There was a sore distressed sheep 
 this morning at Tornorrach that looked at me 
 first with eyes that spake a prayer. But after 
 I had cleansed and dressed the hurt, it breathed 
 a benediction, sweet as any said in the Kirk of 
 Balmaghie this day! " 
 
 ' Nevertheless it was for men and women, 
 perishing in sin, that Christ died! " I persisted, 
 not willing to be silenced. 
 
 ' How ken ye that? " she said; " did not the 
 same Lord make the sheep on the hills and the 
 kye in the byres? Will He that watches the 
 sparrow fall think it wrong to lift a sheep out
 
 ALEXANDER-JONITA. 133 
 
 of a pit on the Sabbath? The Pharisees are 
 surely not all dead to this day! " 
 
 " E'en let her alane, ye will be as wise," said 
 her father; " she has three words to every one 
 that are given to men o' sense. But she is 
 withal a good lass and true of speech. Alex- 
 ander-Jonita, stable your beast and come ben 
 to wait on the minister in the ben room." * 
 
 The girl moved away, leading her steed, and 
 her father and I went on to the house of Drum- 
 glass. 
 
 When we entered the table was not yet set, 
 and there were no preparations for a meal. Na- 
 than Gemmell looked about him with a certain 
 severe darkening expression, which told of a 
 temper not yet altogether brought into obedi- 
 ence to the spirit. 
 
 "Jean — Jean Gemmell! ' : he cried, " come 
 hither, lass! ' : He went and knocked loudly at 
 the chamber door, which opened at one side of 
 the kitchen. 
 
 " Wherefore have ye not set the table for 
 the meal of meat?" he asked, frowning upon 
 the maiden whom I had first seen. She stood 
 with meek and smiling face looking at us from 
 
 * Ben room — i. e., the inner room or guest chamber.
 
 134 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 the lintel. Her face was shining and her hair 
 very becomingly attired, though (as I observed) 
 in a different fashion from what it had been in 
 the morning by the kirk-gate when she gave 
 me her piece to stay my hunger. 
 
 " I have been praying upon my knees for a 
 blessing upon the work of this day in the kirk," 
 said Jean Gemmell, looking modestly down, 
 " and I waited for Alexander-Jonita to help me 
 to lay the table." 
 
 ' Were ye not vainly adoring your frail tab- 
 ernacle? It seems more likely!" said her fa- 
 ther, somewhat cruelly as I thought. 
 
 Then she looked once across at me, and her 
 eyes filled with tears, so that I was vividly sorry 
 for the maid. But she turned away from her 
 father's reproof without a word. 
 
 ' We can well afford to wait. There is no 
 haste," I said, to ease her hurt if so I could; 
 " this good kind maiden gave me all she had 
 this morning in the kirk-yard, or I know not 
 how I should have sped at the preaching work 
 this day!" 
 
 Jean Gemmell paused half-way across the 
 floor, as her father was employed looking out 
 of the little window to catch a glimpse of Alex- 
 ander-Jonita. She lifted her eyes again to mine
 
 ALEXANDER-JONITA. I3 5 
 
 with a look of sweet and tender gratitude and 
 understanding which more than thanked me 
 for the words I had spoken. 
 
 At that moment in came Alexander- Jonita 
 with a free swing like some stripling gallant of 
 high degree. I own that even at that time I 
 liked to see her walk. She, at least, was no 
 proud dame like — well, like one whose eyes 
 abode with me, and the thought of whose 
 averted gaze (God pardon me!) lay heavy about 
 my heart when I ought to have been thinking 
 of other and higher things. 
 
 Alexander-Jonita waited for no bidding, but 
 after a glance which took in at once the empty 
 board and Jean's smooth dress and well-ordered 
 hair, she hasted to spread a white cloth on the 
 table, a coverture bleached and fine as it had 
 been laundered for a prince's repast. Then to 
 cupboard and aumrie she went, bringing down 
 and setting in order oaten bread, sour-milk 
 scones of honest crispness, dried ham-of-mut- 
 ton which she sliced very thin before serving — 
 the rarest dainty of Galloway, and enough to 
 make a hungry man's mouth water only to 
 think upon. 
 
 Then came in Jean Gemmell, who made shift 
 to help daintily as she found occasion. But, 
 
 IO
 
 136 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 listening over-closely to the converse of her fa- 
 ther and myself, it chanced that she let fall a 
 platter, which breaking, set her sister in a quick 
 high mood. So that she ordered the lass to go 
 and sit down while folk with hands did the 
 work. 
 
 Now this somewhat vexed me, for I could 
 see by the modest, covert way the girl glanced 
 up at me as she set herself obediently down in 
 the low window seat that her heart was full to 
 the overflowing. Also something in the wild 
 girl's tone mettled me. 
 
 So I said to Jean across the kitchen, " Be of 
 good cheer, maiden. There was one at Bethany 
 who waited not, but yet chose the better part." 
 
 "Aye," cried Alexander-Jonita as she "turned 
 from the cupboard with a plate of butter, " say 
 ye so? I ever kenned that you young minis- 
 ters thought excellent things of yourselves, but 
 I dreamed not that ye went as far as that." 
 
 Whereat I blushed hotly, to think that I 
 had unwittingly compared myself to One who 
 sat with Martha and Mary in the house. And 
 after that I was dumb before the sharp-tongued 
 lass all the time of eating. But under the table 
 Jean Gemmell put her hand a moment on mine, 
 seeing me fallen silent and downcast.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE COREIES AT THE FEAST. 
 
 Now when after all the call came for me 
 to be placed minister of the parish, and I was 
 placed there with the solemn laying on of the 
 hands of the Presbytery, I thought in my folly 
 as every young minister does, that the striv- 
 ings of my life had come to an end. Whereas, 
 had I known it, they were but beginning. For 
 the soil was being fattened for the crop of trou- 
 bles I was to harvest into a bitter garner ere 
 many years had come and gone. 
 
 Strait and onerous were the charges the rev- 
 erend brethren laid upon me. I had been of the 
 Hill-folk in my youth. So more than once I 
 was reminded. It might be that I was not yet 
 purged of that evil taint. Earnestness in la- 
 bour, sanctity of life, would not avail alone. I 
 must keep me in subjection to the powers that 
 be. I must purge myself of partial counsel 
 
 and preach the Gospel in moderation — with 
 
 137
 
 138 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 various other charges which I pass over in 
 silence. 
 
 Yet all the while I had the conceit within 
 me that I knew better than these men could 
 tell me what I had come to Balmaghie to per- 
 form. I minded me every day of the Bennan 
 top and of the men that had been slain on the 
 heather — specially on the poor lad in the brown 
 coat. And I was noways inclined to be over- 
 lenient with those who had wrought the dam- 
 age, nor yet with those who had stood by with 
 their hands in their pockets and whistled while 
 the deed was being done. 
 
 After the ordination, as was the custom, 
 there was a great dinner spread in a long tent 
 set up by the Kirk Clachan of Shankfoot. 
 
 Here the Presbytery, the elders and such of 
 the leading men of the parish as were free of 
 scandal (few enough there were of these!) were 
 entertained at the expense of the session. 
 
 One there was among the brethren who had 
 watched me keenly all the day — Cameron, the 
 minister of Kirkcudbright, an unctuously smil- 
 ing man, but with a sidelong and dubious eye 
 that could not meet yours. He had the repute 
 of great learning, and was, besides, of highest 
 consideration among the members, because he
 
 THE CORBIES AT THE FEAST. 
 
 139 
 
 was reckoned to be the blood brother of the 
 famous Richard Cameron, who died at Arys- 
 moss in the year of 1680, and whether that were 
 so or no, at least he did not deny it. 
 
 As for me, I talked mostly to a little wiz- 
 ened, hump-shouldered man, with a hassock of 
 black hair which came down over his forehead, 
 and great eyes that looked out on either side 
 of a sharp hawk's nose. A peeping, peering, 
 birdlike man I found him to be — one Telfair of 
 Rerrick, the great authority in the South Coun- 
 try on ghosts and all manifestations of the devil. 
 ' Methinks the spirit of evil is once more 
 abroad," I heard Telfair say in a shrill falsetto 
 to his next neighbour as they sat at meat. 
 ' Rerrick hath seen nothing like it since the 
 famous affair of the Ringcroft visitation, so fully 
 recounted in my little pamphlet — which, as you 
 are aware, has run through several editions, not 
 alone in Scotland, but also among the wise and 
 learned folk of London. The late King even 
 ordered a copy for himself, and was pleased to 
 say that he had never read anything like it in 
 all his life before; and by the grace of God he 
 never would again. Was not that a compli- 
 ment from so great a prince? " 
 
 " A compliment indeed," cried Cameron of
 
 140 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Kirkcudbright, nodding his head ironically, yet 
 watching- me all the time as I talked with Na- 
 than Gemmell of Drumglass; " but what is this 
 new portent? " 
 
 Tis but the matter of a bairn-child near 
 the village of Orraland, which, as all the world 
 knows, is the heart of my parish. A bairn, 
 the son of very respectable folk, looking out 
 upon the moon, had a vision of a man in red 
 apparel cutting the moon in two with a sword 
 of flame, whereat the child screamed and ran in 
 to its mother to tell the marvel. And as soon 
 as they came to me, I said: 'There is that to 
 be done to-day which shall cut the Kirk of God 
 in twain within the bounds of this Presbytery.' " 
 
 ' Truly a marvellous child, and of insight 
 justly prophetic!' said Cameron, again nod- 
 ding as he went about the ordering of his din- 
 ner and calling the waiting folk to be quick and 
 set clean platters before the hungry Presbyters. 
 
 " Now," said Telfair, looking straight at me, 
 " there hath nothing happened this week in the 
 Presbytery save the ordaining of this young 
 man. Think ye that through him there will 
 come this breaking asunder of the Kirk? " 
 
 Cameron smiled sardonically. 
 
 " How can ye suppose it for a moment?
 
 THE CORBIES AT THE FEAST. 
 
 141 
 
 Mr. MacClellan is a youth of remarkable prom- 
 ise and rumour. We have, indeed, yet to learn 
 whether there be aught behind this sound and 
 show of religion and respect for the authority 
 of the Kirk." 
 
 All this time Drumglass was pouring forth 
 without stint his joy at my settlement among 
 them. 
 
 " Be never feared for the face o' man, young 
 sir," he cried. " Be bold to declare what ye 
 think and believe, and gif ye ken what ye want 
 and earnestly pursue it, tak' auld Drumglass' 
 word for it, there are few things that ye may 
 not attain in this world." 
 
 At long and last the clay came to an end. 
 The ministers of the Presbytery one by one 
 took horse or ferry and so departed. I alone 
 returned with Nathan Gemmell over to the 
 house of Drumglass. For I was deadly wearied, 
 and the voice of Nathan uplifted by the way to 
 tell of old things was like the pleasant lappering 
 of water on the sides of a boat in which one 
 rocks and dreams. Indeed, I was scarce con- 
 scious of a word he said, till in the gloom of the 
 trees and the creamy evening light, we met the 
 two lasses, Jean and AlexandCr-Jonita walking 
 arm in arm.
 
 142 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 As we came within the shadow, they two 
 divided the one from the other, the wild lass 
 going to her father's side, Jean being left to 
 come to mine. 
 
 " I saw you not at the ordination, Alexan- 
 der-Jonita!" said her father. 
 
 " No," she answered sharply, " it was a 
 brave day for the nowt to stray broadcast over 
 the fell, and there was never a man, woman, or 
 bairn about the house. Well might I remain 
 to keep the evil-doers from the doors." 
 
 I felt a soft hand touch mine as if by acci- 
 dent, and a low voice whispered close to my ear. 
 ' But I was there. I watched it all, and 
 when I saw you were kneeling before them all 
 with the hands of the ministers upon your head, 
 I had almost swooned away! " 
 
 The soft hand was fully in mine now. I 
 was not conscious of having taken it, but never- 
 theless it lay trembling a little and yet nestling 
 contentedly in my palm. And because I was 
 tired and the day had been a labour and a bur- 
 den to me, I was comforted that thus Jean's 
 hand abode in mine. 
 
 I pressed it and said, perhaps more gently 
 than I ought, " Little one, I am glad you were 
 there. But the work is a great one for so
 
 THE CORBIES AT THE FEAST. 143 
 
 young and unworthy as I. It presses hard upon 
 me!" 
 
 " But you have good friends," said Jean, 
 " friends that — that think of you always and 
 wish you well." 
 
 We had fallen a little way behind, and I 
 could hear Alexander-Jonita in her high clear 
 voice telling her father how she had found a 
 sick sheep on the Duchrae Craigs and carried 
 it all the way home on her back. 
 
 "What," cried her father, " ower the heather 
 and the moss-hags? " 
 
 " Aye," she answered, as if the thing were 
 nothing, " and what is more the poor beast is 
 like to live and thrive."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE BONNY LASS OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 So I was settled in my parish, which was a 
 good one as times went. The manse had re- 
 cently been put in order. It was a pleasant 
 stone house which sat in the bieldy hollow be- 
 neath the Kirk Knowe of Balmaghie. Snug 
 and sheltered it lay, an encampment of great 
 beeches sheltering it from the blasts, and the 
 green-bosomed hills looking down upon it with 
 kindly tolerant silence. 
 
 The broad Dee Water floated silently by, 
 murmuring a little after the rains; mostly silent 
 however — the water lapping against the reeds 
 and fretting the low cavernous banks when the 
 wind blew hard, but on the whole slipping past 
 with a certain large peace and attentive state- 
 liness. 
 
 My brother Hob abode with me in the 
 
 manse of Balmaghie to be my man. It was 
 
 great good fortune thus to keep him; and in 
 144
 
 THE BONNY LASS OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 145 
 
 the coming troublous days I ken not what I 
 should have done without his good counsel and 
 strongly willing right hand. My father and 
 mother came over to see me on the old pony 
 from Ardarroch, my mother riding on a pillion 
 behind my father, and both of them ready on 
 the sign of the least brae to get off and walk 
 most of the way, with the bridle over my fa- 
 ther's arm, while my mother discoursed of the 
 terrible thing it was to have two of your sons 
 so far from home, strangers, as it were, in a 
 strange land. 
 
 It had not seemed so terrible to her when 
 we went to Edinburgh, both because she had 
 never been to the city herself, and never in- 
 tended to go. On these occasions Hob and I 
 had passed out of sight along the green road 
 to Balmaclellan on the way to Minnyhive, 
 and there was an end of us till the spring, save 
 for the little presents which came by the carrier, 
 and the leters I had to write every fortnight. 
 
 But this parish of Balmaghie! It was a far 
 cry and a coarse road, said my mother, and she 
 was sure that we both took our lives in our 
 hands each time that we went across its un- 
 canny pastures. 
 
 Nevertheless, once there, she did not halt
 
 I4 6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 nor slacken till she had taken in hand the fur- 
 niture and plenishing of the manse, and brought 
 some kind of order out of the piled and tortured 
 confusion, which had been the best that Hob 
 and I could attain. 
 
 ' Keep us, laddies! " she cried, after the first 
 hopeless look at our handiwork. ' I canna 
 think on either o' ye takin' a wife. Yet I'm 
 feared that a wife ye maun get atween ye. For 
 I canna thole to let ye gang on this wild gate, 
 wi' the minister's meal o' meat to ready, and 
 only gomeril Hob to do it." 
 
 ' Then ye'll let Anna come to bide with us 
 for a while, if ye are so vexed for us," I said, 
 to try her. 
 
 " Na, indeed, I canna do that. Anna is 
 needed at hame where she is. There's your 
 faither now — he's grown that bairnly he thinks 
 there can be nae guid grass in the meadow that 
 Anna's foot treads not on. The hens wouldna 
 lay, the kye wouldna let doon their milk withoot 
 Anna. Ardarroch stands on the braeface be- 
 cause 'tis anchored doon wi' Anna. Saw ye 
 ever sic a fyke made aboot a lass? ,; 
 
 " Quintin has! " said Hob with intention, for 
 which I did not thank him. 
 
 "What!" cried my mother, instantly tak-
 
 THE BONNY LASS OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 147 
 
 ing fire, " hae some o' the impudent queans o' 
 Balmaghie been settin' their caps at him al- 
 ready? " 
 
 " There ye are, mither," said Hob, ' ye 
 speak bravely aboot Ouintin gettin' married. 
 But as soon as we speak aboot ony lass — plaff, 
 ye gang up like a waft o' tow thrown in the 
 fire." 
 
 ' I wad like to see the besom that wad make 
 up to my Ouintin! " said my mother, her indig- 
 nation beginning to simmer down. 
 
 " Then come over to the Drum " he was 
 
 beginning. 
 
 " Hob," said I, sternly, " that is enough." 
 
 And when I spoke to him thus Hob was 
 amenable enough. 
 
 " Aweel, mither!" continued Hob in an in- 
 jured tone, " ye speak aboot mairrying. Quin- 
 tin there, ye say, is to get mairried. But how 
 can he get mairried withoot a lass that is fond 
 o' him? It juist canna be done, at least no in 
 the parish o' Balmaghie." 
 
 It was my intent to accompany my father 
 and mother back to Ardarroch in name of 
 an escort, but, in truth, chiefly that I might 
 accept the invitation of the laird of Earlstoun 
 and once more see Mary Gordon, the lass
 
 148 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 whose image I had carried so long on my 
 heart. 
 
 For, strange as it may appear, when she 
 went forth from the kirk that day she left a 
 look behind her which went straight to my 
 heart. It was like a dart thrown at random 
 which sticks and is lost, yet inly rankles and 
 will not let itself be forgotten. 
 
 I tried to shut the desire of seeing her 
 again out of my heart. But do what I could 
 this was not to be. It would rise, coming be- 
 tween me and the very paper on which I wrote 
 my sermon, before I began to learn to mandate. 
 When the sun looked over the water in the 
 morning and shone on the globed pearls of dew 
 in the hollow palms of the broad dockleaves on 
 the gracious clover blooms, and on the bending 
 heads of the spiked grasses, I rejoiced to think 
 that he shone also on Earlstoun and the sunny 
 head of a fairer and more graceful flower. 
 
 God forgive a sinful man! At these times 
 I ought to have been thinking of something 
 else. But when a man carries such an earthly 
 passion in his heart, all the panoply of heavenly 
 love is impotent to restrain thoughts that fly 
 swift as the light from hilltop to hilltop at the 
 
 sun-nsmg.
 
 THE BONNY LASS OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 I49 
 
 So I went home for a day or two to Ardar- 
 roch, where with a kind of gratitude I stripped 
 my coat and fell to the building of dykes about 
 the home park, and the mending of mangers 
 and corn-chests with hammer and nail, till my 
 mother remonstrated. ' Quintin, are ye not 
 ashamed, you with a parish of hungry souls to 
 be knockin' at hinges and liftin' muckle stanes 
 on the hillsides o' Ardarroch? " 
 
 But Anna kept close to me all these days, 
 understanding my mood. We had always loved 
 one another, she and I. I had used to say that 
 it was Anna who ought to have been the minis- 
 ter; for her eyes were full of a fair and gracious 
 light, the gentle outshining of a true spirit with- 
 in. And as for me, after I had been with her 
 awhile, in that silence of sympathy, I was a bet- 
 ter and a stronger man — at least, one less unfit 
 for holy office. 
 
 Right gladly would I have taken Anna back 
 with me to the manse of Bahnaghie, but I knew 
 well that she would not go. 
 
 "Quintin," she was wont to say, " our far- 
 ther and mither are not so young as they once 
 were. My faither forgets things whiles, and 
 the herd lads are not to trust to. David there 
 is for ever on the trot to this farm-town and
 
 i5o 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 that other — to the clachan o' St. John, to the 
 New Town of Galloway, or to Balmaclellan — 
 'tis all one to him. He cannot bide at home 
 after the horses are out of the collar and the 
 chain drops from the swingle-tree into the fur- 
 
 row." 
 
 " But some day ye will find a lad for your- 
 self, Anna, and then you will also be leaving Ar- 
 darroch and the auld folk behind ye." 
 
 My sister smiled a quiet smile and her eyes 
 were far away. 
 
 " Maybe — maybe," she said, temperately, 
 " but that day is not yet." 
 
 4 Has never a lad come wooin' ye, Anna? 
 Was there not Johnny of Ironmacanny, Peter 
 Tait frae the Bogue, or " 
 
 : ' Aye," said Anna, " they cam' and they 
 gaed away to ither lasses that were readier to 
 loe them. For I never saw a lad yet that I 
 could like as well as my great silly brother who 
 should be thinking more concerning his sermon- 
 making than about putting daft thoughts into 
 the heads of maidens." 
 
 After this there was silence between us for 
 a while. We had been sitting in the barn with 
 both doors open. The wide arch to the front, 
 opening out into the quadrangle of the court-
 
 THE BONNY LASS OF EARLSTOUN. 151 
 
 yard, let in a cool drawing sough of air, and 
 the smaller door at the back let it out again, 
 and gave us at the same time a sweet eye-blink 
 into the orchard, where the apples were hang- 
 ing mellow and pleasant on the branches, and 
 the leaves hardly yet loosening themselves for 
 their fall. The light sifted through the leaves 
 from the westering sun, dappling the grass and 
 wavering upon the hard-beaten earthen floor 
 of the barn. 
 
 " I am groins: over by to Earlstoun! " I said 
 to Anna, without looking up. 
 
 Anna and I spoke but half our talks out 
 loud. We had been such close comrades all 
 our lives that we understood much without 
 needing to clothe our thoughts in words. 
 
 Apparently Anna did not hear what I said, 
 so I repeated it. 
 
 " Dinna," was all she answered. 
 
 " And wherefore should I not? " I persisted, 
 argumentatively. " The laird most kindly in- 
 vited me, indeed laid it on me like an obligation 
 that I should come." 
 
 " Ye are going over to Earlstoun to see the 
 laird?" 
 
 " Why, yes," I said; " that is, he has a de- 
 sire to see me. He is the greatest of all the 
 11
 
 152 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Covenant men, and we have much in common 
 to speak about." 
 
 ' To-morrow he will be riding by to the 
 market at Kirkcudbright, where he has busi- 
 ness. Ye can ride with him to the cross roads 
 of Clachan Pluck and talk all that your heart 
 desires of Kirk and State." 
 
 " Anna," said I, seriously, " I tell you again 
 I am going to the house of Earlstoun to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 In a moment she dropped her pretence of 
 banter. 
 
 4 Quintin, ye will only make your heart the 
 sorer, laddie." 
 
 "And wherefore?" said I. 
 ' See the sparkle on the water out there," 
 she said, pointing to the bosom of Loch Ken 
 far below us, seen through the open door of the 
 barn; ''it's bonny. But can ye gather it in 
 your hand, or wear it in your bosom? Dear 
 and delightsome is this good smell of apples 
 and of orchard freshness, but can ye fold these 
 and carry them with you to the bare manse of 
 Balmaghie for comfort to your heart? No 
 more can ye take the haughtiness of the great 
 man's daughter, the glance of proud eyes, the 
 heart of one accustomed to obedience, and
 
 THE BONNY LASS OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 153 
 
 bring them into subjection to a poor man's ne- 
 cessities." 
 
 ' Love can do all," said I, sententiously. 
 
 " Aye," she said, " where love is, it can in- 
 deed work all things. But I bid ye remember 
 that love dwells not yet in Mary Gordon's 
 breast for any man. Hers is not a heart to 
 bend. For rank or fame she may give herself, 
 but not for love." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said I, " I will go to the 
 house of Earlstoun to-morrow at ten o' the 
 clock." 
 
 Anna rose and laid her hand on mine. 
 
 ' I kenned it," she said, " and little would I 
 think of you, brother of mine, if ye had ta'en 
 my excellent advice."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 It was the prime of the morning when I 
 set out for Earlstoun. My mother called after 
 me to mind my manners, as if I had still been 
 but a herdboy summoned into the presence of 
 the great. My father asked me when I would 
 be back. Only Anna said nothing, but her eyes 
 were sad. Well she knew that I went to give 
 myself an aching heart. 
 
 Now the Ken is a pleasant water, and the 
 road up the Glenkens a fine road to travel. But 
 I went it that morning heavily — rather, indeed, 
 like one who goes to the burying of a friend 
 than like a lover setting out to see his mistress. 
 
 I turned me down through the woods to 
 Earlstoun. There were signs of the still recent 
 return of the family. Here on the gate of the 
 lodge was the effaced escutcheon of Colonel 
 Theophilus Oglethorpe, which Alexander Gor- 
 don had not yet had time to replace with the 
 154
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE. jjjjj 
 
 ancient arms of his family. For indeed it was 
 to Colonel William, Sandy Gordon's brother, he 
 who had led us to Edinburgh in the Convention 
 year, that the recovery of the family estates was 
 due. 
 
 I had not expected any especially kind wel- 
 come. The laird of Earlstoun had been a 
 mighty Covenanter, and now wore his prison- 
 ments and sufferings somewhat ostentatiously, 
 like so many orders of merit. He would think 
 little of one who was a minister of the uncove- 
 nanted Kirk, and who, though holding the free- 
 dom of that Kirk as his heart's belief, yet, nev- 
 ertheless, demeaned him to take the pay of the 
 State. To be faithful and devoted in service 
 were not enough for Alexander Gordon. To 
 please him one must do altogether as he had 
 done, think entirely as he thought. 
 
 Yet I was to be more kindly received than 
 I anticipated. 
 
 It was in the midst of the road where the 
 wood, turning sharp along the waterside, a nar- 
 row path twines and twists through sparkling 
 birches and trembling alders. The pools slept 
 black beneath as I looked down upon them 
 from some craggy pinnacle to which the grey 
 hill lichen clung. The salmon poised them-
 
 156 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 selves motionless, save for a waving fin, below 
 the fish-leaps, ready for their rush upstream 
 when the floods should come down brown with 
 peat water from Cairnsmore and the range of 
 Kells. 
 
 All at once, as I stood dreaming, I heard a 
 gay voice lilting at a song. I wavered a mo- 
 ment in act to flee, my heart almost standing 
 still to listen. 
 
 For I knew among a thousand the voice of 
 Mary Gordon. But I had no time to conceal 
 myself. A gleam of white and lilac through 
 the bushes, a bright reflection as of sunshine 
 on the pool — then the whole day brightened 
 and she stood before me. 
 
 The song instantly stilled itself on lier lips. 
 
 We stood face to face. It seemed to me 
 that she paled a little. But perhaps it was only 
 that I, who desired so greatly to see any evi- 
 dence of emotion, saw part of that which I de- 
 sired. 
 
 The next moment she came forward with 
 her hand frankly outstretched. 
 
 " I bid you welcome to Earlstoun," she said. 
 "Alas! that my father should this day be from 
 home. He is gone to Kirkcudbright. But my 
 mother and I will show you hospitality till he
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 157 
 
 return. My father hears a great word of you, 
 he tells us. The country tongue speaks well of 
 your labours." 
 
 Now it seemed to me that in thus speaking 
 she smiled to herself, and that put me from 
 answering. I could do naught but be stiffly 
 silent. 
 
 ' I thank you, Mistress Mary, for your kind 
 courtesy!" was all that I found within me to 
 say. For I felt that she must despise me for 
 a country lout of no manners and ungentle 
 birth. So at least I thought at the time. 
 
 We passed without speech through the scat- 
 tering shadows of the birches, and I saw that 
 her hair (on which she wore no covering) had 
 changed from its ancient yellow as of ripened 
 corn into a sunny brown. Yet as I looked 
 furtively, here and there the gentle crispen 
 wavelets seemed to be touched and flecked with 
 threads of its ancient sheen, a thing which filled 
 me strangely with a desire to caress with my 
 hand its desirable beauty — so carnal and wicked 
 are the thoughts of the heart of man. 
 
 But when I saw her so lightsome and dainty, 
 so full of delight and the admirable joy of living, 
 a sullen sort of anger came over me that I 
 should chance to love one who could in no wise
 
 158 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 love me again, nor yet render me the return 
 which I so greatly desired. 
 
 " You have travelled all the long way from 
 the Manse of Balmaghie? " she said, suddenly 
 falling back to my side where the path was 
 wider, as if she, too, felt the pause of constraint. 
 
 " Nay," I answered, " I have been at Ardar- 
 roch with my father and mother for two days. 
 And to-morrow I must return to the people 
 among whom I labour." 
 
 She stole a quick glance at me from beneath 
 her long dark lashes. There was infinite teas- 
 ing mischief in the flashing of her eyes. 
 
 1 You have an empty manse by the water- 
 side of Dee. Ye will doubtless be looking for 
 some douce country lass to fill it." 
 
 The words were kindly enough spoken, yet 
 in the very frankness of the speech I recognised 
 the distance she was putting between us. But 
 I had not been trained in the school of quick 
 retorts nor of the light debate of maidens. For 
 all that I had a will of mine own, and would not 
 permit that any woman born of woman should 
 play cat's-cradle with Quintin MacClellan. 
 
 ' Lady," said I, " there is, indeed, an empty 
 manse down yonder by the Dee, and I am look- 
 ing for one to fill it. But I will have none who
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE. j$g 
 
 cannot love me for myself, and also who will not 
 love the work to which I have set my hand." 
 
 She held up her hand in quick merriment. 
 
 ' Do not be afraid," she cried, gaily. " I 
 was not thinking of making you an offer! " 
 
 And then she laughed so mirthsome a peal 
 that all against my will I was forced to join her. 
 And this mended matters wonderfully. For 
 after that, though I had my own troubles with 
 her and my heart-breaks as all shall hear, yet 
 never was she again the haughty maiden of the 
 first sermon and the midsummer kirk door. 
 
 ' They tell me that once ye brought me all 
 the way from the Bennan-top to the tower of 
 Lochinvar, where our Auntie Jean was biding? ' : 
 
 ' I found no claims to your good-will on 
 that," said I, mindful of the day of my first way 
 going to Edinburgh; "but I would fain have 
 you think well of me now." 
 
 ' Ye are still over great a Whig. Mind that 
 I stand for the White Rose," she said, stamping 
 her foot merrily. 
 
 " 'Tis a matter ye ken nothing about," said 
 I, roughly. ' Maidens had better let the affairs 
 of State alone. Methinks the White Rose has 
 brought little good to you and yours." 
 
 ' I tell you what, Sir Minister," she cried,
 
 l6o THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 mocking me, " there are two great tubs in the 
 pool below the falls. Do you get into one and 
 I will take the other. I will fly the white pen- 
 non and you the blue. Then let us each take 
 a staff and tilt at one another. If you upset 
 me, 'pon honour, I will turn Whig, but if you 
 are ducked in the pond, you must wear hence- 
 forth the colours of the true King. Tis an 
 equal bargain. You agree? " 
 
 But before I could reply we were near by 
 the gate of Earlstoun, and there came out a 
 lady wrapped in a shawl, and this though the 
 day was hot and the autumnal air had never an 
 edge upon it. 
 
 ' Mother," cried Mary Gordon, running 
 eagerly to meet her. The lady in the plaid 
 seemed not to hear, but turned aside by 
 the path which led along the water to the 
 north. 
 
 The girl ran after her and caught her 
 mother by the arm. 
 
 ' Here is Mr. MacClellan, the minister from 
 Balmaghie, come to see my father," said she. 
 " Bide, mother, and make him welcome." 
 
 The lady stopped stiffly till I had come im- 
 mediately in front of her. 
 
 " You are a minister of the Established and
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE. 161 
 
 Uncovenanted Kirk? ' : she asked me, eyeing 
 me sternly enough. 
 
 I told her that I had been ordained a week 
 before. 
 
 " Then you have indeed broken your faith 
 with the Persecuted Remnant, as they tell me?" 
 she went on, keeping her eyes blankly upon my 
 face. 
 
 "Nay," said I; "I have the old ways still 
 at heart and will stand till death by the faith de- 
 livered to the martyrs." 
 
 " What do ye, then, clad in the rags of the 
 State? " 
 
 Whereat I told the Lady of Earlstoun how 
 that I was with all my heart resolved to fight 
 the Kirk's battle for her ancient liberties and 
 for the power to rule within her own borders. 
 But that if those in authority gave us not the 
 hearing and liberty we desired, I, for one, would 
 shake off the dust of the unworthy Kirk of 
 Scotland from my feet — as, indeed, I was well 
 resolved to do. 
 
 But Mary Gordon broke in on my eager ex- 
 planation. 
 
 ' Mother, mother," she cried, " come your 
 ways in and entertain the guest. Let your 
 questionings keep till our father comes from
 
 162 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Kirkcudbright. Assuredly they will have a 
 stormy fortnight of it then. Let the lad now 
 break bread and cheese." 
 
 The lady sighed and clasped her hands. 
 
 ' I suppose," she said, " it must even be so; 
 for men are carnal and their bodies must be fed. 
 Alas, there are but few who care for the health 
 of their souls! As for me, I was about to re- 
 tire to the wood that I might for the hundred 
 three score and ninth time renew my covenant- 
 ing engagements." 
 
 " You must break them very often, mother, 
 that they are ever needing mending," said her 
 daughter, not so unkindly as the words look 
 when written down, but rather carelessly, like 
 one who has been oftentimes over the same 
 ground and knows the landmarks by heart. 
 
 " Mary, Mary," answered her mother, " I 
 fear there is no serious or spiritual interest in 
 you. Your father spoils and humours you. 
 And so you have grown up — not like that godly 
 lad Alexander Gordon the younger, who when 
 he was but three years of his age had read the 
 Bible through nineteen times, and could rattle 
 off the books of the Old and New Testaments 
 whiles I was counting ten." 
 
 " Aye, mother," replied the lass, " and in
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE. jg, 
 
 addition could make faces behind your back all 
 the time he was doing it! " 
 
 But the lady appeared not to hear her 
 daughter. She continued to clasp her hands 
 convulsively before her, and to repeat over and 
 over again the words, " Eh, the blessed laddie 
 — the blessed, blessed laddie! " 
 
 How long we might have stood thus in the 
 glaring sun I know not; but, without waiting 
 for her mother to take the lead or to go in of 
 her own accord, Mary Gordon wheeled her 
 round by the arm and led her unresisting to- 
 wards the courtyard gate. She accompanied 
 her daughter with the same weary unconcern 
 and passionless preoccupation she had shown 
 from the first, twisting and pulling the fringes 
 of the shawl between her fingers, while her 
 thin lips moved, either in covenant-making or 
 in the murmured praises of her favourite 
 child. 
 
 The room to which we were brought was a 
 large one with panels of oak carven at the cor- 
 nices into quaint and formal ornaments. 
 
 Mary went to the stairhead and cried down 
 as to one in the kitchen: 'Thomas Allen! 
 Thomas Allen!" 
 
 A thin, querulous voice arose from the
 
 164 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 depths: "Sic a fash! Wha's come stravagin' 
 at this time o' day? He will be wantin' victual 
 
 dootless. I never saw the like " 
 
 ; Thomas Allen! Haste ye fast, Thomas! " 
 ' Comin', mem, comin'! What's your fret? 
 There's naebody in the deid-thraws,* is there? " 
 As the last words were uttered, an old serv- 
 ing-man, in a blue side-coat of thirty years be- 
 fore, with threadbare lace falling low at the 
 neck and hands in a forgotten fashion, appeared 
 at the doorway. His bald and shining head 
 had still a few lyart locks clinging like white 
 fringes about the sides. These, however, were 
 not allowed to grow downward in the natural 
 manner, but were trained as gardeners train 
 fruit trees against walls that look to the south. 
 They climbed directly upward so that the head 
 of Thomas Allen was criss-crossed in both di- 
 rections by streaks of hair, interlaced like the 
 fingers of one's hands netted together. But 
 owing to the natural haste with which Thomas 
 did his work, these were never all seen in place 
 at one time. Invariably they had fallen to one 
 side or the other, and being stiffened with can- 
 dle grease or other greyish unguent, they stood 
 
 * The death grips.
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 I6 5 
 
 out at all angles like goose quills from a scriv- 
 ener's inkpot. 
 
 During the perfunctory repast which was 
 finally brought forward and placed on the table 
 by the reluctant Thomas, Mistress Mary sat 
 directly opposite to me with her chin resting on 
 her ringers and her elbows on the table. Her 
 mother, at the upper end of the chamber, occu- 
 pied herself in looking out of the window, occa- 
 sionally clasping her hands in the urgency of 
 her supplications or giving vent to a pitiful 
 moan which indicated her sense of the hopeless 
 iniquity of mankind. 
 
 Then with more kindliness than she had ever 
 yet shown me, Mary Gordon asked of my people 
 of Balmaghie, whether the call had been unani- 
 mous, who abode with me in the manse, and 
 many other questions, to all of which I an- 
 swered as well as I could. For the truth is, 
 that the nearness of so admirable a maid and the 
 directness of her gaze wrought in me a kind of 
 desperation, so that it was all I could do to 
 keep from telling her then that I had come 
 to the house of Earlstoun to ask her to be my 
 wife. 
 
 Not that I had the wildest hope of a favour- 
 able answer, but simply from inexperience at the
 
 j66 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 business of making love to a young lass I blun- 
 dered blindly on. Plain ram-stam Hob could 
 have bested me fairly at that. For he had not 
 talked so long to the good-wives of the Lo- 
 thians without getting a well-hung tongue in 
 the head of him. 
 
 I looked sideways at the Lady of Earlstoun. 
 She was mumbling at her devotions, or perhaps 
 meditating other and more personal covenant- 
 ings. Mary Gordon and I were in a manner 
 alone. 
 
 " Mistress Mary," I said, suddenly leaning 
 towards her, my desperation getting the better 
 of my natural prudence, " I know that I speak 
 wholly without hope. But I came to-day to 
 tell you that I love you. I am but a cotter's 
 lad, but I have loved you ever since I ferried 
 you, a little maid, past the muskets of the 
 troopers." 
 
 I looked straight enough at her now. I 
 could see the colour rise a little in her cheek, 
 while a strange expression of wonder and pride, 
 with something that was neither, overspread 
 her face. Up to this point I might have been 
 warned, but I was not to be holden now. 
 
 ' Before I had no right, nor, indeed, any 
 opportunity to tell you this. But now, as min-
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 167 
 
 ister of a parish, I have an income that will com- 
 pare not unfavourably with that of most of the 
 smaller gentry of the county." 
 
 The girl nodded, with a swift hardening of 
 the nostril. 
 
 " It will doubtless be a fine income," she 
 said, with a touch of scorn. ' Did I understand 
 you to offer me your manse and income? ' : 
 
 ' I offer you that which neither dishonours 
 an honest girl to hear or yet an honest man 
 to speak. I am offering you my best service, 
 the faith and devotion of a man who truly loves 
 you." 
 
 ' I thank you, sir," she said, lifting up her 
 head and letting her eyes dwell on me with some 
 of their former haughtiness; " I am honoured 
 indeed. Your position, your manse, your 
 glebe! How many acres did you say it was? 
 Your income, good as that of a laird. And you 
 come offering all these to Mary Gordon? Sir, 
 I bid you carry your business transactions to the 
 county market-place. Mary Gordon is not to 
 be bought and sold. When she loves, she will 
 give herself for love and love alone. Aye, were 
 it to a poke-laden houseless cadger by the road- 
 side, or a ploughman staggering between the 
 furrows! " 
 
 12
 
 l68 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 And with that she rose and walked swiftly 
 to the door. I could hear her foot die away 
 through the courtyard; and going blankly to 
 the window, I watched her slim figure glance 
 between the clumps of trees, now in the light, 
 now in the shadow, and anon lost in the yellow- 
 ing depths of the forest. 
 
 Nor, though I watched all through the long 
 hot afternoon, did she return till she came home 
 riding upon her father's horse, with Sandy Gor- 
 don himself walking bareheaded beside his 
 daughter, as if he had been escorting a queen 
 on her coronation day.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 (Comment and Addition by Hob MacClellan.) 
 
 Lord! Lord! Was there ever a more 
 bungled affair — a more humiliating confession. 
 Our poor Quintin — great as he was at the 
 preaching, an apostle indeed, none in broad 
 Scotland to come within miles of him in the 
 pulpit — with a lass was simply fair useless. I 
 must e'en tell in a word how mine own wooing 
 sped, that I may prove there was some airt and 
 spunk left among the MacClellans. 
 
 For by Quintin's own showing the girl had 
 no loop-hole left, being wooed as if she had 
 been so many sacks of corn. She was fairly 
 tied up to refuse so hopeless and fushionless a 
 suitor. 
 
 But of all this there was no suspicion at the 
 
 time, neither in the parish of Bahnaghie, or yet 
 
 even among ourselves at Ardarroch. For 
 
 169
 
 lyo THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 though nothing gets wind so quickly in a parish 
 as the news that the minister is " seekin " — 
 that is, going from home courting, yet such was 
 my brother's repute for piety " within the 
 bounds of the Presbytery," such the reverence 
 in which he was held, that the popular voice 
 considered him altogether trysted to no maiden, 
 but to the ancient and honourable Kirk of Scot- 
 land as she had been in the high days of her 
 pride and purity. 
 
 ' Na," they would say, '" our minister will 
 never taingle himsel' wi' marriage engagements 
 while there is a battle to be fought for the Auld 
 Banner o' Blue." So whereas another might 
 not so much as look over the wall, my brother 
 might have stolen all the horses before" their 
 eyes. 
 
 And I think it was this great popular repute 
 of him which first set his fellow-ministers 
 against him, far more than any so-called " de- 
 fections ' ; and differences either ecclesiastical 
 or political. 
 
 I have seen him at a sacrament at Dairy 
 hold the listening thousands so that they 
 swayed this way and that like barley shaken 
 by the winds. Never beheld I the like — the 
 multitude of the folk all bending their faces to
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 171 
 
 one point — careless young lads from distant 
 farms, light-headed limmers of lasses, bairns 
 that had been skipping about the kirk-yard and 
 playing " I spy " among the tombstones while 
 other ministers were preaching — all now fixed 
 and spellbound when my brother rose to speak, 
 and his full bell-like voice sounded out from the 
 preaching-tent over their heads. 
 
 I think that if at any time he had held up 
 his hand and called them to follow him to bat- 
 tle, every man would have gone forth as un- 
 questionably as did Cameron's folk on that fatal 
 day of the Moss of Ayr. 
 
 But I who sat there, with eyes sharpened 
 and made jealous by exceeding love for my 
 brother, could see clearly the looks of dark sus- 
 picion, the sneers that dwelt on sanctimonious 
 lips, the frowns of envy and ill-will as Quintin 
 stood up, and the folk poured anxiously inward 
 towards the preaching-tent to hear him. I 
 noted also the yet deeper anger of those who 
 succeeded him, when multitudes rose and for- 
 sook the meeting because there was to be no 
 more of the young minister o' Balmaghie that 
 day. 
 
 Now though it was rather on the point of 
 politics and of the standing of the kirk, her
 
 1/2 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 right to rule herself without interference of the 
 State, her ancient independence and submission 
 to Christ the only head of the church, that 
 Quintin was finally persecuted and called in 
 question, yet, as all men know in Galloway, it 
 was really on account of the popular ac- 
 claim, the bruit of great talents and godliness 
 which he held among all men, beyond any 
 that ever came into the countryside, and of 
 his quietness and persistence also in holding 
 his own and keeping a straight unvarying 
 course amid all threatenings and defections, 
 which brought the final wrath upon him and 
 constituted the true head and front of his of- 
 fending. 
 
 Aye, and men saw that the storm was brew- 
 ing over him long before it burst. 
 
 For several of the Galloway ministers had 
 deliberately left the folk of the mountains for 
 the sake of a comfortable down-sitting in bein 
 and sheltered parishes. Some of them even 
 owed their learning at the Dutch Universities 
 to the poor purses of these covenanting so- 
 cieties. 
 
 And so when papers came down from the 
 Privy Council or from the men who, like Car- 
 stairs, posed as little gods and popes infallible,
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 173 
 
 the Presbytery men greedily signed them, swal- 
 lowing titles, oaths and obligations with shut 
 eye and indiscriminate appetite lest unhappily 
 they would be obliged to consult their con- 
 sciences. 
 
 Such men as constituted the Presbytery of 
 Kirkcudbright had but one motto — a clear and 
 useful one indeed at such a time, " Those in 
 power can do no wrong! " 
 
 So three years went uneasily by, and mean- 
 time the parish of Balmaghie had grown to 
 know and love our Quintin. There was hardly 
 a rascal drover, a common villain pig-dealer who 
 was not ready to crack a skull at an ill word 
 said of him even in jest. Men who in time past 
 had sneered at religion, and had never any good 
 report of ministers, dull clods with ideals teth- 
 ered to the midden and the byre, waked up at 
 sight of him, and would travel miles to hear 
 him preach. 
 
 And thus three happy unstirred years went 
 by. I abode in the manse with Quintin, and 
 every morning when I arose at break of day 
 to take the cattle afield, or to set the plough 
 in the glebe, I would see that his window-blind 
 was withdrawn, his candle alight if it were win- 
 ter, and that he had already set him down with
 
 174 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 his book. Or sometimes when the summer 
 evening - darkened to dusk I would meet him 
 wandering, his hands clasped behind his back, 
 and his whole soul steeped in meditation by the 
 whispering rushes of the waterside. 
 
 Yet what a simpleton in worldly things he 
 was; and, mayhap, that was what made me love 
 him the more. 
 
 For about this time there began a stir and 
 a bruit of the matter of little Jean Gemmell, a 
 soft-voiced, die-away lass that I would not have 
 troubled my head about for a moment. She 
 had, truth to tell, set herself to catch our fool- 
 ish Quintin, whose heart was in good sooth 
 fully given to another. And how she did it, 
 let himself tell. But I, that thought nothing 
 of a lass without spirit, would often warn him 
 to beware. But he minded me not, smiling and 
 giving the subject the go-by in a certain sober 
 and serious way he had which somehow silenced 
 me against my will. 
 
 But in between my brother's ill-starred 
 wooing of the bonny lass of Earlstoun, and 
 Jean Gemmell's meek-eyed courtship of him, I 
 also had been doing somewhat on mine own 
 account. 
 
 At the house of Drumglass there abode
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 175 
 
 one who to my mind was worth all the 
 haughty damsels of great houses and all the 
 sleek and kittenish eyes-makers in broad Scot- 
 land. 
 
 When first I saw Alexander-Jonita come 
 over the hill, riding a Galloway sheltie bare- 
 backed, her dark hair streaming in the wind, 
 and the pony speeding over the heather like 
 the black charger of Clavers on the side of Cairn 
 Edward, I knew that there was no hope for my 
 heart. I had indeed fancied myself in love be- 
 fore. So much was expected of a lad in our 
 parts. But Alexander-Jonita was a quest worth 
 some enterprising to obtain. 
 
 The neighbours, at least the rigidly right- 
 eous of them, were inclined to look somewhat 
 askance upon a lass that went so little to the 
 Kirk, and companioned more with the dumb 
 things of the field than with her own kith and 
 kin. But Quintin would ask such whether 
 their own vineyard was so well kept, their own 
 duty so faultlessly done, that they could afford 
 to keep a stone ready to cast at Alexander- 
 Jonita. 
 
 I remember the first time that ever I spoke 
 to her words beyond the common greetings and 
 salutations of lad and lass.
 
 !^6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 It was a clear night in early June. I had 
 been over at Ardarroch seeing my mother, and 
 now having passed high up the Black Water of 
 Dee, I was making my way across the rugged 
 fells and dark heathery fastnesses to the manse 
 of Balmaghie. 
 
 The mist was rising about the waterside. 
 It lingered in pools and drifts in every meadowy 
 hollow, but the purpling hilltops were clear and 
 bare in the long soft June twilight. 
 
 Suddenly a gun went off, as it seemed in 
 my very ear. I sprang a foot into the air, for 
 who on honourable business would discharge 
 a musket in that wild place at such a time. 
 
 But ere I had time to think, above me on 
 the ridge a figure stood black against the sky 
 — a girl's shape it was, slim, tall, erect. She 
 carried something in one hand which trailed on 
 the heather, and a musket was under her arm, 
 muzzle down. 
 
 I had not yet recovered my breath when a 
 voice came to me. 
 
 " Ah, Hob MacClellan, the ill deil tak' your 
 courting-jaunts this nicht! For had ye bidden 
 at hame I would have 1 gotten baith o' the red 
 foxes that have been killing our weakly lambs. 
 As it is, I gat but this."
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 177 
 
 And she held up a great dog fox by the 
 brush before throwing the body into a conven- 
 ient moss-hole. 
 
 It was Alexander-Jonita, the lass whom 
 our college-bred Quintin had once called the 
 Diana of Balmaghie. I care not what he called 
 her. Without question she was the finest lass 
 in the countryside. And that I will maintain 
 to this day. 
 
 " Are you going home, Jonita? ' : cried I, 
 for the direction in which she was proceeding 
 led directly away from the house of Drumglass. 
 
 " No," she answered carelessly, " I am bid- 
 ing all night in the upper ' buchts.' The foxes 
 have been very troublesome of late, and I am 
 thinning them with the gun. I have the feck 
 of the lambs penned up there." 
 
 " And who is with you to help you? ' I 
 asked her in astonishment. 
 
 " Only the dogs," she made answer, shift- 
 ing the gun from one shoulder to the other. 
 
 " But, lassie," I cried, " ye surely do not 
 sleep out on the hills all your lone like this? " 
 
 " And what for no? " she answered sharply. 
 " What sweeter bed than a truss of heather? 
 What safer than with two rough tykes of dogs 
 and a good gun at one's elbow, with the clear
 
 178 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 airs blowing over and the sheep lying snugly 
 about the folds? " 
 
 ' But when it rains," I went on, still doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 'Come and see,'' she laughed; "we are 
 near the upper ' buchts ' now! " 
 
 Great stone walls of rough hill boulders, 
 uncut and unquarried, rose before me. I saw 
 a couple of rough collies sit guardian one at 
 either side of the little lintelled gate that led 
 within. The warm smell of gathered sheep, 
 ever kindly and welcome to a hill man, saluted 
 my nostrils as I came near. A lamb bleated, 
 and in the quiet I could hear it run pattering 
 to nose its mother. 
 
 Alexander-Jonita led me about the great 
 ' bucht " to a niche formed by a kind of cairn 
 built into the side of a wall of natural rock. 
 Here a sort of rude shelter had been made with 
 posts driven into the crevices of the rock and 
 roughly covered with turves of heather round 
 the sides of a ten-foot enclosure. The floor 
 was of bare dry rock, but along one side there 
 was arranged a couch of heather tops recently 
 pulled, very soft and elastic. At first I could 
 not see all this quite clearly in the increasing 
 darkness, but after a little, bit by bit the plan
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 179 
 
 of the shelter dawned upon me, as my eyes 
 grew accustomed to the dim light. 
 
 " When it rains," she said, going back to 
 my question, " I set a post in the middle for a 
 tent pole, spread my plaid over it and fasten it 
 down at the sides with stones." 
 
 " Jonita," said I, " does your sister never 
 come up hither with you? " 
 
 "Who — our Jean!' : she cried, astonished, 
 "faith, no! Jean takes better with the inside 
 of a box-bed and the warmth of the peat-gries- 
 hoch* on the hearth! And, indeed, the lass is 
 not over-strong. But as for me, more than the 
 cheeping of the house-mice, I love the chun- 
 nering of the wild fowl in their nests and the 
 bleat of the sheep. These are honey and sweet- 
 ness to me." 
 
 " But, Jonita," I went on, " surely no girl 
 is strong enough to take shower and wind- 
 buffet night and day on the wild moors like 
 this. Why, you make me ashamed, me that 
 am born and bred to the trade." 
 
 "And what am I?" she asked sharply, "I 
 am over twenty, and yet nothing but an igno- 
 rant lass and careless of seeming otherwise. I 
 am not even like my sister Jean that can look 
 
 * Red ashes.
 
 jgo the standard bearer. 
 
 and nod as if she understood everything your 
 brother is talking about, knowing all the while 
 naught of the matter. But, at least, I ken the 
 ways of the hills. Feel that!" 
 
 She thrust her arm suddenly out to me. 
 
 I clasped it in my hands, sitting meantime 
 on a great stone in the angle, while she stood 
 beside me with the dogs on either side of her. 
 It was a smooth, well-rounded arm, cool and 
 delicate of skin, that she gave into my fingers. 
 Her loose sleeve fell back, and if I had dared 
 to follow my desire, I should have set my lips 
 to it, so delightful did the touch of it seem to 
 me. But I refrained me, and presently under- 
 neath the satin skin I felt the muscles rise 
 nobly, tense yet easy, clean of curve and spare 
 flesh, moulded alike for strength and supple- 
 ness. 
 
 ' I would not like to pull at the swingle- 
 tree with you, my lass," said I, " and if it came 
 to a Keltonhill collieshangie I would rather 
 have you on my side than against me." 
 
 And I think she was more pleased at that 
 than if I had told her she was to be a great 
 heiress. 
 
 As I waited there on the rough stones of 
 the sheepfold, and looked at the slight figure
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. ^i 
 
 sitting frankly and easily beside me, thinking, 
 as I knew, no more of the things of love than 
 if she had been a neighbour lad of the hills, a 
 kind of jealous anger came over me. 
 
 " Jonita," said I, ' had ye never a sweet- 
 heart?" 
 
 "A what?' 1 cried Jonita in a tone of as 
 much surprise as if I had asked her if she had 
 ever possessed an elephant. 
 
 " A lad that loved you as other maids are 
 loved." 
 
 " I have heard silly boys speak nonsense," 
 she said, " but I am no byre-lass to be touselled 
 in corners by every night-raker that would 
 come visiting at the Drumglass." 
 
 " Jonita," I went on, " hath none ever 
 helped you with your sheep on the hill, run 
 when you wanted him, stopped when you told 
 him, come like a collie to your foot when he 
 was called? " 
 
 " None, I tell you, has ever sat where you 
 are sitting, Hob MacClellan! And hear ye this, 
 had I thought you a silly ' cuif ' like the rest, 
 it would have been the short day of December 
 and the long again before I had asked you to 
 view my bower under the rock." 
 
 " I was only asking, Jonita," said I; "ye ken
 
 182 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 that ye are the bonniest lass in ten parishes, 
 and to me it seemed a strange thing that ye 
 shouldna hae a lad." 
 
 " Bah," said she, " lads are like the pebbles 
 in the brook. They are run smooth with many 
 experiences, courting here and flattering there. 
 What care I whether or no this one or that 
 comes chapping at my door? There are plenty 
 more in the brook. Besides, are there not the 
 hills and the winds and the clear stars over all, 
 better and more enduring than a thousand 
 sweethearts? " 
 
 ' But," said I, " the day will come, Jonita, 
 when you may be glad of the friend's voice, 
 the kindly eye, the helping hand, the arm be- 
 neath the head " 
 
 ' I did not say that I desired to have no 
 friends," she said, as it seemed in the darkness, 
 a little shyly. 
 
 'Will you let me be your friend?" I said, 
 impulsively, taking her hand. 
 
 ' I do not know," said Alexander- Jonita; 
 ' I will tell you in the morning. It is over- 
 dark to-night to see your eyes." 
 
 ''' Can you not believe? " said I. " Have 
 you ever heard that I thus offered friendship to 
 any other maid in all the parish? "
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. ^3 
 
 ' You might have offered it to twenty and 
 they taken it every one for aught I care. But 
 Alexander-Jonita Gemmell accepts no man's 
 friendship till she has tried him as a fighter 
 tries a sword." 
 
 ' Then try me, Jonita! " I cried, eagerly. 
 ' I will," said she, promptly; " rise this in- 
 stant from the place where ye sit, look not 
 upon me, touch me not, say neither good 
 e'en nor yet good-day, but take the straight 
 road and the ready to the manse of Balmag- 
 hie." 
 
 The words were scarce out of her mouth 
 when with a leap so quick that the collies had 
 not even time to rise, I was over the dyke and 
 striding across the moss and whinstone-crag 
 towards the house by the waterside, where my 
 brother's light had long been burning over 
 his books. 
 
 I did not so much as look about me till I 
 was on the crest of the hill. Then for a single 
 moment I stood looking back into the clear 
 grey bath of night behind me, where the lass I 
 loved was keeping her watch in the lonely 
 sheepfold. 
 
 Yet I was pleased with myself too. For 
 
 though my dismissal had been so swift and un- 
 13
 
 1 84 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 expected, I felt that I had not done by any 
 means badly for myself. 
 
 At least I could call Alexander-Jonita my 
 friend. And there was never a lad upon all 
 the hills of heather that could do so much.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MUTTERINGS OF STORM. 
 
 (The Narrative of Quintin MacClellan resumed.) 
 
 It was a day of high summer when the 
 anger of mine enemies drew finally to a head, 
 and that within mine own land of Balmaghie. 
 The Presbytery were in the habit of meeting 
 at a place a little way from the centre of the 
 parish, called Cullenoch — or, as one would say 
 in English, " The Woodlands." 
 
 In twos or threes they came, riding side 
 by side on their ponies, or appearing singly out 
 of some pass among the hills. So, as I say, 
 the Presbytery assembled at Cullenoch, and the 
 master of it, Andrew Cameron of Kirkcud- 
 bright, was there, with his orders from wily 
 Carstaires, the pope of the restored Kirk of 
 Scotland. 
 
 To this day I can see his aspect as he rose 
 
 up among the brethren with a great roll in his 
 
 185
 
 lS6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 hand — solemn, portentous, full of suave, easy- 
 words and empty, sonorous utterances. 
 
 " Fathers and brethren," he said, looking 
 on us with a comprehending pity for our feeble- 
 ness of capacity, " there hath come that from 
 Her Most Noble and Christian Majesty the 
 Queen Anna, which it behooves us to treat 
 with all the respect due to one who is at once 
 the Anointed of God, and also as the fountain 
 of all authority, in some sense also the Head 
 of the Church!" 
 
 As he finished he laid upon the table a great 
 parchment, and tapped it impressively with his 
 ringer. 
 
 ' It is, if I may be permitted the words, the 
 message of God's vicegerent upon earth; whom 
 His own finger has especially designed to rule 
 over us. And I am well assured that no one 
 among the brethren of the Presbytery will be 
 so ill-advised as not at once to sign this declara- 
 tion of our submission and dutiful obedience to 
 our Liege lady in all things." 
 
 This he uttered soundingly, with much 
 more to the same purpose, standing up all the 
 time, and glowering about him on the look-out 
 for contradiction. 
 
 Then, though I was the youngest member
 
 MUTTERINGS OF STORM. ^7 
 
 of the Presbytery, save one, I felt that for the 
 ancient liberty of the Kirk and for the sake of 
 the blood shed on the moors, I could not per- 
 mit so great a scandal as this to pass. I rose 
 in my place, whilst Cameron looked steadily 
 upon me, endeavouring to browbeat me into 
 silence. 
 
 Somewhat thus I spoke: 
 
 ' The most learned and reverend brother 
 brings us a paper to sign — a paper which we 
 have neither seen nor yet heard read. It comes 
 (he tells us) from the Church's head, from 
 God's vicegerent. It is to be received with 
 hushed breath and bowed knee. ' The Head 
 of the Church!' says Mr. Cameron — ah, breth- 
 ren, the men who have so lately entered into 
 rest through warring stress, sealed with their 
 blood the testimony that the Kirk of God has 
 no head upon earth. The Kirk of Scotland is 
 the Kirk of Jesus Christ, the alone King and 
 Head of the Church. The Kirk of Scotland 
 is more noble, high and honourable in herself 
 than any human government. She alone is 
 God's vicegerent. She alone has power within 
 her own borders to rule her own affairs. The 
 Kirk has manv faults, but at least she will surelv 
 never permit herself to be ruled again by Privy
 
 l$$ THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Councils and self-seeking state-craft. Is she 
 not the Bride, the Lamb's wife? And for me, 
 and for any that may adhere to me, we will 
 sign no test nor declaration which shall put our 
 free necks beneath the yoke of any temporal 
 power, nor yet for fear of this or that Queen's 
 Majesty deny the Name that is above every 
 name." 
 
 Whilst these words were put into my heart 
 and spoken by my voice, I seemed, as it were, 
 taken possession of. A voice prompted me 
 what I was to speak. I heard the sound of 
 rushing wings, and though I was but lately a 
 herd-lad on the hills of sheep I knew that the 
 time had come, which on the day of the Killing 
 on the Bennan Top I had seen afar off. 
 
 Whilst I was speaking, Cameron stood im- 
 patiently bending the tips of his politic fingers 
 upon the document on the table. A dark 
 frown had been gathering on his brow. 
 
 "This is treason, black treason! It is 
 blank defiance of the Queen's authority! ' : he 
 cried; " I will not listen to such words. It is 
 the voice of a man who would raise the stand- 
 ard of rebellion, and disturb the peace of all the 
 parishes of our Kirk, recently and adequately 
 settled according to the laws of the land."
 
 MUTTERINGS OF STORM. ^9 
 
 But I had yet a word to say. 
 
 " I am neither rebel nor heretic," said I; "I 
 am, it is true, the youngest and the least 
 among you. But even I am old enough to 
 have seen men shot like running deer for the 
 liberties of the Kirk of God. I have heard the 
 whistle of the deadly bullet flying at the com- 
 mand of kings and queens called in their day 
 Heads of the Church. I have seen the martyr 
 fall, and his blood redden the ooze of the 
 moss hag. We have heard much of tests and 
 papers to sign, of allegiances to other divine 
 vicegerents upon earth, even to such Lord's 
 anointeds as James and Charles, the father and 
 the uncle of her in whose name the Privy 
 Council of Scotland now demands this most 
 abject submission. But for myself I will sign 
 no such undertaking, give countenance to no 
 bond which might the second time deliver us 
 who have fought for our ancient liberties with 
 weapons in our hands, bound hand and foot to 
 the powers temporal — yea, that we might wrest 
 the powers of the spiritual arm from the Son 
 of God and deliver them to the daughter of 
 James Stuart." 
 
 " And who are you," cried Cameron, " thus 
 to teach and instruct men who were ministers
 
 190 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 when you were but a bairn, to reprove those 
 who have wrought in sun and shine, and in 
 gloom and darkness alike, to make the Kirk 
 of Scotland what she is this day? ' : 
 
 There was a noise of some approval among 
 the Presbytery. I knew, however, that I had 
 small sympathy among those present, men fear- 
 ful of losing their pleasant livings and fat sti- 
 pends. Nevertheless, very humbly I made an- 
 swer. ' It is not Ouintin MacClellan, but the 
 word he speaks that cannot be gainsaid. There 
 is also an old saying that out of the mouths of 
 babes and sucklings God expects the perfection 
 of praise." 
 
 ''' Fool! " cried Cameron, " ye would endan- 
 ger and cast down the fair fabric of this Kirk 
 of Scotland, ignorantly pulling down what 
 wiser and better men have laboriously built up. 
 Ye are but a child throwing stones at windows 
 and ready to run when the glass splinters. 
 You stand alone among us, sir — alone in Scot- 
 land!" 
 
 " I stand no more alone," I replied, " than 
 your brother Richard Cameron did at Ayrs- 
 moss when he rode into the broil and tumult 
 of battle for the honour of the Covenant. The 
 Banner of Christ's cause that was trampled in
 
 MUTTERINGS OF STORM. 
 
 I 9 I 
 
 the peat-brew of the moss of Ayr, is a worthier 
 standard than the rag of submission which 
 lies upon the table under your hand." 
 
 Cameron was silent. He liked not the 
 memory of his great brother. I went on, for 
 the man's pliable pitifulness angered me. 
 
 " Think you that Richard Cameron would 
 have signed words like these? Aye, I think 
 he would. But it would have been with his 
 sword, cutting the vile bond into fragments, 
 giving them to the winds, and strewing them 
 upon the waters." 
 
 Then the Presbytery would hear no more, 
 but by instant vote and voice they put me 
 forth. Yet ere I went from their midst, I cried, 
 " If there be any that think more of the free- 
 dom of God's Kirk in this land of Scotland than 
 of their stipends and glebes, let them come 
 forth with me." 
 
 And two there were who rose and followed 
 — Reid of Carsphairn, a man zealous and far- 
 seeing, and one other, a young minister lately 
 come within the bounds. 
 
 So the door was shut upon us, and they 
 that hated us were left to concert their meas- 
 ures without let or hindrance.
 
 192 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 And for a moment we three clasped hands 
 without the door. 
 
 " Let us stand by each other and the word 
 of truth," I said, " and the truth shall never 
 make us ashamed."
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE EYES OF A MAID. 
 
 Now throughout all the parish, aye, and 
 throughout all Galloway there arose infinite 
 noise and bruit of this thing. Specially was 
 there the buzz of anger in the hill parishes, 
 where the men who had lain in the moss-hags 
 and fought for the ancient liberties dwelt thick- 
 est — in Carsphairn, in the Glenkens, and in 
 mine own Balmaghie. 
 
 As I went over the hill from farm-town to 
 farm-town the herds would cry down ' Well 
 done! " from among the sheep. Old men who 
 had seen the high days of the Kirk before the 
 fatal home-coming of King Charles; rough, 
 buirdly men who had done their share of hid- 
 ing and fighting in the troubles; young men 
 who, like myself, had heard in their cradles but 
 the murmur of the fray, came to shake my hand 
 and bid me strengthen my knees and stick to 
 
 my testimony. 
 
 193
 
 194 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " For," said a venerable elder, one Anthony 
 Lennox of the Duchrae, who had been a fa- 
 mous man in the sufferings, " this is the very 
 truth for which we bled. We asked for the 
 kernel, and lo! they have given us the dry and 
 barren husk. We fought for ' Christ's Crown 
 and Covenant,' and they have sent us a banner 
 with the device — ' Queen Anne's Crown and 
 the Test!'" 
 
 But I think that the women were even 
 more warmly on our side, for the canker of per- 
 secution had eaten deeper into their hearts, that 
 had only waited and mourned while their men 
 folk were out suffering and fighting. 
 
 " Be ye none feared, laddie," said Millicent 
 Hannay, an ancient dame who had stood the 
 thumbikins thrice in the gaol of Kirkcudbright; 
 4 the most part of the ministers may stick like 
 burrs to their manses and glebes, their tiends 
 and tithings. But if so be, ye are thrust forth 
 into the wilderness, ye will find manna there — 
 aye, and water from the rock and a pillar of 
 fire going before to lead you out again." 
 
 But nowhere was I more warmly welcomed 
 than in the good house of Drumglass. The 
 herd lads and ploughmen were gathered at the 
 house-end when I came up the loaning, and
 
 THE EYES OF A MAID. 
 
 195 
 
 even as I passed one of them came forward 
 with his blue bonnet in his hand. 
 
 " Fear not, sir," he said, with a kind of bold, 
 self-respecting diffidence common among our 
 Galloway hinds. " I speak for all our lads with 
 hearts and hands. We will fight for you. 
 Keep the word of your testimony, and we will 
 sustain you and stand behind you. If we will 
 unfurl the blue banner again, we will plant right 
 deep the staff." 
 
 And from the little group of stalwart men 
 at the barn-end there came a low murmur of 
 corroboration, "We will uphold you!' : 
 
 Strange as it is to-day to think on these 
 things when most men are so lukewarm for 
 principle. But in those days the embers of the 
 fires of persecution were yet warm and glow- 
 ing, and men knew not when they might again 
 be blown up and fresh fuel added thereto. 
 
 " Come awa'," cried Nathan Gemmell 
 heartily, from where he sat on the outer 
 bench of moss-oak by the door-cheek, worn 
 smooth by generations of sitters, " come awa', 
 minister, and tell us the news. Faith, it makes 
 me young-like again to hear there is still a man 
 that thinks on the Covenants and the blue ban- 
 ner wi' the denty white cross. And though
 
 I96 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 they forget the auld flag noo, I hae seen it gang 
 stacherin' doon the streets o' the toon o' Edin- 
 burg wi' a' the folk cryin' ' Up \vi' the Kirk 
 an' doon wi' the King! ' till there wasna a sod- 
 jer-body dare show his face, nor a King's man 
 to be found between the Castle and the Holy- 
 rood House. Hech-hozv-aye! auld Drumglass 
 has seen that. 
 
 " And eke he saw the lads that were pitten 
 doon on the green Pentland slopes in the saxty- 
 sax start frae the Clachan o' Saint John wi' 
 hopes that were high, sharpening their bits o' 
 swords and scythes to withstand the guns o' 
 Dalzyell. And but few o' them ever wan back. 
 But what o' that? It's a brave thrang there 
 wad be about heaven's gates that day — the 
 souls o' the righteous thranging and pressing 
 to win through, the rejoicing of a multitude 
 that had washed their robes and made them 
 white in the blood o' the Lamb. 
 
 " Ow, aye, ye wonder at me, that am a car- 
 nal man, speakin' that gate. But it is juist 
 because I am a man wha' has been a sore sin- 
 ner, that I wear thae things sae near my heart. 
 My time is at hand. Soon, soon will auld 
 Drumglass, wastrel loon that he is, be thrown 
 oot like a useless root ower the wa' and carried
 
 THE EYES OF A MAID. 
 
 197 
 
 feet foremost from out his chamber door. But 
 if it's the Lord's will " (he rose to his feet and 
 shook his oaken staff) " if it's the Lord's will, 
 auld Drumglass wad like to draw the blade frae 
 the scabbard yince mair, and find the wecht o' 
 the steel in his hand while yet his auld numb 
 fingers can meet aboot the basket hilt. 
 
 " Oh, I ken, I ken; ye think the weapons 
 of our warfare are not to be swords and staves, 
 minister — truth will fight for us, ye say. 
 
 " I daresay ye are right. But gin the 
 hoodie-craws o' the Presbytery come wi' swords 
 and staves to put ye forth from your parish and 
 your kindly down-sitting, ye will be none the 
 worse of the parcel o' braw lads ye saw at the 
 barn-end, every man o' them wi' a basket-hilted 
 blade in his richt hand and a willing Galloway 
 heart thump-thumpin' high wi' itching desire to 
 be at the red coaties o' the malignants." 
 
 Then we went in, and there by the fireside, 
 looking very wistfully out of her meek eyes at 
 me, stood the young lass, Jean Gemmell. She 
 came forward holding out her hand, saying no 
 word, but the tears still wet on her lashes — 
 why, I know not. And she listened as her fa- 
 ther asked of the doings at the Presbytery, 
 and looked eager and anxious while I was an-
 
 I98 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 swering. Presently Auld Drumglass went forth 
 on some errand about the work of the plough- 
 lads, and the lass and I were left alone together 
 in the wide kitchen. 
 
 " And they will indeed put you forth out 
 of house and home? ' : she asked, looking at 
 me with sweet, reluctant eyes, the eyes of a 
 mourning dove. She stood by the angle of the 
 hearth where the broad ingle-seat begins. I 
 sat on her father's chair where he had placed 
 me and looked over at her. A comely lass she 
 was, with her pale cheeks and a blush on them 
 that went and came responsive to the beating 
 of her heart. 
 
 I had not answered, being busy with look- 
 ing at her and thinking how I wished Mistress 
 Mary Gordon had been as gentle and biddable 
 as this lass. So she asked again, " They will 
 not put you forth from your kirk and parish, 
 will they?" 
 
 " Nay, that I know not," I said, smiling; 
 " doubtless they will try." 
 
 " Oh, I could not listen to another minister 
 after " 
 
 She stopped and sighed. 
 
 It was in my mind to rebuke her, and to 
 bid her remember that the Word of God is
 
 THE EYES OF A MAID. 
 
 I99 
 
 not confined to any one vessel of clay, but just 
 then she put her hand to her side, and went 
 withal so pale that I could not find it in my 
 heart to speak harshly to the young lass. 
 
 Then I told her, being stirred within me 
 by her emotion, of the two who had stood by 
 me in the Presbytery, and how little hope I 
 had that they would manfully see it out to the 
 end. 
 
 " Tis a fight that I must fight alone," I 
 said. 
 
 For I knew well that it would come to 
 that, and that so soon as the affair went past 
 mere empty words those two who had stood at 
 my shoulder would fall behind or be content 
 to bide snugly at home. 
 
 " Not alone! " said the young lass, quickly, 
 and moved a step towards me with her hand 
 held out. Then, with a deep and burning 
 blush, her maiden modesty checked her, and 
 she stood red like a July rose in the clear 
 morning. 
 
 She swayed as if she would have fallen, and, 
 leaping up quickly, I caught her in my arms 
 ere she had time to fall. 
 
 Her eyes were closed. The blood had 
 
 ebbed from her face and left her pale to the 
 14
 
 2QO THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 very lips. I stood with her light weight in my 
 arms, thrilling strangely, for, God be my judge, 
 never woman had lain there before. 
 
 Presently she gave a long snatching breath 
 and opened her eyes. I saw the tears gather in 
 them as her head lay still and lax in the hollow 
 of my arm. The drops did not fall, but rather 
 gathered slowly like wells that are fed from be- 
 neath. 
 
 " You will not go away? " she said, and at 
 last lifted her lashes, with a little pearl shining 
 wet on each, like a swallow that has dipped her 
 wings in a pool. 
 
 Then, because I could not help it, I did 
 that which I had never done to any woman 
 born of woman: I stooped and kissed the wet 
 sweet eyes. And then, ere I knew it, with a 
 little cry of frightened joy, the girl's arms were 
 about me. She lifted up her face, and kissed 
 me again and again and yet again. 
 
 When I came to myself I was conscious of 
 another presence in the kitchen. I looked up 
 quickly, and there before me, standing with an 
 ash switch swaying in her hand, was Alexander- 
 Jonita. I had not supposed that she could 
 have looked so stern.
 
 THE EYES OF A MAID. 2 OI 
 
 ft Well? " she said, as if waiting for my ex- 
 planation. 
 
 "I love your sister," I replied; for indeed, 
 though I had not thought thus of the mat- 
 ter before, there seemed nothing else to be 
 said. 
 
 But the face of Alexander-Jonita did not re- 
 lax. She stood gazing at her sister, whose 
 head rested quiet and content on my shoulder. 
 
 " Jean," she said at last, ' knowing that 
 which you know, why have you done this? ' 
 
 The girl lifted her head, and looked at Jo- 
 nita with a kind of glad defiance. 
 
 ' Sister," she said, " you do not understand 
 love. How should you know what one would 
 do for love? " 
 
 ' You love my sister Jean? " Jonita began 
 again, turning to me with a sharpness in her 
 words like the pricking of a needle's point. 
 
 ' Yes! " I answered, but perhaps a little un- 
 certainly. 
 
 ' Did you know as much when you came 
 into the kitchen? " 
 
 " No," said I. 
 
 For indeed I knew not what to answer, 
 never having been thus tangled up with wom- 
 en's affairs in my life before.
 
 202 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " I thought not," said Jonita, curtly. Then 
 to Jean, "How did this come about? ' : she 
 said. 
 
 Jean lifted her head, her face being lily-pale 
 and her body swaying a little to me. 
 
 " I thought he would go away and that I 
 should never see him again!'' she replied, a 
 little pitifully, with the quavering thrill of un- 
 shed tears in her voice. 
 
 " And you did this knowing — what you 
 know! " said Jonita again, sternly. 
 
 " I saw him first," said Jean, a little obsti- 
 nately, looking down the while. 
 
 Her sister flushed crimson. 
 
 " Oh, lassie," she cried, " ye will drive me 
 mad with your whims and foolish speeches; 
 what matters who saw him first? Ye ken well 
 that ye are not fit to be " 
 
 " She is fit to be my wife," I said, for I 
 thought that this had gone far enough; "she 
 is fit to be my wife, and my wife she shall surely 
 be if she will have me! " 
 
 With a little joyful cry Jean GemmeH's arms 
 went about my neck, and her wet face was hid- 
 den in my breast. It lay there quiet a moment; 
 then she lifted it and looked with a proud, still 
 defiance at her sister.
 
 THE EYES OF A MAID. 203 
 
 Alexander-Jonita lifted up her hands in 
 hopeless protest. 
 
 She seemed about to say more, but all sud- 
 denly she changed her mind. 
 
 " So be it," she said. " After all, 'tis none 
 of my business! " 
 
 And with that she turned and went out 
 through the door of the kitchen.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE ANGER OF ALEXANDER-JONITA. 
 
 (Comment and Addition by Hob MacClellan.) 
 
 I met my lass Jonita that night by the 
 sheep-fold on the hill. It was not yet sun- 
 down, but the spaces of the heavens had slowly 
 grown large and vague. The wind also had 
 gradually died away to a breathing stillness. 
 The scent of the bog-myrtle was in our nos- 
 trils, as if the plant itself leaned against our 
 faces. 
 
 I had been waiting a long time ere I heard 
 her come, lissomly springing from tuft to tuft 
 of grass and whistling that bonny dance tune, 
 " The Broom o' the Cowdenknowes." But 
 even before I looked up I caught the trouble 
 in her tones. She whistled more shrilly than 
 usual, and the liquid fluting of her notes, mel- 
 low mostly like those of the blackbird, had now 
 
 an angrv ring. 
 204
 
 THE ANGER OF ALEXANDER-JONITA. 205 
 
 " What is the matter, Alexander-Jonita? " 
 I cried, e'er I had so much as set eyes on 
 her. 
 
 The whistling ceased at my question. She 
 came near, and leaning her elbows on the dyke, 
 she regarded me sternly. 
 
 " Then you know something about it? " she 
 said, looking at me between the eyes, her own 
 narrowed till they glinted wintry and keen as 
 the gimlet-tool wherewith the joiner bores his 
 holes. 
 
 " Has your father married the dairymaid, 
 or Meg the pony cast a shoe? " I asked of her, 
 with a lightness I did not feel. 
 
 " Tut," she cried, " 'tis the matter of your 
 brother, as well you know." 
 
 " What of my brother? " 
 
 " Wiry, our silly Jean has made eyes at him, 
 and let the salt water fall on the breast of his 
 black minister's coat. And now the calf de- 
 clares that he loves her! " 
 
 I stood up in sharp surprise. 
 
 " He no more loves her than — than " 
 
 "Than you love me," said Alexander-Jo- 
 nita; " I know — drive on! " 
 
 I did not notice her evil-conditioned jibe. 
 
 " Why, Jonita, he has all his life been in
 
 206 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 love with the Lady Mary — the Bull of Earls- 
 toun's daughter." 
 
 Alexander-Jonita nodded pensively. 
 
 " Even so I thought," she said, " but, as I 
 guess, Mary Gordon has sent him about his 
 business, and so he has been taken with our 
 poor Jean's puling pussydom. God forgive 
 me that I should say so much of a dying 
 woman." 
 
 " A dying woman! " cried I, " there is noth- 
 ing the matter with Jean." 
 
 Alexander-Jonita shook her head. 
 
 " Jean is not long for this world," she said, 
 " I bid you remember. Saw you ever the red 
 leap through the white like yon, save when 
 the life burns fast to the ashes and the pulse 
 beats ever more light and weak? " 
 
 ' And how long hath this thing been 
 afoot?" 
 
 ' Since the day of your brother's first 
 preaching, when to save her shoon Jean must 
 needs go barefoot and wash her feet in the burn 
 that slips down by the kirkyard wall." 
 
 ' That was the day Quintin first spoke with 
 her, when she gave him her nooning piece of 
 bread to stay his hunger." 
 
 "Aye," said Alexander-Jonita; " better had
 
 THE ANGER OF ALEXANDER-JONITA. 207 
 
 he gone hungry all sermon-time than eaten of 
 our Jean's piece." 
 
 "For shame, Alexander- Jonita! ' : I cried, 
 " and a double shame to speak thus of a lassie 
 that is, by your own tale, dying on her feet — 
 and your sister forbye. I believe that ye are 
 but jealous! " 
 
 She flamed up in sudden anger. If she had 
 had a knife or a pistol in her hand, I believe 
 she would have killed me. 
 
 ' Get out of our ewe-buchts before I twist 
 your impudent neck, Hob MacClellan! " she 
 cried. ' I care not a docken for any man alive 
 — least of all for you and your brother. Yet 
 I thought, from what I heard of his doings at 
 the Presbytery, that he was more of a man than 
 any of you. But now I see that he is feckless 
 and feeble like the rest." 
 
 " Ah, Jonita, you snooded folk tame us all. 
 From David the King to Hob MacClellan there 
 is no man so wise but a woman may tie him in 
 knots about her little finger." 
 
 ' I thought better of your brother! " she 
 said more mildly, her anger dying away as 
 suddenly as it had risen, and I think she 
 sighed. 
 
 " But not better of me! " I said.
 
 2o8 TH E STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 She looked at me with contempt, but yet 
 a contempt mightily pleasant. 
 
 " Good e'en to ye, Hob," she cried. ' I was 
 not so far left to myself as to think about you 
 at all!" 
 
 And with that she took her light plaid over 
 her arm with a saucyish swirl, and whistling on 
 her dogs, she swung down the hill, carrying, if 
 you please, her shoulders squared and her head 
 in the air like a young conceited birkie going 
 to see his sweetheart. 
 
 And then, when the thing became public, 
 what a din there was in the parish of Balmag- 
 hie! Only those who know the position of a 
 young minister and the interest in his doings 
 can imagine. It was somewhat thus that the 
 good wives wagged their tongues. 
 
 ' To marry Jean Gemmell! Aye, juist poor 
 Jean, the shilpit, pewlin' brat that never did a 
 hand's turn in her life, indoor or oot! Fegs, a 
 bonny wife she will mak' to him. Apothe- 
 caries' drugs and red claret wine she maun hae 
 to leeve on. A bonnie penny it will cost him, 
 gin ever she wins to the threshold o' his manse! 
 
 " But she's no there yet, kimmer! Na — 
 certes no! I mind o' her mither weel. Jean 
 was her name, too, juist sich anither ' cloyt ' —
 
 THE ANGER OF ALEXANDER-JONITA. 2 OQ 
 
 a feckless, white-faced bury-me-decent, withoot 
 as muckle spirit as wad gar her turn a sow oot 
 o' the kail-yard. And a' the kin o' her were 
 like her — no yin to better anither. There 
 was her uncle Jacob Ahanny a' the Risk; he 
 keepit in wi' the Government in the auld 
 Persecution, and when Clavers cam' to the door 
 and asked him what religion he was o', he said 
 that the estate had changed hands lately, and 
 that he hadna had time to speer at the new 
 laird. And at that Clavers laughed and 
 laughed, and it wasna often that Jockie Gra- 
 ham did the like. Fegs no, kimmers! But he 
 clappit Jacob on the shooder. ' Puir craitur,' 
 quo' he; 'ye are no the stuff that rebels are 
 made o'. Na, there's nocht o' Richie Cameron 
 aboot you.' " 
 
 " Aye, faith, do ye tell me, and Jean is to 
 mairry the minister, and him sae bauld and 
 croose before the Presbytery. What deil's can- 
 trip can hae ta'en him? " 
 
 " Hoot, Mary McKeand, I wonder to hear 
 ye. Do ye no ken that the baulder and greater 
 a man the easier a woman can get round him? " 
 
 "Aweel, even sae I hae heard. I wish oor 
 Jock was a great man, then; I could maybe, 
 keep him awa' frae the change-hoose in the
 
 210 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 clachan. But the minister, he had far better 
 hae ta'en yon wild sister " 
 
 ' Her? 1'se warrant she wadna look at 
 him. She doesna even gang to Balmaghie 
 Kirk to hear him preach." 
 
 " Mary McKeand, hae ye come to your age 
 withoot kennin, that the woman that wad re- 
 fuse the minister o' a parish when he speers 
 her, hasna been born? " 
 
 " Aweel, maybe no! But kimmer harken to 
 me, there's mony an egg laid in the nest that 
 never leeved to craw in the morn. Him and 
 her are no married yet. Hoot na, woman! " 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 And so without further eavesdropping I 
 took my way out of the clachan of Pluckamin, 
 and left the good wives to arrange my brother's 
 future. I had not yet spoken to him on the 
 subject, but I resolved to do so that very night. 
 
 It was already well upon the grey selvage 
 of the dark when I strode up the manse-loan- 
 ing, intent to have the matter out with my 
 brother forthwith. It was not often that I 
 took it on me to question him; for after all I 
 was but a landward lout by comparison with 
 him. I understood little of the high aims and 
 purposes that inspired him, being at best but
 
 THE ANGER OF ALEXANDER-JONITA. 2 II 
 
 a plain country lad with my wits a little sharp- 
 ened by the giff-gaff of the pedlar's trade. 
 But when it came to the push I think that 
 Quintin had some respect for my opinion — 
 all the more that I so seldom troubled him 
 with it. 
 
 I found my brother in the little gable-room 
 where he studied, with the window open that 
 he might hear the sough of the soft-flowing 
 river beneath, and perhaps also that the drowsy 
 hum of the bees and the sweet-sour smell of the 
 hives might drift in to him upon the balmy air 
 of night. 
 
 The minister had a great black-lettered 
 book propped up before him, which from its 
 upright thick and thin letters (like pea-sticks 
 dibbled in the ground) I knew to be Hebrew. 
 But I do not think he read in it, nor gath- 
 ered much lear for his Sabbath's sermon. 
 
 He looked up as I came in. 
 
 " Quintin," said I, directly, lest by waiting 
 I should lose courage, " are you to marry Jean 
 Gemmell? " 
 
 He kept his eyes straight upon me, as indeed 
 he did ever with whomsoever he spake. 
 
 "Aye, Hob," he said, quietly; "have ye 
 any word to say against that? "
 
 212 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " I do not know that I have," I answered, 
 " but what will Mary Gordon say? ' 
 
 I could see him wince like one that is 
 touched on an unhealed wound. 
 
 But he recovered himself at once, and said 
 calmly, " She will say nothing, feel nothing, 
 care nothing." 
 
 " I am none so sure of that," said I, looking 
 as straightly at him as ever he did at me. 
 
 He started up, one hand on the table, his 
 long hair thrown back with a certain jerk he 
 had when he was touched, which made him 
 look like a roused lion that stands at bay. 
 " By what right do ye speak thus, Hob Mac- 
 Clellan?" 
 
 ' By the right of that which I know,"" said 
 I; " but a man who will pull up the seed which 
 he has just planted, and cast it away because 
 he finds not ripened ears, deserves to starve all 
 his life on sprouted and musty corn." 
 
 ' Riddle me no riddles," said my brother, 
 knocking on the table with his palm till the 
 great Hebrew book slid from its prop and fell 
 heavily to the floor; " this is too terrible a ven- 
 ture. Speak plainly and tell me all you mean." 
 
 " Well," said I, " the matter is not all mine 
 to tell. But you are well aware that Hob Mac-
 
 THE ANGER OF ALEXANDER-JONITA. 213 
 
 Clellan can hold his peace, and is no gossip- 
 monger. I tell you that when you went from 
 Earlstoun the last time the Lady Mary went to 
 the battlement tower to watch you go, and 
 came down with her kerchief wringing with her 
 tears." 
 
 ' It is a thing impossible, mad, incredible! " 
 said he, putting his elbow on the table and his 
 hand to his eyes as if he had been looking into 
 the glare of an overpowering sun. Yet there 
 was hardly enough light in the little room for 
 us to see one another by. After a long silence 
 Quintin turned to me and said, " Tell me how 
 ye came to ken this." 
 
 ' That," said I, bluntly, " is not a matter 
 that can concern you. But know it I do, or 
 I should not have troubled you with the mat- 
 ter." 
 
 At this he gave a wild kind of throat cry 
 that I never heard before. It was the driven, 
 throttled cry of a man's agony, once heard, 
 never forgotten. Would that Mary Gordon 
 had hearkened to it! It is the one thing no 
 woman can stand. It either melts or terrifies 
 her. But with another man it is different. 
 
 " Ah, you have troubled me — you have 
 troubled me sore! " he cried. And with no
 
 214 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 more than that he left me abruptly and went 
 out into the night. I looked through the win- 
 dow and saw him marching up and down by 
 the kirk, on a strip of greensward for which 
 he had ever a liking. It was pitiful to watch 
 him. He walked fast like one that would have 
 run away from melancholy thoughts, turning 
 ever when he came opposite the low tomb-stone 
 of the two martyr Hallidays. He was bare- 
 headed, and I feared the chilling night dews. 
 So I lifted down his minister's hat from the 
 deer's horn by the hallan door and took it out 
 to him. 
 
 At first he did not see me, being enwrapped 
 in his own meditations, and it was only when 
 a couple of blackbirds flew scolding out of the 
 lilac bushes that he heard my foot and turned. 
 
 " Man Hob," he said, speaking just the 
 plain country speech he used to do at Ardar- 
 roch, before ever he went to the college of 
 Edinburgh, " it's an awfu' thing that a man 
 should care mair for the guid word of a lass 
 than about the grace o' God and the Coven- 
 anted Kirk of Scotland! "
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AT BAY. 
 
 {The Narrative of Quintin MacClcllan is resumed.) 
 
 Dark was the day, darker the night. The 
 matters which had sundered me from the Pres- 
 bytery mended not — nor, indeed, was it pos- 
 sible to mend them, seeing that they and I 
 served different gods, followed other purposes. 
 
 It was bleak December when the brethren 
 of the Presbytery arrived to make an end of 
 me and my work in the parish of Balmaghie. 
 They came with their minds made up. They 
 alone were my accusers. They were also my 
 sole judges. As for me, I was as set and deter- 
 mined as they were. I refused their jurisdic- 
 tion. I utterly contemned their authority. 
 To me they were but mites in the cheese, pot- 
 tle-bellied batteners on the heritage and patri- 
 mony of the Kirk of Scotland. Siller and acres 
 spelled all their desires, chalders and tiends con- 
 tained all the rounded tale of their ambitions. 
 15 215
 
 2 i6 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 But for all that, now that I am older, I can 
 scarce blame them — at least, not so sorely as 
 once I did. 
 
 For to them I was the youngest of them 
 all, the least in years and learning, the smallest 
 in influence — save, perhaps, among the Rem- 
 nant who still thought about the things of the 
 Kirk and her spiritual independence. 
 
 I was to the Presbytery of Kirkcudbright 
 but the troubler of Israel, the disturber of a 
 quiet Zion. Save for poor Quintin MacClellan, 
 the watchman might have gone from tower to 
 tower along ramparts covered and defended, 
 and his challenge of 'What of the night? ' : 
 have received its fitting answer from this point 
 and that about the city, " The morning com- 
 eth! All is well!" 
 
 Yet because of the Lad in the Brown Coat 
 with his dead face sunk in the Bennan flowe 
 I could not consent to putting the Kirk of 
 Scotland, once free and independent, under the 
 control, real or nominal, the authority, overt 
 or latent, of any monarch in Christendom. 
 
 More than to my fathers, more than to my 
 elders it seemed to me that the old ways were 
 the true ways, and that kings and governments 
 had never meddled with religion save to lay
 
 AT BAY. 217 
 
 waste the vineyard and mar the bridal portion 
 of the Kirk of God. 
 
 But all men know the cause of the struggle 
 and what were the issues. I will choose to tell 
 rather the tale of a man's shame and sorrow — 
 his, indeed, who had taken the Banner of the 
 Covenant into unworthy hands, yet time after 
 time had let it fall in the dust. Nevertheless, 
 at the hinder end, I lived to see it set again in 
 a strong base of unhewn stone, fixed as the 
 foundations of the earth. Nor shall the golden 
 scroll of it ever be defaced nor the covenant of 
 the King of kings be broken. 
 
 So on the day of trial, from all the parishes 
 of the Presbytery east and west, gathered the 
 men who had constituted themselves my judges 
 — nay, the men who were already my condem- 
 nators. For Cameron had my sentence in his 
 pocket before ever one of the brethren set a 
 foot over his doorstep, or threw a leg across 
 the back of his ambling sheltie. 
 
 I had judged it best to be quiet and staid 
 in demeanour, and had gone about to quiet 
 and persuade the folk of Balmaghie, who were 
 eager to hold back the hunters from their prey. 
 
 The Presbytery had sent to bid me preach
 
 2i8 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 before them, even as the soldiers of the guard 
 had bidden Christ prophesy unto them, that 
 they might have occasion to smite Him the 
 oftener on the mouth. So when I came before 
 them they posed me with interrogatories, 
 threatened me with penalties, and finally set 
 me to conduct service before them, that they 
 might either condemn me if I refused, alleging 
 contumacy; or, on the other hand, if I did as 
 they bade me, they would easily find occasion 
 to condemn the words of my mouth. 
 
 Then I saw that though there was no way 
 to escape their malice, yet there was a way to 
 serve the cause. 
 
 So I went up into the pulpit after the folk 
 had been assembled, and addressed myself to 
 them just as if it had been an ordinary Sabbath 
 day and the company met only for the worship 
 of God. 
 
 For I minded the word which my good Re- 
 gent, Dr. Campbell, had spoken to me in Edin- 
 burgh ere I was licensed to preach, or thought 
 that one day I myself should be the carcase 
 about which the ravens should gather. 
 
 ' When ye preach," said Professor Camp- 
 bell, "be sure that ye heed not the five wise 
 men! "
 
 AT BAY. 
 
 219 
 
 So I minded that word, and seeing the folk 
 gathered together, I cast my heavy burden 
 from me, and called them earnestly to the wor- 
 ship of Him who is above all courts and assem- 
 blies. 
 
 Then in came Cameron, the leader of their 
 faction, jowled with determination and rosy- 
 gilled with good cheer and the claret wine of 
 St. Mary's Isle. With him was Boyd, also a 
 renegade from the Society Hill Folk. For 
 with their scanty funds the men of the moss- 
 hags had sent these two as students to Hol- 
 land to gather lear that they might thereafter 
 be their ministers. But now, when they had 
 gotten them comfortable down-sittings in plen- 
 teous parishes, they turned with the bitter zest 
 of the turncoat to the hunting ot one who ad- 
 hered to their own ancient way. 
 
 But though I could have reproached them 
 with this and with much else, I judged that 
 because they were met in the Kirk of God no 
 tumult should be made, at least till they had 
 shown the length and breadth and depth of 
 their malice. 
 
 Then, when at the last I stood single and 
 alone at their bar and was ready to answer their 
 questions, they could bring nothing against me,
 
 220 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 save that I had refused their jurisdiction. Their 
 suborned witnesses failed them. For there was 
 none in all the parish who wished me ill, and 
 certainly none that dared testify a word in the 
 midst of the angry people that day in the Kirk 
 of Balmaghie. 
 
 ' Have ye naught to allege against my life 
 and conduct?" I asked of them at last. "Ye 
 have set false witnesses to follow me from place 
 to place and wrest my words. Ye have spied 
 here and there in the houses of my people. Ye 
 have tried to entrap my elders. Is there no 
 least thing that ye can allege? For three years 
 I have come and gone in and out among this 
 folk of Balmaghie. I have companioned with 
 you. I have sat in your meetings. I have not 
 been silent. Ye have watched me with the 
 eyes of the greedy gled. Ye have harkened 
 and waited and sharpened claws for me as a cat 
 
 does at a mouse-hole " 
 
 " Will ye submit and sign the submission 
 here and now? ' : interrupted Cameron, who 
 liked not the threatening murmur of approba- 
 tion which began to run like wild-fire among 
 the folk. 
 
 ' There is One," answered I, the words be- 
 ing as it had been given to me, " whose praise
 
 AT BAY. 221 
 
 is perfected out of the mouths of babes. It is 
 true that among you I am like a young child 
 without power or wisdom. Ye are great and 
 learned, old in years and full of reverence. But 
 this one thing a young man can do. He can 
 stand by the truth ye have deserted, and lift 
 again the banner staff ye have cast in the mire. 
 As great Rutherford hath said, ' Christ may 
 ride upon a windle straw and not stumble.' 
 
 Then I turned about to the people, when 
 the Presbytery would have restrained me from 
 further speech. 
 
 "Ye folk of this parish," I said, "what 
 think ye of this matter? Shall your minister 
 be thrust out from among you? Shall he bow 
 the head and bend the knee? Must he let 
 principle and truth go by the board and whistle 
 down the wind? I think ye know him better. 
 Aye, truly, this parish and people would have 
 a bonny bird of him, a brave minister, indeed — 
 if he submitted before being cleared of that 
 whereof, all unjustly, his enemies have accused 
 him, setting him up in the presence of his people 
 like a felon in the dock of judgment! ' : 
 
 Then indeed there was confusion among the 
 black-coated ravens who had come to gloat 
 over the feast. I had insulted (so they cried)
 
 222 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 their honourable and reverend court. I had 
 refused a too lenient and condescending ac- 
 commodation. Thus they prated, as if long 
 words would balance the beam of an unjust 
 cause. 
 
 But at that moment there came a stir 
 among the folk. I saw the elders of the con- 
 gregation appear at the door of the kirk. And 
 as they marched up the aisle, behind them 
 thronged all the men of the parish, in still, 
 stern, and compact mass. 
 
 Then a ruling elder read the protest of 
 the common people. It was simple and clear. 
 The parish was wholly with me, and not with 
 mine enemies. Almost every man within the 
 bounds had signed the paper whereon was writ- 
 ten the people's protest. The Presbytery 
 might depose the minister, but the people 
 would uphold him. Every man in Balmaghie 
 knew well that their pastor suffered because he 
 had steadfastly preferred truth to compromise, 
 honour to pelf, conscience to stipend. That 
 the Presbytery themselves had sworn to up- 
 hold that which now they condemned. 
 
 " Are ye who present this paper ordained 
 elders of the Kirk? ' : asked Cameron of the 
 leaders, glowering angrily at them.
 
 AT BAY. 
 
 223 
 
 " We are," responded Nathan Gemmell, 
 stoutly. 
 
 " And ye dare to bring a railing accusation 
 against the ministers of your Presbytery? ' : 
 
 " We are free men — ruling elders every one. 
 You, on your part, are but teaching elders, and, 
 save for the usurpation of the State, ye are no- 
 ways in authority over us," was the answer. 
 
 "And who are they for whom ye profess to 
 speak? ' continued Cameron, looking frown- 
 ingly upon Drumglass and his fellows. 
 
 "They are here to speak for themselves!" 
 cried Nathan Gemmell, and as he waved his 
 hand, the kirk was rilled from end to end with 
 stalwart men, who stood up rank behind rank, 
 all very grave and quiet. 
 
 I saw the ministers cower together. This 
 was not at all what they had bargained for. 
 
 " We are plainly to be deforced and over- 
 awed," said Cameron. ' Let us disperse to- 
 day and meet to-morrow in the Kirk of Cross- 
 michael over the water." 
 
 And lo! it was done — even as their leader 
 said. They summoned me to stand at their 
 bar on the morrow in the Kirk of Crossmichael, 
 that I might receive my doom. 
 
 But quietly, as before, I told them that I
 
 224 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 refused their court, that I would in no wise 
 submit to their sentence, but would abide 
 among my people both to-morrow and all the 
 to-morrows, to do the duty which had been laid 
 upon me, in spite of anathema, deposition, ex- 
 communication. " For," said I, " I have a war- 
 rant that is higher than yours. So far as I may, 
 in a man's weakness and sin, I will be faithful 
 to that mandate, to my conscience, and to my 
 God."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 mary Gordon's last word. 
 
 The next day was the 30th of December, a 
 day of bitter frost, so that the Dee froze over, 
 and the way which had been broken for the 
 boats to ferry the Presbytery across from the 
 dangerous bounds of Balmaghie was again 
 filled with floating ice. 
 
 The Kirk of Crossmichael sits, like that of 
 Balmaghie, on a little green hill above Dee 
 Water. One House of Prayer fronts the other, 
 and the white kirkyard stones greet each other 
 across the river, telling the one story of earth 
 to earth. And every Sabbath day across the 
 sluggish stream two songs of praise go up to 
 heaven in united aspiration towards one Eter- 
 nal father. 
 
 But this 30th of December there was for 
 
 Quintin MacClellan small community of lofty 
 
 fellowship across the water in Crossmichael. 
 
 It was to me of all days the day bitterest and 
 
 225
 
 226 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 blackest. I have indeed good cause to remem- 
 ber it. 
 
 Right well was I advised that, so far as the 
 ministers of the Presbytery were concerned, 
 there was no hope of any outcome favourable 
 to me. They had only been scared from their 
 prey for a moment by the stern threatening of 
 the folk of the parish. The People's Paper in 
 particular had frightened them like a sentence 
 of death. But now they were free to make an 
 end. 
 
 My brother Hob was keen to head a band 
 pledged to keep them out of Crossmichael Kirk 
 also. But I forbade him to cross the water. 
 
 ' Keep your own kirk and your own parish 
 bounds if ye like, but meddle not with "those 
 of your neighbours!' I told him. "Besides 
 ye would only drive them to another place, 
 where yet more bitterly they would finish their 
 appointed work!" 
 
 But though the former stress of trial was 
 over, this day of quiet was far harder to bear 
 than the day before. For, then, with the ex- 
 citation of battle, the plaudits of the people, 
 the quick necessities of verbal defence against 
 many adversaries, my spirits were kept up. 
 But now there was none in the manse beside
 
 MARY GORDON'S LAST WORD. 227 
 
 myself, and I took to wandering up and down 
 the little sequestered kirk-loaning, thinking 
 how that by this time the Presbytery was met 
 to speed my doom, and that the pleasant place 
 which knew me now would soon know me no 
 more for ever. 
 
 As I lingered at the road-end, thinking how 
 much I would have given for a heartening word, 
 and vaguely resolving to betake me over to the 
 house of Drumglass, where at the least I was 
 sure of companionship and consolation, I 
 chanced to cast my eyes to the southward, and 
 there along the light grey riverside track I be- 
 held a lady riding. 
 
 As she came nearer, I saw that it was none 
 other than Mistress Mary Gordon. I thought 
 I had never seen her look winsomer — a rounded 
 lissom form, a perfect seat, a dainty and well- 
 ordered carriage. 
 
 I stood still where I was and waited for her 
 to pass me. I had my hat in my hand, and in 
 my heart I counted on nothing but that she 
 should ride by me as though she saw me not. 
 
 But on the contrary, she reined her horse 
 and sat waiting for me to speak to her. 
 
 So I went to her bridle-rein and looked up 
 at the face, and lo! it was kindlier than ever I
 
 228 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 had seen it before, with a sort of loving pity 
 on it which I found it very hard to bear. 
 
 " Will you let me walk by your side a little 
 way? " I asked of her. For as we had parted 
 without a farewell, so on this bitterest day we 
 met again without greeting. 
 
 " My Lady Mary," I said at last, " I have 
 gone through much since I went out from your 
 house at Earlstoun. I have yet much to win 
 through. We parted in anger but let us meet 
 in peace. I am a man outcast and friendless, 
 save for these foolish few in this parish who to 
 their cost have made my quarrel theirs." 
 
 At this she looked right kindly down upon 
 me and paused a little before she answered. 
 
 " Quintin," she said, " there is no anger in 
 my heart anywhere. There is only a great wae. 
 I have come from the place of Balmaghie where 
 my cousin Kate of Lochinvar waits her good 
 father's passing." 
 
 " And ride you home to the Earlstoun 
 alone? " I asked. 
 
 " Aye," she said, a little wistfully. And the 
 saying cheered me. For this river way was not 
 the girl's straight road homeward, and it came 
 to me that mayhap Mary Gordon had wished to 
 meet and comfort me in my sorrow.
 
 MARY GORDON'S LAST WORD. 2 2Q 
 
 ' My father is abroad, we know not well 
 where," she said, " or doubtless he would glad- 
 ly support you in the way that you have chosen. 
 Perhaps your way is not my way, but it must 
 be a good way of its kind, the way of a man's 
 conscience." 
 
 She reached down a hand to me, which I 
 took and pressed gratefully enough. 
 
 It was then that we came in sight of the 
 white house of Drumglass sitting above the 
 water-meadows. At the first glimpse of it the 
 Lady Mary drew away her hand from mine. 
 
 ' Is it true," she said, looking at the blue 
 ridges of Cairnsmore in the distance, " that 
 which I have been told, that you are to wed a 
 daughter of that house? " 
 
 I inclined my head without speech. I knew 
 that the bitterest part of my punishment was 
 now come upon me. 
 
 " And did you come straight from the 
 Earlstoun to offer her also your position, your 
 well-roofed manse, your income good as that 
 of any laird? " 
 
 We had stopped in a sheltered place by the 
 river where the hazel bushes are many and the 
 gorse grows long and rank, mingling with the 
 bloom and the fringing bog-myrtle.
 
 230 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " My Lady Mary," said I, after a pause, " I 
 offered her not anything. I had nothing to 
 offer. But in time of need she let me see the 
 warmth of her heart and — I had none other 
 comfort ! " 
 
 ' Then upon this day of days why are you 
 not by her side, that her love may ease the 
 smart of your bitter outcasting? " 
 
 ' In yonder kirk mine enemies work my 
 doom," said I, pointing over the water, " and 
 ere another sun rise I shall be no more minister 
 of Balmaghie, but a homeless man, without 
 either a rooftree or a reeking ingle. I have 
 nothing to offer any woman. Why should I 
 claim this day any woman's love? " 
 
 " Ah," she said, giving me the strangest 
 look, " it is her hour. For if she loves you, 
 she would fly to-day to share your dry crust, 
 your sapless bite. See," she cried, stretching 
 out her hand with a large action, " if Mary Gor- 
 don loved a man, she would follow him in her 
 sark to the world's end. If so be his eyes had 
 looked the deathless love into hers, his tongue 
 told of love, love, only of love. Ah, that alone 
 is worth calling love which feeds full on the 
 scorns of life and grows lusty on black misfor- 
 tune!"
 
 MARY GORDON'S LAST WORD. 
 
 231 
 
 " Lady Mary " I began. 
 
 But she interrupted me, dashing her hand 
 furtively to her face. 
 
 She pointed up towards the house of Drum- 
 glass. 
 
 " Yonder lies your way, Quintin MacClel- 
 lan! Go to the woman you love — who loves 
 you." 
 
 She lifted the reins from the horse's neck 
 and would have started forward, but again I 
 had gotten her hand. Yet I only bent and 
 kissed it without word, reverently and sadly 
 as one kisses the brow of the dead. 
 
 She moved away without anger and with 
 her eyes downcast. But on the summit of a 
 little hill she half turned about in her saddle 
 and spoke a strange word. 
 
 ' Quintin," she said, " wherefore could ye 
 not have waited? Wherefore kenned ye no 
 better than to take a woman at her first 
 word?" 
 
 And with that she set the spurs to her 
 beast and went up the road toward the ford 
 at the gallop, till almost I feared to watch 
 her. 
 
 For a long time I stood sadly enough look- 
 ing after her. And I grant that my heart was 
 16
 
 232 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 like lead within me. My spirit had no power 
 in it. I cried out to God to let me die. 
 For it was scarce a fair thing that she should 
 have spoken that word now when it was too 
 late.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 BEHIND THE BROOM. 
 
 But this 30th of December had yet more 
 in store for me. The minting die was yet to 
 be dinted deeper into my heart. 
 
 For, as I turned me about to go back the 
 way I came, there by the copse side, where the 
 broom grew highest, stood Jean Gemmell, with 
 a face suddenly drawn thin, grey-white and wan 
 like the melting snow. 
 
 " Jean! " I cried, " what do ye there? " 
 
 She tried to smile, but her eyes had a fixed 
 and glassy look, and she seemed to be master- 
 ing herself so that she might speak. 
 
 I think that she had a speech prepared in 
 her heart, for several times she strove to begin, 
 and the words were always the same. But at 
 last all that she could say was no more than 
 this, " You love her? " 
 
 And with a little hand she pointed to where 
 
 the Lady Mary had disappeared. I could 
 
 233
 
 234 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 see it shaking like a willow leaf as she held it 
 out. 
 
 " Jean," said I, kindly as I could, " what 
 brought you so far from home on such a bitter 
 day? It is not fit. You will get your death 
 of cold." 
 
 " I have gotten my death," she said, with a 
 little gasping laugh, " I have gotten my sen- 
 tence. Do not I take it well? " 
 
 And she tried to smile again. 
 
 Then I went quickly to her, and caught her 
 by the hand, and put my arm about her. For 
 I feared that she would fall prostrate where she 
 stood. Notwithstanding, she kept on smiling 
 through unshed tears, and never for a moment 
 took her eyes off my face. 
 
 1 I heard what you and she said. Yes, I 
 listened. A great lady would not have listened. 
 But I am no better than a little cot-house lass, 
 and I spied upon you. Yes, I hid among the 
 broom. You will never forgive me." 
 
 I tried to hush her with kind words, but 
 somehow they seemed to pass her by. I think 
 she did not even hear them. 
 
 ' You love her," she said; "yes, I know it. 
 Jonita told me that from the first — that I could 
 never be your wife, though I had led you on.
 
 BEHIND THE BROOM. 235 
 
 Yes, I own it. I tried to win you. A great 
 lady would not. But I did. I threw myself 
 in your way. Shamelessly I cast myself — Jo- 
 nita says it — into your arms! 
 
 " Ah, God! " she broke off with a little fran- 
 tic cry, sinking her head between her palms 
 quickly, and then flinging her arms down. 
 " And would I not have cast myself under your 
 feet as readily, that you might trample me? I 
 know I am not long for this world. I ken that 
 I have bartered away eternity for naught. I 
 have lied to God. And why not? You that 
 are a minister, tell me why not? Would not 
 I gladly barter all heaven for one hour of your 
 love on earth? You may despise me, but I 
 loved you. Yes, she is great, fair, full of length 
 of days and pride of life — the Lord of Earls- 
 toun's daughter. Yet — and yet — and yet, she 
 could not love you better than I. In that I 
 defy her! 
 
 " And she shall have you — yes, I will give 
 you up to her. For that is the one way an 
 ignorant lass can love. They tell me that by 
 to-morrow you will be no longer minister. 
 You will be put out of the manse like a bird 
 out of a harried nest. And at first I was glad 
 when I heard it. For (thought I) he will come
 
 236 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 and tell me. We will be poor together. She 
 said the truth, for indeed she knoweth some- 
 what, this Lady Mary — ' Love is not posses- 
 sions!' No, but it is possessing. And I had 
 but one — but one! And that she has taken 
 away from me." 
 
 She lifted her kerchief to her lips, for all 
 suddenly a fit of coughing had taken her. 
 
 In a moment she drew it away, glanced at 
 it quickly, and lo! it was stained with a clear 
 and brilliant red. 
 
 Then she laughed abruptly, a strange, hol- 
 low-sounding little laugh. 
 
 "I am glad — glad," she said. "Ah! this 
 is my warrant for departure. Well do I ken 
 the sign, for I mind when my brother An- 
 drew saw it first. Quintin, dear lad, you will 
 get her yet, and with honour." 
 
 " Come, Jean," said I, gently as I could, 
 " the air is shrewd. You are ill and weak. 
 Lean on my arm, and I will take you home." 
 
 She looked up at me with dry, brilliant eyes. 
 There was nothing strange about them save 
 that the lids seemed swollen and unnaturally 
 white. 
 
 ' Quintin," she made answer, smiling, " it 
 was foolish from the first, was it not, lad o' my
 
 BEHIND THE BROOM. 237 
 
 love? Did you ever say a sweet thing to me, 
 like one that comes courting a lass in the 
 gloaming? Say it now to me, will you not? I 
 would like to hear how it would have sounded." 
 
 I was silent. I seemed to have no words to 
 answer her with. 
 
 She laughed a little. 
 
 " I forgot. Pardon me, Quintin. You are 
 in trouble to-day — deep trouble. I should not 
 add to it. It is I who should say loving things 
 to you. But then — then — you would care 
 more for flouts and anger from her than for all 
 the naked sweetness of poor Jean Gemmell's 
 heart." 
 
 And the very pitifulness of her voice drew 
 a cry of anger out of my breast. At the first 
 sound of it she stopped and leaned back in my 
 arms to look into my face. Then she put up 
 her hand very gently and patted me tenderly 
 on the cheek like one that comforts a fretful 
 fractious child. 
 
 " I vex you," she said, " you that have over- 
 much to vex you. But I shall not vex you 
 long. See," she said, " there is the door. Yon- 
 der is my father standing by it. He is looking 
 at us under his hand. There is Jonita, too, 
 and your brother Hob. Shall we go and tell
 
 238 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 them that this is all a mistake, that there is to 
 be no more between us? — that we are free —   
 free, both of us — you to wed the Lady Mary, 
 I to keep my tryst — to keep my tryst — with 
 Death!" 
 
 At the last words her voice sank to a 
 whisper. 
 
 Something broke in her throat and seemed 
 to choke her. She fell back in my arms with 
 her kerchief again to her mouth. 
 
 They saw us from the door, and Alexander- 
 Jonita came flying towards us like the wind 
 over the short grass of the meadow. 
 
 Jean took her kerchief away, without look- 
 ing at it this time. She lifted her eyes to mine 
 and smiled very sweetly. 
 
 ' I am glad — glad," she whispered; " do not 
 be sorry, Quintin. But do just this one thing 
 for me, will you, lad — but only this one thing. 
 Do not tell them. Let us pretend. Would it 
 be wrong, think you, to pretend a little that you 
 love me? You are a minister, and should know. 
 But, if you could — why, it would be so sweet. 
 And then it would not be for long, Quintin." 
 
 She spoke coaxingly, and withal most ten- 
 derly. 
 
 " Jean, I do love you! " I cried.
 
 BEHIND THE BROOM. 2 Xg 
 
 And for the first time in my life I meant it. 
 She seemed to be like my sister Anna to me. 
 
 By this time, seeing Jonita coming, she had 
 recovered herself somewhat and taken my arm. 
 At my words she pressed it a little, and smiled. 
 ' Oh," she said, " you need not begin yet. 
 Only before them. I want them to think that 
 you love me a little, you see. Is it not small 
 and foolish of me? " 
 
 ' But I do — I do truly love you, Jean," I 
 cried. " Did you ever know me to tell a lie? " 
 
 She smiled again and nodded, like one who 
 smiles at a child who has well learned his lesson. 
 
 Alexander-Jonita came rushing up. 
 
 "Jean, Jean, where have you been? What 
 is the matter? " 
 
 ' I have been meeting Quintin," she said, 
 with a bright and heavenly look; " he has been 
 telling me how he loves me."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 JEAN GEMMELL'S BARGAIN WITH GOD. 
 
 Yet more grimly bitter than the day of De- 
 cember the thirtieth fell the night. I wandered 
 by the bank of the river, where the sedges rus- 
 tled lonely and dry by the marge, whispering 
 and chuckling to each other that a forlorn, 
 broken man was passing by. A " smurr " of 
 rain had begun to fall at the hour of dusk, and 
 the slight ice of the morning had long since 
 broken up. The water lisped and sobbed as the 
 wind of winter lapped at the ripples, and the 
 peat-brew of the hills took its sluggish way to 
 the sea. 
 
 Over against me, set on its hill, I saw the 
 
 lighted windows of the kirk of Crossmichael. 
 
 Well I knew what that meant. Mine enemies 
 
 were sitting there in conclave. They would 
 
 not rise till I was no more minister of the Kirk 
 
 of Scotland. They would thrust me out, and 
 
 whither should I go? To what folk could I 
 240
 
 JEAN GEMMELL'S BARGAIN WITH GOD. 24 1 
 
 minister — an it were not, like Alexander-Jonita, 
 to the wild beasts of the hills? A day before I 
 should have been elated at the thought. But 
 now, for the first time, I saw myself unworthy. 
 
 Who was I, that thought so highly of my- 
 self, that I should appoint me Standard Bearer 
 of the noble banner of the Covenants. A man 
 weak as other men! Nay, infinitely weaker and 
 worse. The meanest hind who worked in the 
 fields to bring home four silver shillings a week 
 to his wife and bairns was better than I. 
 
 A Standard Bearer! I laughed now at the 
 thought, and the rushes by the water's edges 
 chuckled and sneered in answering derision. 
 
 A Standard Bearer, God wot! Renegade 
 and traitor, rather; a man who could not keep 
 his plain vows, whose erring and wandering 
 heart went after vanities; one that had broken 
 a maiden's heart — unwitting and unintending, 
 did he pretend? Faugh! that was what every 
 Lovelace alleged as his excuse. 
 
 I had thought myself worthy to do battle 
 for the purity of the Kirk of my fathers. I 
 had pretended that her independence, her posi- 
 tion and her power were dearer than life to me. 
 I saw it all now. It was mine own place and 
 position I had been warring for.
 
 242 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Also had I not set myself above my breth- 
 ren? Had I not said, " Get far from me, for 
 am I not holier than thou? " 
 
 And God, who does not pay His wages on 
 Saturday night, had waited. So now He came 
 to me and said, " Who art thou, Quintin Mac- 
 Clellan, that thou shouldst dare to touch the 
 ark of God?" 
 
 And as I looked across the dark waters I 
 saw the light burn clearer and clearer in the 
 kirk of Crossmichael. They were lighting more 
 candles that they might see the better to make 
 an end. 
 
 ' God speed them," cried I, in the darkness; 
 ' they are doing God's work. For they could 
 do nothing except it were permitted of Him. 
 Shall I step into the boat that rocks and clat- 
 ters with the little wavelets leaping against its 
 side? Shall I call John the ferryman and go 
 over and make my submission before them all? ' : 
 
 I could tell them what an unworthy, for- 
 sworn, ill-hearted man I am. 
 
 Thus I stood by the riverside. Almost I 
 had lifted up my voice to cry aloud that I would 
 make this acknowledgment and reparation, 
 when through the darkness I saw a shape ap- 
 proach.
 
 JEAN GEMMELL'S BARGAIN WITH GOD. 243 
 
 A voice said in my ear, " Come — Jean Gem- 
 mell is taken suddenly ill. She would see you 
 at once." 
 
 Then I was aware that this 30th of Decem- 
 ber was to be my great day of judgment and 
 wrath, when the six vials were to be loosed 
 upon me. I knew that the Lord whose name 
 I had taken in vain was that day to smite me 
 with a great smiting, because, being unworthy, 
 I had put out my hand to stay the ark of the 
 covenant of God. 
 
 " Hob," said I, for it was my brother who 
 had come to summon me, " is she yet alive? ' : 
 
 "Alive!" said he, abruptly. "Why, bless 
 the man, she wants you to marry her." 
 
 " Marry " said I, " I am a minister of 
 
 the kirk. I have ever spoken against irregular 
 marriages. How can I marry without another 
 minister? " 
 
 Hob laughed a short laugh. He never 
 thought much of my love-making. 
 
 "Better marry than burn!" quoth he, ab- 
 ruptly. " Mr. Hepburn, of Buittle Kirk, is 
 here. He came over to hearten you in the day 
 of your adversity." 
 
 Then I recognised the hand of God in the 
 thing and bowed my head.
 
 244 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 So in an aching expectant silence, hearing 
 only a poor divided heart pulse within me, I 
 followed Hob over the moor, and up by the 
 sides of the frozen mosses to the house of 
 Drumglass. He knew the way blindfold, which 
 shows what a wonderful gift he had among the 
 hills. For I myself had gone that way ten 
 times for his once. Yet that night, save for my 
 brother, I had stumbled to my hurt among the 
 
 crags. 
 
 Presently we came to the entering in of the 
 farmyard. Lights were gleaming here and 
 there, and I saw some of the servant men clus- 
 tered at the stable door. 
 
 There was a hush of expectation about the 
 place, as if they were waiting for some notable 
 thing which was about to happen. 
 
 Nathan Gemmell met me in the outer hall, 
 and shook me by the hand silently, like a chief 
 mourner at a funeral. Then he led the way 
 into the inner room. Hepburn came forward 
 also, and took my hand. He was a man of dark 
 and determined countenance, yet with singular- 
 ly lovable eyes which now and then unexpect- 
 edly beaconed kindliness. 
 
 Jean sat on a great chair, and beside her 
 stood Alexander- Jonita.
 
 JEAN GEMMELL'S BARGAIN WITH GOD. 245 
 
 When I came in Jean rose firmly to her feet. 
 She looked about her with a proud look like 
 one that would say, " See, all ye people, this is 
 he!" 
 
 "Quintin!" she said, and laying her thin 
 fingers on my shoulders, she looked deep into 
 my eyes. 
 
 Never did I meet such a look. It seemed 
 to be compound of life and death, of the love 
 earthly and the love eternal. 
 
 " Good friends," she said, calmly turning to 
 them as though she had been the minister and 
 accustomed to speak in the hearing of men, " I 
 have summoned my love hastily. I have some- 
 what to say to him. Will you leave us alone 
 for ten minutes? I have a word to say in his 
 ear alone. It is not strange, is it, at such a 
 time?" 
 
 And she smiled brightly upon them, while 
 I stood dumb and astonished. For I knew not 
 whence the lass, ordinarily so still and fond, 
 had gotten her language. She spoke as one 
 who has long made up his mind, and to whom 
 fit and prepared words come without effort. 
 
 When they were gone she sat down on the 
 chair again, and, taking my hand, motioned me 
 to kneel down beside her.
 
 246 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Then she laid her hand to my hair and 
 touched it lightly. 
 
 ' Quintin," she said, " you and I have not 
 long to sit sweethearting together. I must 
 say quickly that which I have to say. I am, 
 you will peradventure think, a bold, immodest 
 lass. You remember it was I who courted you, 
 compelled you, followed you, spied on you. 
 But then, you see, I loved you. Now I want to 
 ask you to marry me! " 
 
 ' Nay," she said, interrupting my words 
 more with her hand than her voice, "misjudge 
 me not. I am to die — to die soon. It has 
 been revealed to me that I have bartered the 
 life eternal for this. And, since so it is, I de- 
 sire to drink the sweetness of it to the" cup's 
 bottom. I have made a bargain with God. I 
 have prayed, and I have promised that if He 
 will put it in your heart to wed with me for 
 an hour, I will take with gratitude and thank- 
 fulness all that lies waiting over there, beyond 
 the Black River." 
 
 She waved her hand down toward the Dee 
 water. 
 
 I smiled and nodded hopefully and com- 
 fortingly to her. At that moment I felt that 
 nothing was too great for me to do. And it
 
 JEAN GEMMELL'S BARGAIN WITH GOD. 247 
 
 mattered little when I married her. I had ever 
 meant to be true to her — save in that which I 
 could not help, the love of my heart of hearts, 
 which, having been another's from the begin- 
 ning was not mine to give. 
 
 Jean Gemmell smiled. 
 
 ' I thank you, Ouintin," she said, " this is 
 like you, and better than I deserve. Had it 
 been a matter of days or weeks I would never 
 have troubled you. But 'tis only the matter of 
 an hour or two! " 
 
 She paused a little, stroking my head fondly. 
 
 " And afterwards you will say, remembering 
 me, ' Poor young thing, she loved me, loved 
 me truly! ' Ah, Ouintin, I think I should have 
 made you a good wife. Love helps all things, 
 they say. Put your hand below my head, Quin- 
 tin. Tell me again that you love me. Sweet- 
 heart ' (now she was whispering), " do you 
 know I have to tell you all that you should say 
 to me? Is that fair — that I should make love 
 to you and to myself too? " 
 
 I groaned aloud. 
 
 " God help us, Jean," I said, " we shall yet 
 
 be happy together." And at the moment I 
 
 meant it. I felt that a lifetime of sacrifice 
 
 would not make up for such love. 
 17
 
 248 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 She patted me on the head pacifyingly as 
 if I had been a fractious bairn that needed hu- 
 mouring. 
 
 " Yes, yes, then," she said, soothingly, " we 
 shall be happy, you and I. What was it you 
 said the other Sabbath day? I knew not 
 what it meant then. But methinks I begin 
 to understand now — ' passing the love of 
 woman ! ' " 
 
 The cough shook her, but she strove to hide 
 it, going on quickly with her words like one 
 who has no time to lose. 
 
 ' That is the way I love you, Quintin, 
 ' passing the love of women.' Why, I do not 
 even grudge you to her." 
 
 She smiled again, and said cheerfully, " Now 
 we will call them in." 
 
 I was going to the door to do it according 
 to her word, for that night we all obeyed her 
 as though she had been the Queen. I was 
 almost at the door when she rose all trem- 
 bling to her feet and held out her arms entreat- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Quintin, Quintin, kiss me once," she said, 
 " once before they come." 
 
 I ran to her and kissed her on the brow. 
 'Oh, not there! On the mouth. It is my
 
 JEAN GEMMELL'S BARGAIN WITH GOD. 249 
 
 right. I have paid for it! " she cried. And so 
 I did. 
 
 Then she drew down my head and set her 
 lips to my ear. " I lied to you, laddie — yes, I 
 lied. I do grudge you to her. Oh, I do, I do! " 
 
 And for the first time one mighty sob 
 caught her by the throat and rent her. 
 
 Nevertheless she straightened herself with 
 her hand to her breast, like a wounded soldier 
 who salutes his general ere he dies, and com- 
 manded her emotion. " Yes," she said, look- 
 ing upwards and speaking as if to one unseen, 
 ' I will play the game fairly; I have promised 
 and I will not repine, nor go back on my 
 word! " 
 
 She turned to me, " It is not a time for 
 bairn's greeting. We are to be married, you 
 and I, are we not? Call them in." 
 
 And she laughed a little bashfully and fitly 
 as the folk came in and smiled to one and the 
 other as they entered. 
 
 Then to me she beckoned. 
 
 ' Come and hold my hand all the time. 
 Clasp my fingers firmly. Do not let them go 
 lest I slip away too soon, Quintin. I need your 
 hand in mine — for to-night, Quintin, just only 
 for this one night! "
 
 250 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Even thus Jean Gemmell and I were mar- 
 ried. 
 
 • *•»••• 
 
 And after all was done I laid her on her bed, 
 and she rested there till near the dawning with 
 my hand firmly held in hers. Mostly her eyes 
 were shut, but every now and then she would 
 smile up at me like one that encourages another 
 in a weary wait. 
 
 Once she said, " Isn't it sweet? " 
 
 And then again, and near to the gloaming 
 of the morn, she whispered, " It will not be 
 long now, laddie mine? " 
 
 Nor was it, for within an hour the soul of 
 Jean Gemmell went out in one long loving look, 
 and with the faintest murmur of her lips which 
 only my ear could catch — " Passing the love of 
 women," she said, and again — " passing the love 
 of women! " 
 
 And it was my hand alone that spread the 
 fair white cloth over her dead face which still 
 had the smile upon it, and over the pale lips 
 that she had asked me to kiss. 
 
 Then, as I stumbled blindly down the hill, 
 I looked beyond the dark and sluggish river 
 rolling beneath over to the Kirk of Cross- 
 michael. And even as I stood looking, the
 
 JEAN GEMMELL'S BARGAIN WITH GOD. 25 1 
 
 lights in the windows went out. It was done. 
 I was a man in one day widowed, forsaken, out- 
 cast. 
 
 But more than kirk or ministry or even 
 Christ's own covenant, I thought upon Jean 
 Gemmell.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 RUMOUR OF WAR. 
 
 (Connect and Addition by Hob MacClcllan.) 
 
 The crown had indeed been set upon the 
 work. The business, as said the Right Rever- 
 end Presbytery, was finished, and with well-sat- 
 isfied hearts the brethren went back to their 
 manses. 
 
 It was long ere in his private capacity my 
 
 brother could lift up his head or speak to us 
 
 that were about him. The dark day and darker 
 
 night of the 30th of December had sorely 
 
 changed him. He was like one standing alone, 
 
 the world ranged against him. Then I that 
 
 was his brother according to the flesh watched 
 
 him carefully. Never did he pace by the rivers 
 
 of waters nor yet climb the heathery steeps of 
 
 the Dornal without a companion. There were 
 
 times when almost we feared for his reason. 
 
 But Quintin MacClellan, the deposed minister 
 252
 
 RUMOUR OF WAR. 
 
 253 
 
 of Balmaghie, was not the stuff of which self- 
 slayers are made. 
 
 When it chanced that I could not accom- 
 pany him, I had nothing to do but arrange with 
 Alexander-Jonita, and she would take the hill 
 or the water-edge, silent as a shadow, tireless 
 as a young deer. And with her to guard I 
 knew that my brother was safe. 
 
 Never did he know that any watched him, 
 for during these days he was a man walking 
 with shadows. I think he never ceased blaming 
 himself for poor Jean's death. At any rate 
 Quintin MacClellan was a changed man for 
 long after that night. 
 
 My mother came down from Ardarroch to 
 bide a while with him, and at orra times he 
 aroused himself somewhat to talk with her. 
 But when she began to speak of the ill-set Pres- 
 bytery, or even of the more familiar things at 
 home — the nowt, the horse, and the kindly kye 
 — I, who watched every shade on Ouintin's face 
 as keenly as if he had been my sweetheart, knew 
 well that his mind was wandering. And some- 
 times I thought it was set on the dead lass, and 
 sometimes I thought that he mourned for the 
 public misfortune which had befallen him. 
 
 To the outer world, the world of the parish
 
 254 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 and the countryside, he kept ever a brave face. 
 He preached with yet more mighty power and 
 acceptance. The little kirk was crowded Sab- 
 bath after Sabbath. Those who had once 
 spoken against him did it no more openly in the 
 parish of Balmaghie. 
 
 With calm front and assured carriage he 
 went about his duties, as though there were no 
 Presbyteries nor forces military to carry out 
 his sentence of removal and deposition. 
 
 Only the chief landowners wished him away. 
 For mostly they were men of evil life, rough- 
 spoken and darkly tarred with scandal. My 
 brother had been over-faithful with them in re- 
 proof. For it was of Ouintin that an old wife 
 had said, " God gie thee the fear o' Himsel', 
 laddie! For faith, ye haena the fear o' man 
 aboot ye! " 
 
 But there were others who could take steps 
 as well as Presbyteries and officers of the law. 
 
 Alexander-Jonita rode like a storm-cloud up 
 and down the glen and listed the lads to do 
 her will, as indeed they were ever all too ready 
 to do. Her father, with several of the elders, 
 men grave and reverend, met to concert meas- 
 ures for defending the bounds, lest the enemy 
 should try to oust their minister out of his
 
 RUMOUR OF WAR. 255 
 
 " warm nest," as they called the manse which 
 cowered down under lee of the kirk. 
 
 So it came about that there was scarce a 
 man in Balmaghie who was not enrolled to pro- 
 tect the passage perilous of kirk and manse. 
 The parish became almost like a defended city 
 or an entrenched camp. There were watchers 
 upon the hilltops everywhere. Week-day and 
 Sabbath-day they abode there. All the fords 
 were guarded, the river-fronts patrolled, for 
 save on the wild and mountainous side our par- 
 ish is surrounded by waters deep and broad or 
 else rapid and dangerous. 
 
 Did a couple of ministers approach from 
 Crossmichael to " preach the kirk vacant " their 
 boat was pushed back again into the stream, 
 and a hundred men stood in line to prevent a 
 landing. Yet all was carried out with decency 
 and order, as men do who have taken a great 
 matter in hand and are prepared to stand within 
 their danger. 
 
 The elders also held mysterious colloquies 
 with men from a distance, who went and came 
 to their houses under cloud of night. There 
 was discipline and drill by Gideon Henderson 
 and other former officers of the Scotch Dutch 
 regiments. I remember a muster on the mead-
 
 256 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ows of the Duchrae at which a stern-faced man, 
 with his face half muffled, came and put us 
 through our duty. I knew by the tones of his 
 voice that this was none other than the Colonel 
 Sir William Gordon who had marched with us 
 to Edinburgh in the great convention year. 
 
 But the climax was yet to come. 
 
 It was in July that the Sheriff had first tried 
 in vain to land at the Kirk-Knowe in order to 
 expel my brother from his manse'. But a hun- 
 dred men had started up out of the bushes, and 
 with levelled pistols turned the boat back again 
 to the further shore. 
 
 Next there was a gathering of the Presby- 
 tery at Cullenoch, under the wing of the Laird 
 of Balmaghie, to concert measures with the 
 other landowners, who in time past had often 
 smarted under Ouintin's rebuke. It was to be 
 held at the inn, and the debate was to settle 
 many things. 
 
 But alas! when the day came every room 
 in the hostel was filled with armed men, so that 
 there was no place for the reverend fathers and 
 their terrified hosts. 
 
 So without in the wide spaces where four 
 roads meet, the Presbyters one by one ad- 
 dressed the people, if addresses they could be
 
 RUMOUR OF WAR. 
 
 257 
 
 called, which were interrupted at every other 
 sentence. 
 
 It was Warner, the father of the Presbytery, 
 who was speaking when I arrived. He was one 
 of those who had sat safe and snug under the 
 King's indulgences and agreements in the days 
 of persecution. 
 
 " People of Balmaghie," he cried, " hearken 
 to me. Ye are supporting a man that is no 
 minister, a man outed and deposed. Your chil- 
 dren will be unbaptized, your marriages un- 
 blessed, yourselves excommunicated, because of 
 this man! " 
 
 ' Maister Warner," cried a voice from the 
 crowd, which I knew for that of Drumglass, 
 4 I am auld eneuch to mind how ye were a 
 member in the Presbytery at Sunday-wall that 
 sat on Richard Cameron in order to depose him. 
 Now ye wad spend your persecuting breath on 
 our young minister. Gang hame, man, and 
 think on your latter end! " 
 
 But, indeed, as half-a-dozen bare swords 
 were within a yard of his nose, Mr. Warner 
 might quite as well have thought on his latter 
 end where he was. 
 
 Then it was Cameron's turn. But him the 
 people would not listen to on any protest, be-
 
 258 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 cause he had been accounted chief agent and 
 mover in the process of law against their min- 
 ister. 
 
 " Better ye had died at Ayrsmoss wi' you 
 twa brithers," they cried to him; " man, ye'll 
 never win nearer to them than Kirkcudbright 
 town. And Guid kens that's an awesome lang 
 road frae heeven! " 
 
 To Telfair the Ghost-seer of Rerrick, they 
 cried, when he strove to say a word, " What 
 for did ye no bring the deil wi' ye in a bag? 
 Man, ye are ower great wi' him. But there's 
 neither witch nor warlock can look at MacClel- 
 lan's cup nor come near our minister. It's easy 
 seen Ouintin MacClellan wasna in the Presby- 
 tery when the deil played sic pliskies doon aboot 
 the Rerrick shores." 
 
 Then came Boyd, who in his day had pro- 
 claimed King William at Glasgow Cross. But 
 he found that an easier task than to shout down 
 the cause of righteousness at the Four Roads 
 of Pluckemin. 
 
 " You pay overmuch attention to the words 
 of a man without honour! ' : This was his 
 beginning, heard over all the crowd to 
 the very midst of the street, for he had a 
 great voice, which in a better cause would
 
 RUMOUR OF WAR. 
 
 259 
 
 have been listened to like the voice of an 
 apostle. 
 
 " Have ye paid back the siller the poor hill- 
 folk spent on your colleging? " they asked him. 
 " Our minister paid for his ain schooling." 
 
 The question was a feathered arrow in the 
 white, but Boyd avoided it. 
 
 " Your minister is a man that should be 
 ashamed to enter a kirk and preach the Gos- 
 pel. Who would associate with the like of 
 Quintin MacClellan? " 
 
 " Of a certainty not traitors and turn- 
 coats!" cried a deep voice in the background, 
 toward which all turned in amazement. 
 
 It was that of Sir Alexander Gordon of 
 Earlstoun, the reputed head of the Societies, 
 whose boast it had been that he could call seven 
 thousand men to arms in the day of trouble. 
 
 I saw Boyd pale to the lips at sight of him. 
 
 " I do not argue with sectaries! " he stam- 
 mered, turning on his heel. 
 
 " Nor I with knavish deceivers," cried Al- 
 exander Gordon, " of whom there are two here 
 — Andrew Cameron and William Boyd. With 
 this right hand I paid them the golden money 
 for their education, wrung from the instant 
 needs of poor hill folk who had lost their all,
 
 26o THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 and who depended oftentime on charity for 
 their bite of bread. From men attainted, from 
 men earning in foreign lands the bitter bread 
 of exile, from men and women imprisoned, shil- 
 ling by shilling, penny by penny, that money 
 came. It was ill-spent on men like these. Wil- 
 liam Boyd and Andrew Cameron swore solemn 
 oaths. They took upon them the unbreakable 
 and immutable Covenants. In time they be- 
 came ministers, and we looked for words of 
 light and wisdom and guidance from them. 
 But we of the Faithful Remnant looked in vain. 
 For lo! Caesar sat upon his throne, and right 
 gladly they bowed the knee. They licked the 
 gold from his garments like honey. They 
 mumbled his shoe-string that he might gra- 
 ciously permit them to sit at ease in his high 
 places. 
 
 ' Bah! " he cried, so that his voice was heard 
 miles off on the hill-tops, " out upon all such 
 cowards and traitors! And now, folk of this 
 parish, will ye let such scurril loons persuade 
 you to give up your true and faithful minister, 
 on whose tongue is the word of truth, and in 
 whose heart is no fear of the face of any man? " 
 
 The frightened Presbyters melted before 
 him, some of them swarming off with the men
 
 RUMOUR OF WAR. 2 6l 
 
 of evil life — the lairds and heritors of the parish. 
 Others mounted their horses and rode home- 
 ward as if the devil of Rerrick himself had been 
 after them. 
 
 Thus was ended the Disputation of Cullen- 
 och near to Clachanpluck, in the shaming of 
 those that withstood us.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 alexander-jonita's victory. 
 
 But as for my brother, concerning whom 
 was all this pother, he took no hand at all in 
 the matter. If the people wished him to abide 
 with them, they must maintain him there. 
 Contrariwise, if the Master he served had other 
 fields of labour, he would break down dykes 
 and make plain his path before him. 
 
 But as it was, he went about as usual with 
 his pilgrim staff in his hand visiting the sick, 
 succouring the poor, lifting up the head of 
 weakness and pain. 
 
 On the day when the Sheriff came with his 
 men to the water-edge, Quintin saw from the 
 manse window a little cloud of men running 
 hither and thither upon the river-bank. 
 
 ' There is surely some great ploy of fishing 
 
 afoot! " he said, quietly, and so let his eyes fall 
 
 again contentedly upon his book. 
 262
 
 ALEXANDER-JONITA'S VICTORY. 263 
 
 " Faith, 'tis easy to hoodwink a learned 
 man," cried Alexander-Jonita when I told her. 
 
 It was at this time that I grew to love the 
 lass yet more and more. For she flashed hither 
 and thither, and whereas she had been no great 
 one for housework hitherto, now since her sis- 
 ter's death she would be much more indoors. 
 Also, with the old man her father, she was ex- 
 ceedingly patient in his oftentime garrulity. 
 But specially in the defence of the parish on 
 Quintin's behalf against the civil arm, she was 
 indefatigable. 
 
 Often she would go dressed as a heartsome 
 young callant, with clothes that her own needle 
 had made, her own deft fingers fashioned. And 
 in cavalier attire, I tell you, Alexander-Jonita 
 took the eyes of lass and lady. Once, when we 
 rode by Dee-bridge, a haughty dame sent back 
 her servant to ask of me, whom she took to be 
 a man-in-waiting, the name of the handsome 
 young gentleman I served. 
 
 I replied with dignity, " Tis the young Lord 
 Alexander Johnstone," which was as near the 
 truth as I could come at a quick venture. 
 
 In that crowning ploy of which I have still 
 
 to tell, it was Alexander-Jonita who played 
 
 the leading part. 
 18
 
 264 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 The Sheriff, being admonished for his slack- 
 ness by his legal superiors, and complained of 
 by the reverend court of the Presbytery, re- 
 solved to make a bold push for it, and at one 
 blow to take final possession of kirk and manse. 
 
 So he summoned the yeomanry of the prov- 
 ince to meet him under arms at the village of 
 Causewayend, which stands near the famous 
 and beautiful loch of Carlinwark, on a certain 
 day, under penalties of fine and imprisonment. 
 And about a hundred men on horseback, all well 
 armed and mounted, drew together on the day 
 appointed. A fine breezy day in August, it 
 was — when many of them doubtless came with 
 small good-will from their corn-fields, where a 
 winnowing wind searched the stooks till the 
 ripe grain rustled with the parched well-won 
 sound that is music to the farmer's ear. 
 
 But if the news of gathering of the yeo- 
 manry had been spread by summons, far more 
 wide and impressive had been the counter call 
 sent throughout the parish of Balmaghie. 
 
 For farmer and cotter alike knew that mat- 
 ters had come to the perilous pinch with us, 
 and if it should be that the civil powers were not 
 turned aside now, all the past watching and 
 sacrifice would prove in vain.
 
 ALEXANDER-JONITA'S VICTORY. 265 
 
 It was about noon when the sentinels re- 
 ported that the Sheriff and his hundred horse- 
 men had crossed Dee water, and were advanc- 
 ing by rapid stages. 
 
 Now it was Jonita's plan to draw together 
 the women also — for what purpose we did not 
 see. But since she had summoned them her- 
 self it was not for any of us young men to say 
 her nay. 
 
 So by the green roadside, a mile from the 
 manse and kirk, Jonita had her hundred and 
 fifty or more women assembled, old and young, 
 mothers of families and wrinkled grandmothers 
 thereof, young maidens with the blushes on 
 their cheeks and the snood yet unloosed about 
 their hair. 
 
 Faith, spite of the grandmothers, many a 
 lad of us would have desired to be of that com- 
 pany that day! But Alexander-Jonita would 
 have none of us. We were to keep the castle, 
 so she commanded, with gun and sword. We 
 were to sit in our trenches about the kirk, and 
 let the women be our advance guard. 
 
 So when the trampling of horses was heard 
 from the southward, and the cavalcade came 
 to the narrows of the way, " Halt! " cried Alex- 
 ander-Jonita suddenly. And leaping out of the
 
 266 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 thicket like a young roe of the mountains, she 
 seized the Sheriff's bridle rein. At the same 
 moment her hundred and fifty women trooped 
 out and stood ranked and silent right across 
 the path of the horsemen. 
 
 " What do ye here? Let go, besom! " cried 
 the Sheriff. 
 
 " Go back to those that sent ye, Sheriff," 
 commanded Alexander-Jonita, " for an' ye will 
 put out our minister, ye must ride over us and 
 wet the feet of your horses in our women's 
 blood." 
 
 " Out upon you, lass! Let men do their 
 work! " cried the Sheriff, who was a jolly, rol- 
 licking man, and, moreover, as all knew, like 
 most sheriffs, not unkindly disposed to the sex. 
 
 " Leave you our minister alone to do his 
 work. I warrant he will not meddle with you," 
 answered Alexander-Jonita. 
 
 "Faith, but you are a well-plucked one! ' : 
 cried the Sheriff, looking down with admiration 
 on her, " but now out of the way with you, for 
 I must forward with my work." 
 
 " Sir," said the lass, " ye may turn where ye 
 are, and ride back whence ye came, for we will 
 by no means let you proceed one step nearer to 
 the kirk of Balmaghie this day! "
 
 ALEXANDER-JONITA S VICTORY. 267 
 
 " Forward! " cried the Sheriff, loudly, to his 
 men, thinking to intimidate the women. 
 
 "Stand firm, lasses!" cried Alexander-Jo- 
 nita, clinging to the Sheriff's bridle-rein. 
 
 And the company of yeomanry stood still, 
 for, being mostly householders and fathers of 
 families, they could not bring themselves to 
 charge a company of women, as it might be 
 their own wives and daughters. 
 
 " Forward! " cried the Sheriff again. 
 
 " Aye, forward, gallant cavaliers! " cried Al- 
 exander-Jonita, ; ' forward, and ye shall have 
 great honour, Sheriff! More famous than my 
 Lord Marlborough shall be ye. Ride us down. 
 Put your horses to their speed. Be assured we 
 will not flinch! " 
 
 Time and again the Sheriff tried, now 
 threatening and now cajoling; but equally to 
 no purpose. 
 
 At last he grew tired. 
 
 " This is a thankless job," he said, turning 
 him about; "let them send their soldiers. I 
 am not obliged to fight for it." 
 
 And so with a " right about " and a wave of 
 the hand he took his valiant horsemen off by 
 the way they came. 
 
 And as they went they say that many a
 
 2 68 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 youth turned him on his saddle to cast a long- 
 ing look upon Alexander-Jonita, who stood 
 there tall and straight in the place where she 
 had so boldly confronted the Sheriff. 
 
 Then the women sang a psalm, while Alex- 
 ander-Jonita, leaping on a horse, rode a musket- 
 shot behind the retiring force, till she had seen 
 them safely across the river at the fords of Glen- 
 lochar, and so finally out of the parish bounds.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE ELDERS OF THE HILL FOLK. 
 
 (The Narrative taken up again by Quintin Mac- 
 
 Clellan.) 
 
 It was long before I could see clearly the 
 way I should go, after that dismal day and 
 night of which I have told the tale. 
 
 It seemed as if there was no goodness on the 
 earth, no use in my work, no right or excel- 
 lency in the battle I had fought and the sacri- 
 fice I had made. Ought I not even now to 
 give way? Surely God had not meant a man 
 so poor in spirit, so easily cast down to hold 
 aloft the standard of his ancient kirk. 
 
 But nevertheless, here before me and around 
 me, a present duty, were my parish and my 
 poor folk, so brave and loyal and steadfast. 
 Could I forsake them? Daily I heard tidings 
 of their struggling with the arm of flesh, though 
 I now judge that Hob, in some fear of my dis- 
 approval, would not venture to tell me all. 
 
 269
 
 270 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Yet I misdoubted that I had brought my 
 folk into a trouble which might in the event 
 prove a grievous enough one for them. 
 
 But a kind Providence watched over them 
 and me. For even when it came to the storm- 
 iest, the wind ceased and there was a blissful 
 breathing time of quietness and peace. 
 
 Also there was that happened about this 
 time which brought us at least for a time assur- 
 ance and security within our borders. 
 
 It was, as I remember it, a gurly night in 
 late September, the wind coming in gusts and 
 swirling flaws from every quarter, very evident- 
 ly blowing up for a storm. 
 
 Hob had come in silently and set him down 
 by the fire. He was peeling a willow wand for 
 his basket-weaving and looking into the em- 
 bers. I could hear Martha Little, our sharp- 
 tongued servant lass, clattering among her pots 
 and pans in the kitchen. As for me I was 
 among - my books, deep in Greek, which to 
 my shame I had been somewhat neglecting of 
 late. 
 
 Suddenly there came a loud knocking at the 
 outer door. 
 
 I looked at my plaid hung up to dry, and 
 bethought me who might be ill and in want
 
 THE ELDERS OF THE HILL FOLK. 
 
 271 
 
 of my ministrations upon such a threatening- 
 night. 
 
 I could hear Martha go to the door, and the 
 low murmur of voices without. 
 
 Then the door of the chamber opened and 
 I saw the faces and forms of half-a-dozen men 
 in the passage. 
 
 " It has come at last," thought I, for I ex- 
 pected that it might be the Sheriff and his 
 men come to expel me from the kindly shelter 
 of the manse. And though I should have sub- 
 mitted, I knew well that there would be blood- 
 shed on the morrow among my poor folk. 
 
 But it turned out far otherwise. 
 
 The first who entered into the house-place 
 was a tall, thin, darkish man, with a white pal- 
 lor of face and rigid fallen-in temples. His 
 eyes were fiery as burning coals, deep set under 
 his bushy eyebrows. Following him came Sir 
 Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun and in the lee 
 of his mighty form three or four others — douce, 
 grave, hodden-grey men every one of them, 
 earnest of eye and quiet of carriage. 
 
 Hob went out, unobserved as was his mod- 
 est wont, and I motioned them with courtesy 
 and observance to such seats as my little study 
 afforded.
 
 272 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 As usual there were stools everywhere, with 
 books upon them, and I observed with what 
 careful scrupulosity the men laid these upon 
 the table before sitting down. A Hebrew Bible 
 lay open on the desk, and one after another 
 stooped over it with an eager look of reverence. 
 
 I waited for them to speak. 
 
 It was the tall dark man who first broke 
 silence. 
 
 ' Reverend sir," he said, " what my name 
 is, it skills me not to tell. Enough that I am 
 a man that has suffered much from the strivings 
 of fleshly thorns, from the persecutions of un- 
 godly man. But now I am charged with a 
 mission and a message. 
 
 ' You have been cast out of the Kirk for 
 adherence to the ancient way. Yet you have 
 upheld in weakness and the frailty of mortal 
 man the banner of the older Covenant. You 
 are not ignorant that there are still societies 
 and general meetings of the Suffering Rem- 
 nant of men who have never declined, as you 
 yourself have done, from the plain way of con- 
 science and righteousness. 
 
 ' Yet the man doth not live who doeth good 
 and sinneth not. So because we desire a minis- 
 ter, we would offer you the strong sustaining
 
 THE ELDERS OF THE HILL FOLK. 273 
 
 hand. Though you be not able at once to unite 
 with us, nor for the present to take upon you 
 our strait and heavy testimony, yet because you 
 have been faithful to your lights we will stand 
 by you and see that no man hinder or molest 
 you." 
 
 And the others, beginning with Sir Alex- 
 ander Gordon, said likewise, " We will support 
 you!" 
 
 Then I knew that these men were the lead- 
 ers and elders among the Hill Folk, and the 
 ancient reverence to which I was born took 
 hold on me. For I had been brought up 
 among them as a lad, and my mother had 
 spoken to me constantly of their great piety 
 and abounding steadfastness in the day of trou- 
 ble. These were they who had never tangled 
 themselves with any entrapping engagements. 
 They alone were no seceders, for they had never 
 entered any State Church. 
 
 With a great price had I obtained this free- 
 dom, but these men were free-born. 
 
 " I thank you, sirs," I answered, bowing my 
 head. " I have indeed sought to keep the Way, 
 but I have erred so greatly in the past that I 
 cannot hope to guide my path aright for the 
 future. But one thing I shall at least seek
 
 274 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 after, and that is the glory of the great King, 
 and the honour and independence of the Kirk 
 of God in Scotland, Covenanted and Suffer- 
 
 ing! 
 
 The dark stern-faced man spoke again. 
 1 You are not yet one of us. You have yet 
 a far road to travel. But I, that am old, see a 
 vision. And one day you, Ouintin MacClellan, 
 shall serve tables among us of the Covenant. 
 I shall not see it with the eyes of flesh. For 
 even now my days are numbered, and the tale 
 of them is brief. Farewell! Be not afraid. 
 The Seven Thousand will stand behind you. 
 No evil shall befall you here or otherwhere. 
 The Seven Thousand have sworn it — they have 
 sworn it on the Holy Book, in the place of 
 Martyrs and in the House of Tears! ' : 
 
 And with that the six men went out 
 through the door and were lost in the darkness 
 of the night. And the wind from the waste 
 swept in and the lowe of the candle flickered 
 eerily as if they had been visitants from another 
 world.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 SILENCE IS GOLDEN. 
 
 It was not long after this that I found my- 
 self, almost against my will, skirting the side of 
 the long Loch of Ken, on the road to the Great 
 House of Earlstoun. 
 
 The lady of the Castle met me by the outer 
 gate. When I came near her she lifted up her 
 hands like a prophetess. 
 
 ' Three times have ye been warned ! The 
 Lord will not deal always gently with you. It 
 is ill to run with the hares and hunt with the 
 hounds! " 
 
 ' Mistress Gordon," said I, " wherein have 
 I now offended? ' : For indeed there was no 
 saying what cantrip she had taken into her 
 head. 
 
 " How was it then," she said, " that the talk 
 went through the countryside that ye were mar- 
 ried to that lassie Jean Gemmell on her dying 
 
 bed?" 
 
 275
 
 276 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ' It is true," said I, " but wherein was the 
 sin?" 
 
 ' Oh," said she, ' the sin was not in the 
 marrying (though that was doubtless a silly- 
 caper and the lass so near Dead's door), but 
 in being married by a minister of the Kirk Es- 
 tablished and uncovenanted." 
 
 ' But what else could I have done? " I 
 hasted to make answer; " there are none other 
 in all Scotland. For the Hill Folk have never 
 had an ordained minister, since they took down 
 James Renwick's body from the gallows tree, 
 and wrapped him gently in swaddling clothes 
 for his burial." 
 
 'It is even true," she said, "but I would 
 have gone unmarried till my dying day before 
 I would have let an Erastian servant of Belial 
 couple me. But I forgat — 'tis not long since 
 you yourself escaped from that fold! v 
 
 So there she stood so long on the step of 
 the door and argued concerning the points of 
 faith and doctrine without ever asking me in, 
 that at last I grew weary, and begged that she 
 would permit me to sit and refresh me on the 
 step of the well-house, which was close at hand, 
 even under the arch of the gateway. 
 
 r< Aye, surely, ye may that!" she made me
 
 SILENCE IS GOLDEN. 277 
 
 answer, and again took up her parable without 
 further offer of hospitality. 
 
 And even thus they found us, when Mary 
 Gordon and her father returned from the hill, 
 walking hand in hand as was their wont. 
 
 " Wi' Janet, woman!" cried hearty Alex- 
 ander, " what ails you at the minister that 
 ye have set him down there by the waters 
 o' Babylon like a pelican in the wilderness? 
 Could ye no hae asked the laddie ben and 
 gied him bite and sup? Come, lad," cried 
 he, reaching me a hand, ' step up wi' me — 
 there's brandy in the cupboard as auld as 
 yoursel'! " 
 
 But as for me I had thought of nothing but 
 the look in Mary Gordon's eyes. 
 
 "Brandy!" cried Jean Hamilton. " Alex- 
 ander, think shame — you that are an elder and 
 have likewise been privileged to be a sufferer 
 for the cause of truth, to be speaking about 
 French brandy at this hour o' the day. Do ye 
 not see that I have been refreshing the soul of 
 this poor, weak, downcast brother with appro- 
 priate meditations from my own spiritual diary 
 and covenantings? " 
 
 She took again a little closely-written book 
 from her swinging side-pocket.
 
 278 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " Let me see, we were, I think, at the third 
 section, and the " 
 
 " Lord help its — I'm azva! " cried Sandy Gor- 
 don suddenly, and vanished up the turnpike 
 stair. Mary Gordon held out her hand to me 
 in silence, permitted her eyes to rest a moment 
 on mine in calm and friendly fashion, all with- 
 out anger or embarrassment, and then softly 
 withdrawing her hand she followed her father 
 up the stairs. 
 
 I was again left alone with the Lady of 
 Earlstoun. 
 
 Tis a terrible cross that I must bear," said 
 that lugubrious professor, shaking her head, 
 " in that my man hath not the inborn grace 
 of my brother — ah — that proven testifier, 
 that most savoury professor, Sir Robert Ham- 
 ilton. For our Sandy is a man that cannot 
 stand prosperity and the quiet of the bieldy 
 bush. In time of peace he becomes like a 
 rusty horologe. He needs affliction and the 
 evil day, that his wheels may be taken to 
 pieces, oiled with the oil of mourning, washed 
 with tears of bitterness, and then set up 
 anew. Then for a while he goes on not 
 that ill." 
 
 ' Your husband has come through great
 
 SILENCE IS GOLDEN. 2 7Q 
 
 trials! " I said. For indeed I scarce knew what 
 to say to such a woman. 
 
 "Sandy — O aye!' cried his wife. "But 
 what are his trials to the ills which I have en- 
 dured with none to pity? Have not I suffered 
 his carnal doings well-nigh thirty years and held 
 my peace? Have I not wandered by the burn- 
 side and mourned for his sin? And now, worse 
 than all, my children seek after their father's 
 ways." 
 
 " Janet Hamilton," cried a great voice from 
 a window of the tower, " is there no dinner to 
 be gotten this day in the house of Earlstoun? " 
 
 The lady lifted up her hands in holy 
 horror. 
 
 ' Dinner, dinner — is this a time to be think- 
 ing aboot eating and drinking, when the land is 
 full of ravening and wickedness, and when in- 
 iquity sits unashamed in high places? " 
 
 ' Never ye heed fash your thumb about the 
 high places, Janet my woman," cried her hus- 
 band from the window, out of which his burly, 
 jovial head protruded. " E'en come your ways 
 in, my denty, and turn the weelgaun mill-hap- 
 per o' your tongue on yon lazy, guid-for-nae- 
 thing besoms in the kitchen. Then the high 
 
 places will never steer ye, and ye will hae a 
 19
 
 2 8o THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 stronger stomach to wrestle wi' the rest o' the 
 sins o' the times! " 
 
 " Sandy, Sandy, ye were ever by nature a 
 mocker! I fear ye have been looking upon the 
 strong drink! " 
 
 " Faith, lass," replied her husband, with the 
 utmost good humour, " I was e'en looking for 
 it — but the plague o' muckle o't there is to 
 be seen." 
 
 The Lady of Earlstoun arose forthwith and 
 went into the tall tower, from the lower stories 
 of which her voice, raised in flyting and contu- 
 melious discourse, could be distinctly heard. 
 
 " Ungrateful madams," so she addressed her 
 subordinates, " get about your business! Hear 
 ye not that the Laird is quarrelling for his din- 
 ner, which ought to have been served half-an- 
 hour as:o bv the clock! 
 
 " Nay, tell me not that I keeped you so long 
 at the taking of the Book that there was no 
 time left for the kirning of the butter. Never 
 ought is lost by the service of the Lord." 
 
 Thus I sat on the well kerb, listening to the 
 poor wenches getting, as the saw hath it, their 
 kail through the reek. But at that moment 
 I observed Sandy Gordon's head look through 
 the open window. He beckoned me to him
 
 SILENCE IS GOLDEN. 2 8l 
 
 with his finger in a cunning manner. I went 
 up the stairs with intent to find the room where 
 he was, but by a curious mischance I alighted 
 instead on the long oaken chamber where I had 
 been entertained of yore by Mistress Mary. 
 
 I found her there again, busy with the or- 
 dering of the table, setting out platters and 
 silver of price, the like of which I had never 
 seen, save as it might be in the house of the 
 Laird of Girthon. 
 
 ' Come your ways in, sir," she said, briskly, 
 " and help me with my work." 
 
 This I had been very glad to do, but that 
 I knew her father was waiting for me above. 
 
 ' Right willingly," said I, " but Earlstoun 
 himself desires my presence aloft in his cham- 
 ber." 
 
 She gave her shoulders a dainty little shrug 
 in the foreign manner she had learned from her 
 cousin Kate of Lochinvar. 
 
 " I think," she said, " that the job at which 
 ye would find my father can be managed with- 
 out your assistance." 
 
 So in the great chamber I abode very grate- 
 fully. And with the best will in the world I 
 set myself to the fetching and carrying of 
 dishes, the spreading of table-cloths fine as the
 
 282 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 driven snow. And all the time my heart beat 
 fast within me. For I had never before been 
 so near this maid of the great folk, nor so much 
 as touched the robe that rustled about her, 
 sweet and dainty. 
 
 And I do not deny (surely I may write it 
 here) that the doing of these things afforded 
 me many thrills of heart, the like of which I 
 have not experienced ofttimes even on other 
 and higher occasions. 
 
 And as I helped the Lady Mary, or pre- 
 tended to help her rather, she continued to 
 converse sweetly and comfortably to me. But 
 all as it had been my sister Anna speaking — a 
 thousand miles from any thought of love. Her 
 eyes beneath the long dark lashes remained cool 
 and quiet. 
 
 ' I am glad," she said, " that ye have played 
 the man, and withstood your enemies even to 
 the last extremity." 
 
 ' I could do no other," I made answer. 
 
 ' There are very many who could very well 
 have ' done other ' without stressing them- 
 selves," she said. 
 
 And I well knew that she meant Mr. Boyd, 
 who was the neighbouring minister and a rec- 
 reant from the Societies.
 
 . SILENCE IS GOLDEN. 283 
 
 Then she looked very carefully to the order- 
 ing of certain wild flowers, which like a bairn 
 she had been out gathering, and had now set 
 forth in sundry flat dishes in the table-midst, 
 in a fashion I had never seen before. More 
 than once she spilled a little of the water upon 
 the cloth, and cried out upon herself for her 
 stupidity in the doing of it, discovering ever 
 fresh delights in the delicate grace of her move- 
 ments, the swinging of her dress, and in especial 
 a pretty quick way she had of jerking back her 
 head to see if she had gotten the colour and 
 ordering of the flowers to her mind. 
 
 This I minded for long after, and even now 
 it comes so fresh before me that I can see her 
 at it now. 
 
 " I heard of the young lass of Drumglass 
 and her love for you," she said presently, very 
 softly, and without looking at me, fingering at 
 the flowers in the shallow basins and pulling 
 them this way and that. 
 
 I did not answer, but stood looking at her 
 with my head hanging down, and a mighty 
 weight about my heart. 
 
 " You must have loved her greatly? ' : ' she 
 said, still more softly. 
 
 " I married her," said I, curtly. But in a
 
 284 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 moment was ashamed of the answer. Yet what 
 more could I say with truth? But I had the 
 grace to add, " Almost I was heartbroken for 
 her death." 
 
 " She was happy when she died, they said," 
 she went on, tentatively. 
 
 " She died with her hand in mine," I an- 
 swered, steadily, " and when she could not 
 speak any longer she still pressed it." 
 
 " Ah ! that is the true love which can make 
 even death sweet," she said. ' I should like to 
 plant Lads' Love and None-so-pretty upon her 
 grave." 
 
 Yet all the while I desired to tell her of 
 my love for herself, and how the other was not 
 even a heat of the blood, but only for the com- 
 forting of a dying girl. 
 
 Nevertheless I could not at that time. For 
 it seemed a dishonourable word to speak of one 
 who was so lately dead, and, in name and for 
 an hour at least, had been my wife. 
 
 Then all too soon we heard the noise of 
 Sandy her father upon the garret stair, tram- 
 pling down with his great boots as if he would 
 bring the whole wood-work of the building with 
 him bodily. 
 
 Mary Gordon heard it, too, for she came
 
 SILENCE IS GOLDEN. 
 
 285 
 
 hastily about to the end of the table where I 
 had stood transfixed all the time she was speak- 
 ing of Jean Gemmell. 
 
 She set a dish on the cloth, and as she 
 brought her hand back she laid it on mine 
 quickly, and, looking up with such a warm light 
 of gracious wisdom and approval in her eyes 
 that my heart was like water within me, she 
 said: " Quintin, you are a truer man than I 
 thought. I love your silences better than your 
 speeches." 
 
 And at her words my heart gave a great 
 bound within me, for I thought that at last 
 she understood. Then she passed away, and 
 became even more cold and distant than before, 
 not even bidding me farewell when I took my 
 departure. But as I went down the loaning 
 with her father she looked out of the turret 
 window, and waved the hand that had lain for 
 an instant upon mine.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE FALL OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 It was toward the mellow end of August 
 that there came a sough of things terrible 
 wafted down the fair glen of the Kens, a sough 
 which neither lost in volume nor in bitterness 
 when it turned into the wider strath of the Dee. 
 
 It arrived in time at the Manse of Balmag- 
 hie, as all things are sure to turn manseward 
 ere a day pass in the land of Galloway. 
 
 One evening in the quiet space between the 
 end of hay and the first sickle-sweep of harvest, 
 Hob came in with more than his ordinary sol- 
 emn staidness. 
 
 But he said nothing till we were over with 
 the taking of the Book and ready to go to bed. 
 Then as he was winding the watch I had 
 brought him from Edinburgh he glanced up 
 once at me. 
 
 ' When ye were last at Earlstoun," he said, 
 
 " heard ye any news? " 
 
 286
 
 THE FALL OF EARLSTOUN. 287 
 
 I thought he meant at first that Mary 
 was to be married, and it may be that my 
 face showed too clearly the anxiety of the 
 heart. 
 
 " About Sandy himself? ' he hastened to 
 
 add. 
 
 " About Alexander Gordon? " cried I in as- 
 tonishment. " What ill news would I hear 
 about Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun? ,! 
 
 He nodded, finished the winding of his hor- 
 ologe, held it gravely to his ear to assure him- 
 self that it was going, and then nodded again. 
 For that was Hob's way. 
 
 " Well," he said, " the Presbytery have had 
 him complained of to them for drunkenness and 
 worse. And they will excommunicate him 
 with the greatest excommunication if he decline 
 their authority." 
 
 " But Earlstoun is not of their communion," 
 I cried, much astonished, the matter being none 
 of the Presbytery's business; " he is of the Hill- 
 folk, an elder and mainstay among them for 
 thirty years." 
 
 " The Presbytery have made it their busi- 
 ness because he is a well-wisher of yours," said 
 Hob. " Besides, the report of it has already 
 gone abroad throughout the land, and they say
 
 288 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 that the matter will be brought before the next 
 general meeting of the societies." 
 
 " And in the meantime?" I began. 
 
 " In the meantime," said Hob, " those of 
 the Hill-folk who form the Committee of the 
 Seven Thousand have suspended him from his 
 eldership! " 
 
 Hob paused, as he ever did when he had 
 more to tell, and was considering how to begin. 
 
 1 Go on, Hob," cried I — testily enough, I 
 fear. 
 
 ' They say that his old seizure has come 
 again upon him. He sits in an upper room 
 like a beast, and will be approached by none. 
 And some declare that, like King David, he 
 feigns madness, others that he has been driven 
 mad by the sin and the shame." 
 
 Now this was sore and grievous tidings to 
 me, not only because of Mary Gordon, but for 
 the sake of the cause. 
 
 For Alexander Gordon had been during a 
 generation the most noted Covenanter of the 
 stalwart sort in Scotland. He had suffered al- 
 most unto death without wavering in the old 
 ill times of Charles and James. He had lan- 
 guished long in prison, both in the Castle of 
 Edinburgh and that of Blackness. He had
 
 THE FALL OF EARLSTOUN. 289 
 
 come to the first frosting of the hair with a 
 name clear and untainted. And now when he 
 stood at the head of the Covenanting remnant 
 it was like the downfall of a god that he should 
 so decline from his place and pride. 
 
 Then the other part of the news that the 
 Presbytery, as the representatives and custo- 
 dians of morals, were to lay upon him the 
 Greater Excommunication was also a thing 
 hard and bitter. For if they did so it inferred 
 the penalties of being shut off from communion 
 with man in the market-place and with God in 
 the closet. The man who spoke to the excom- 
 municated partook of the crime. And though 
 the power of the Presbytery to loose and to 
 bind had somewhat declined of late, yet, never- 
 theless, the terror of the major anathema still 
 pressed heavily upon the people. 
 
 Hob went soberly up to his bedroom. The 
 boards creaked as he threw himself down, and 
 I could hear him fall quiet in a minute. But 
 sleep would not come to my eyelids. At last 
 I arose from my naked bed and took my way 
 down to the water-side by which I had walked 
 oftentimes in dark days and darker nights. 
 
 Then as I was able I put before Him who 
 is never absent the case of Alexander Gordon.
 
 290 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 And I wrestled long as to what I should do. 
 Sometimes I thought of him as my friend, and 
 again I knew that it was chiefly for the sake of 
 Mary Gordon that I was thus greatly troubled. 
 
 But with the dawning of the morning came 
 some rest and a growing clearness of purpose — 
 such as always comes to the soul of man when, 
 out of the indefinite turmoil of perplexity, some- 
 thing to be done swims up from the gulf and 
 stands clear before the inward eye. 
 
 I would go to Earlstoun and have speech 
 with Alexander Gordon. The Presbytery had 
 condemned him unheard. His own folk of the 
 Societies — at least, some of the elders of them 
 — had been ready to believe an evil report and 
 had suspended him from his office. He heeded 
 a minister's dealing, or at least a friend's advice. 
 I was both, and there was all the more reason 
 because I was neither of the Kirk that had con- 
 demned nor of the communion which was 
 ready to believe an ill report of its noblest and 
 highest. 
 
 It was little past the dawning when, being 
 still sleepless, I set my hat on my head, and, 
 taking staff in hand, set off up the wet meadow- 
 edges to walk to Earlstoun. I heard the black- 
 cap sing sweetly down among the gall-bushes
 
 THE FALL OF EARLSTOUN. 
 
 29I 
 
 of the meadow. A blackbird turned up some 
 notes of his morning song, but drowsily, and 
 without the young ardour of spring and the 
 rathe summer time. Suddenly the east bright- 
 ened and rent. The day strode over the land. 
 
 I journeyed on, the sun beating hotly upon 
 me. It was very evidently to be a day of fer- 
 vent heat. Soon I had to take off my coat, 
 and as I carried it country fashion over my 
 shoulder the harvesters gave me good-day from 
 the cornfields of the pleasant strath of the ken, 
 and over the hated park-dykes which the land- 
 lords were beginning to build. 
 
 Mostly when I walked abroad I observed 
 nothing, but to-day I saw everything with 
 strange clearness, as one sometimes does in a 
 vision or when stricken with fever. 
 
 I noted how the red willow-herb grew 
 among the river stones and set fire to little 
 pebbly islands. The lilies, yellow and white, 
 basked and winked belated on the still and 
 glowing water. The cattle, both nolt and kye, 
 stood knee-deep in the shallows — to me the 
 sweetest and most summersome of all rural 
 sights. 
 
 As I drew near to New Galloway a score 
 of laddies squattered like ducks and squabbled
 
 292 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 like shrill scolding blackbirds in and out of the 
 water, or darted naked through the copsewood 
 at the loch's head, playing ' hide-and-seek " 
 about the tree-trunks. 
 
 And through all pulsed the thought, " What 
 shall I say to my friend? Shall I be faithful in 
 questioning, faithful in chastening and rebuke? 
 Shall I take part with Mary Gordon's father, 
 and for her sake stand and fall with him? Or 
 are my message and my Master more to me 
 than any earthly love? " I feared the human 
 was indeed mightier in my heart of hearts. 
 Nevertheless something seemed to arise within 
 me greater than myself.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 LOVE OR DUTY. 
 
 I passed by the little Clachan of St. John's 
 Town of Dairy, leaving it stretching away up 
 the braeface on my right hand. A little way 
 beyond the kirk I struck into the fringing 
 woods of Earlstoun which, like an army of train- 
 bands in Lincoln green, beset the grey tower. 
 
 I was on the walk along which I had once 
 before come with her. The water alternately 
 gloomed and sparkled beneath. The fish sulked 
 and waved lazv tails, anchored in the water- 
 swirls below the falls, their heads steady to the 
 stream as the needle to the pole. 
 
 The green of summer was yet untouched by 
 autumn frosts, save for a russet hair or two on 
 the outmost plumes of the birks that wept 
 above the stream. 
 
 Suddenly something gay glanced through 
 
 the wavering sunsprays of the woodland and 
 
 the green scatter of the shadows. A white 
 
 293
 
 294 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 summer gown, a dainty hat white-plumed, but 
 beneath the bright feather a bowed head, a girl 
 with tears in her eyes — and lo! Mary Gordon 
 standing alone and in sorrow by the water- 
 pools of the Deuch. 
 
 I had never learned to do such things, and 
 even now I cannot tell what it was that came 
 over me. For without a moment's hesitation I 
 kneeled on one knee, and taking her hand, I 
 kissed it with infinite love and respect. 
 
 She turned quickly from me, dashing the 
 tears from her face with her hand. 
 
 'Ouintin!" she cried — I think before she 
 thought. 
 
 ' Mary! " I said, for the first time in my life 
 saying the word to my lady's face. 
 
 She held her hand with the palm pressed 
 against my breast, pushing me from her that 
 she might examine my face. 
 
 'Why are you here?" she asked anxious- 
 ly, " you have heard what they say of my fa- 
 ther? " 
 
 ' I have heard, and I come to know? " I said 
 quietly. 
 
 She clasped her hands in front of her breast 
 and then let them fall loosely down in a sort of 
 slack despair.
 
 LOVE OR DUTY. 295 
 
 " I will tell you," she said, " it is partly true. 
 But the worst is not true! " 
 
 She was silent for a while, as if she were 
 mastering herself to speak. 
 
 Then she burst out suddenly, " But what 
 right have you or any other to demand such 
 things of me? Is not my father Sir Alexander 
 Gordon of Earlstoun, and who has name or 
 fame like him in all Scotland? They that ac- 
 cuse him are but jealous of him — even you 
 would be glad like the others to see him hu- 
 miliated — brought low! " 
 
 f You do me wrong," said I, yet more quiet- 
 ly; " you know it. Mary, I came because I 
 have no friends on earth like you and Alexander 
 Gordon. And the thing troubled me." 
 
 ' I know — I know," she said, distractedly. 
 " I think it hath well-nigh driven me mad, as 
 it hath my poor father." 
 
 She put her hand to her forehead and 
 pressed it, as if it had been full of a great throb- 
 bing pain. 
 
 I wished I could have held it for her. 
 
 Then we moved side by side a little along 
 
 the path, both being silent. My thoughts were 
 
 with hers. I saw her pain; I felt her pride, her 
 
 reluctance to speak. 
 20
 
 296 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 Presently we came to a retired place where 
 there was an alcove cut out of the cliff, re- 
 entrant, filled with all coolness and the stir of 
 leaves. 
 
 Hither, as if moved by one instinct, we re- 
 paired. Mary sat her down upon the stone 
 seat. I stood before her. 
 
 There was a long waiting without a word 
 spoken, so that a magpie came and flicked his 
 tail on a branch near by without seeing us. 
 Then cocking his eye downward, he fled with 
 loud screams of anger and protestation. 
 
 ' I will tell you all! " she said, suddenly. 
 
 But all the same it seemed as if she could 
 not find it in her heart to begin. 
 
 " You know my father — root and- branch 
 you know him," she said, at last; "or else I 
 could not tell you. He is a man. He has so 
 great a repute, so full a record of bravery, that 
 none dares to point the finger. Through all 
 Scotland and the Low Countries it is sufficient 
 for my father to say ' I am Alexander Gordon 
 of Earlstoun! ' 
 
 " But as I need not tell you, a very strong 
 man is a very weak man. And so they trapped 
 him, William Boyd, who called himself his 
 friend, being the traitor. For my father had
 
 LOVE OR DUTY. 2 gj 
 
 known him in Holland and aided him with 
 money and providing when he studied as one 
 of the lads of the Hill-folk at the University of 
 Groningen. 
 
 ' Now this a man like William Boyd could 
 not forgive — neither repay. But in silence he 
 hated and bode his time. For, though I am 
 but young, I see that nothing breeds hate and 
 malice more readily than a helping hand ex- 
 tended to a bad man. 
 
 " So devising evil to my father in secret, he 
 met him at the Clachan of Saint John as he 
 came home from the market at Kirkcudbright, 
 where he had been dining with Kenmure and 
 my Lord Maxwell. Quintin, you know how 
 it is with my father when he comes home from 
 market — he is kind, he is generous. The world 
 is not large enough to hold his heart. Wine 
 may be in, but wit is not out. 
 
 ' So Alexander Gordon being in this mood, 
 Boyd and two or three of his creatures met 
 him in the highway. 
 
 " My father had oftentimes thwarted and 
 opposed Boyd. But now his stomach was 
 warm and generous within him. So he cried 
 to them, ' A fair good e'en to ye, gentlemen.' 
 
 ' Whereat they glanced cunningly at one
 
 298 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 another, hearing the thick stammer in my fa- 
 ther's voice. 
 
 "'And good e'en to you, Earlstoun!' they 
 answered, taking off their hats to him. 
 
 " The courtesy touched my father. It 
 seemed that they wished to be friends, and 
 nothing touches a big careless gentleman like 
 Alexander Gordon more than the thought that 
 others desire to make up a quarrel and he will 
 not. 
 
 ]i So with that he cried, ' Let us bury by- 
 gones and be friends.' 
 
 " ' Agreed,' answered Boyd, waving his hand 
 jovially; 'let us go to the change-house and 
 toast the reconciliation in a tass of brandy.' 
 
 " This he said knowing that my father was 
 on his way from market." 
 
 " For this," said I, not thinking of my place 
 and dignity, " will I reckon with William 
 Boyd." 
 
 Mary Gordon went on without noticing my 
 interruption. 
 
 " So though my father told them that he 
 could not go, that his wife waited for him by 
 the croft entrance and that his daughter was 
 coming down the water-side to meet him, yet 
 upon their crying out that he must not be hen-
 
 LOVE OR DUTY. 
 
 299 
 
 pecked in the matter of the drowning of an 
 ancient enmity, my father consented to go with 
 them." 
 
 Mary Gordon looked before her a long time 
 without speaking, as though little liking to tell 
 what followed. " They knew," she said, " that 
 he was to preside that night at a meeting of 
 the eldership and commissioners of the Hill- 
 folk. So they brought him as in the change- 
 house they had made him to the meeting." 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 " And this was all? " I asked. For the ac- 
 cusation which had come to me had been far 
 graver than this. 
 
 " As I live and must die, that is all. The 
 other things which they testify that he did that 
 night are but the blackness and foulness of their 
 own hearts." 
 
 " I will go speak with him," I said, mov- 
 ing as to pass on. 
 
 Mary Gordon had been seated upon a wall 
 which jutted out over the water. She leaped 
 to her feet in an instant and caught me by the 
 wrist, looking with an eager and passionate re- 
 gard into my eyes. 
 
 " You must not — you shall not! " she cried. 
 " My father is not to be spoken to. He is not
 
 300 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 himself. He has sworn that he will answer no 
 man, speak to no man, have dealings with no 
 man, till the shame be staunched and his inno- 
 cency made to appear." 
 
 " But I will bring him to himself," I said, 
 " I will reason with him, and that most ten- 
 derly." 
 
 ' Nay," she said, taking me eagerly by the 
 breast of my coat, " I tell you he will not listen 
 to a word." 
 
 " It is my duty," I answered. 
 
 " Wherefore? " she cried, sharply. " You 
 are not his minister." 
 
 " No," said I, " but I am more. I am both 
 his friend and yours." 
 
 ' Do you mean to reprove him? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " It is my duty — in part," said I, for the 
 thought of mine office had come upon me, and 
 I feared that for this girl's sake I might even 
 be ready ignominiously to demit and decline 
 my plain duty. 
 
 " For that wherein he has given the un- 
 righteous cause to speak reproachfully, I will 
 reprove him," I said. " For the rest, I will aid, 
 support, and succour him in all that one man 
 may do to another. By confession of his fault,
 
 LOVE OR DUTY. 301 
 
 such as it has been, he may yet keep the Cause 
 from being spoken against." 
 
 " Ah, you do not know my father, to speak 
 thus of him," Mary Gordon cried, clasping her 
 hands. " When he is in his fury he cares for 
 neither man nor beast. He might do you a 
 hurt, even to the touching of your life. Ah, 
 do not go to him." (Here she clasped her 
 hands, and looked at me with such sweet, peti- 
 tionary graciousness that my heart became as 
 wax within me.) " Let him come to himself. 
 What are reproof and hard words, besides the 
 shame that comes when such a man as my fa- 
 ther sits face to face with the sins of his own 
 heart?" 
 
 Almost I had given way, but the thought 
 of the dread excommunication, and the danger 
 which his children must also incur, compelled 
 me. 
 
 " Hear me, Mary," I said, " I must speak to 
 him. For all our sakes — yours as well — I must 
 go instantly to Alexander Gordon." 
 
 She waved her hand impatiently. 
 
 " Do not go," she said. " Can you not trust 
 me? I thought you — you once told me that 
 you loved me. And if you had loved me, I do 
 not know, I might "
 
 302 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 She paused. A wild hope — warm, tender, 
 gloriously insurgent, rose-coloured — welled up 
 triumphantly in my heart. My blood hummed 
 in my ears. 
 
 " She would love me; she would give herself 
 to me. I cannot offend her. This alone is my 
 happiness. This only is life. What matters 
 all else?" 
 
 And I was about to give way. If I had so 
 much as looked in her face, or met her eyes, I 
 must have fallen from my intent. 
 
 But I called to mind the path by which I 
 had been led, the oath that had been laid upon 
 me to speak faithfully. The lonely way of a 
 man — a sinful man trying to do the right — 
 gripped me like a vice, and compelled me 
 against my will. 
 
 ' Mary," I said, solemnly, " I love you more 
 than life — more, perchance, than I love God. 
 But I cannot lay aside, nor yet shut out the 
 doing of my duty." 
 
 She thrust her hand out suddenly, passion- 
 ately, from her, as if casting me out of her sight 
 for ever. She set her kerchief to her eyes. 
 
 "You have chosen!" she cried. "Go, 
 then!" 
 
 ' Mary," I said, turning to follow her.
 
 LOVE OR DUTY. 303 
 
 All suddenly she turned upon me and 
 stamped her foot. 
 
 " I dare you to speak with me! " she cried, 
 her eyes flashing with anger. " I thought you 
 were a man, and you are no better than a ma- 
 chine. You love! You know not the ABC 
 of it. You have never passed the hornbook. 
 I doubt not that you broke that poor lassie's 
 heart down there in the farm by the water-side. 
 She loved a stone and she died. Now you tell 
 me that you love me, and the first thing I ask 
 of you you refuse, though it is for my own fa- 
 ther, and I entreat you with tears! ' : 
 
 " Mary," I began to say quietly, " you do 
 me great wrong. Let me tell you " 
 
 But she turned away down the path. I fol- 
 lowed after, and at the parting of the ways to 
 house and stable she turned on me again like 
 a lioness. " Oh, go, I tell you! Go! " she cried. 
 "Do your precious duty. But from this day 
 forth never, never dare to utter word to Mary 
 Gordon again! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE DEMONIAC IN THE GARRET. 
 
 As all may understand, it was with bowed 
 head and crushed heart that I bent my steps 
 towards the grey tower, sitting so stilly among 
 the leafage of the wood above the water. 
 
 Duty is doubtless noble, and virtue its own 
 reward. But when there is a lass in the case — 
 why, it is somewhat harder to go against 
 her will than to counter all the law and the 
 prophets. 
 
 I went up the bank towards the tower of 
 Earlstoun, and as I came near methought there 
 was a strange and impressive silence over every- 
 thing — like a Sabbath-day that was yet no com- 
 mon or canny Sabbath. 
 
 At the angle of the outer wall one Hugh 
 Halliday, an old servant of the Gordons, came 
 running toward me. 
 
 ' Minister, minister," he cried, " ye mauna 
 
 come here. The maister has gotten the posses- 
 304
 
 THE DEMONIAC IN THE GARRET. 
 
 305 
 
 sion by evil spirits. He swears that if ever a 
 minister come near him he will brain him, and 
 he has taken his sword and pistols up into the 
 garret under the roof, and he cries out con- 
 stantly that if any man stirs him, he shall surely 
 die the death." 
 
 " But," I answered, " he will not kill me, 
 who have had no hand in the matter — me who 
 have also been persecuted by the Presbytery 
 and by them deposed." 
 
 " Ah, laddie," said the old man, shaking his 
 palsied hand warningly at me, " ye little ken 
 the laird, if ye think that when the power o' 
 evil comes ower him, he bides to think. He 
 lets drive richt and left, and a' that remains 
 to be done is but to sinder the dead frae the 
 leevin, or to gather up the fragments that re- 
 main in baskets and corn-bags and sic-like. 
 
 " For instance, in the auld persecutin' days 
 there was Gleg Toshie, the carrier, that was 
 counted a great man o' his hands, and at the 
 Carlin's Cairn Sandy — the laird I mean — cam' 
 on Toshie spyin' on him, or so he thocht. And 
 oor Maister near ended him when he laid hand 
 on him. 
 
 ' Haud aff,' cried Peter Pearson the cu- 
 rate, ' Wad ye kill the man, Earlstoun? '
 
 306 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ' I would kill him and eat him too! ' cries 
 the laird, as he gied him aye the ither drive wi' 
 his neive. O he's far frae canny when he's 
 raised." 
 
 "Nevertheless I will see him," said I; " I 
 have a message to deliver." 
 
 ' Then I hope and trust ye hae made your 
 peace wi' your Maker, for ye will come doon 
 frae that laft a dead stiff corp and that ye'll 
 leeve to see." 
 
 By the gate the Lady of Earlstoun was 
 walking to and fro, wringing her hands and 
 praying aloud. 
 
 ' Wrath, wrath, and dismay hath fallen on 
 this house!' she cried. 'The five vials are 
 poured out. And there yet remains the sixth 
 vial. O Sandy, my ain man, that it should 
 come to this! That ye should tak' the roofs 
 like a pelican in the desert and six charges o' 
 pooder in yon flask, forbye swords and pis- 
 tols. And then the swearin' — nae minced 
 oaths, but as braid as the back o' Cairnsmuir. 
 Waes me for Sandy, the man o' my choice! 
 A carnal man was Sandy a' the days o' him, 
 a man no to be ruled nor yet spoken to, but 
 rather like a lion to be withstood face to face. 
 But then a little while and his spirit would
 
 THE DEMONIAC IN THE GARRET. 307 
 
 come to him like the spirit of a little 
 child." 
 
 We could hear as we walked and communed 
 a erowline somewhere far above like the baffled 
 
 o o 
 
 raging of a caged wild beast. 
 
 " It is the spirit of the demoniac that is 
 come to rend him," she said. " Hear to him, 
 there he is; he is hard at it, cursing the Pres- 
 bytery and a' ministers. He is sorest upon 
 them that he has liked best, as, indeed, the 
 possessed ever are. He says that he knows not 
 why he is restrained from braining me — me that 
 have been his wife these many sorrowful years. 
 But thus far he hath been kept from doing any 
 great injury. Even the servant man that 
 brought the message from his master, William 
 Boyd, summoning Alexander to appear before 
 the Presbytery, he cast by main force into the 
 well, and if the man had not caught at the 
 rope, and so gone more slowly to the bottom, 
 he would surely have been dashed to pieces." 
 
 " But how long has he been thus? " I said. 
 For as we listened, quaking, the noise waxed 
 and grew louder. Then anon it would diminish 
 almost like the howling or whimpering of a 
 beaten dog, most horrid and uncanny to hear. 
 
 " Ever since yesterday at the hour when he
 
 308 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 gat the summons from the Presbytery," said 
 the lady of Earlstoun. 
 
 " And have none been near him since that 
 time?" 
 
 "Only Mary," she said; "she took up to 
 him a bowl of broth. For he never lifted his 
 hand to her in his life. He bade her begone 
 quickly, because he was no fit company for hu- 
 man kind any more. She asked him very gen- 
 tly to come to his own chamber and lie down 
 in peace. But he cried out that the ministers 
 were coming, and that she must not stand in 
 the way. For he was about to shoot them all 
 dead, like the black hoodie-craws that pyke the 
 young lambs' e'en! 
 
 'And a bonny bit lamb ye are, faither,' said 
 Mary, trying to jest with him to divert his 
 mind; 'a bonny lamb, indeed, with that great 
 muckle heather besom of a beard.' 
 
 " But instead of laughing, as was his wont, 
 he cursed her for an impudent wench, and told 
 her to begone, that she was no daughter of his." 
 
 " Has he been oftentimes taken with this 
 seizure? " I asked. 
 
 " It has come to him once or twice since he 
 was threatened with torture before the lords 
 of the Privy Council, and brake out upon them
 
 THE DEMONIAC IN THE GARRET. 309 
 
 all as has often been told — but never before like 
 this." 
 
 " I will go to him," I said, " and adjure him 
 to return to himself. And I will exorcise the 
 demon, if power be granted me of the Lord." 
 
 "I pray you do not!" she cried, catching 
 me and looking at me even more earnestly than 
 her daughter had done, though, perhaps, some- 
 what less movingly. " Let not your blood also 
 be upon this doomed house of Earlstoun."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE CURSING OF THE PRESBYTERY. 
 
 As gently as I could I withdrew from her 
 grasp, and with a pocket Bible in my hand (that 
 little one in red leather of the King's printers 
 which I always carried about with me), I 
 climbed the stair. 
 
 The word I had come so far to speak should 
 not remain unspoken through my weakness, 
 neither must I allow truth to be brought to 
 shame because of the fears of the messenger. 
 
 So I mounted the turret stairs slowly, the 
 great voice sounding out more and more clearly 
 as I advanced. It came in soughs and bursts, 
 alternating with lown intervals filled with indis- 
 tinct mutterings. Then again a great volley 
 of cursing would shake the house, and in the 
 afterclap of silence I could hear the waesome 
 yammer of my lady's supplication beneath me 
 outside the tower. 
 
 But within, save for the raging of the 
 310
 
 THE CURSING OF THE PRESBYTERY. 
 
 311 
 
 stormy voice, there was an uncanny silence. 
 The dust lay thick where it had been left un- 
 touched for days by any hand of domestic. 
 I glanced within the great oaken chamber 
 where formerly I had spoken to Mary Gordon. 
 It was void and empty. A broken glass of 
 carven Venetian workmanship and various col- 
 ours lay in fragments by the window. A stone 
 jar with the great bung of Spanish cork stood 
 on the floor. There was a crimson sop of 
 spilled wine on the table of white scoured wood. 
 The table-cloth of rich Spanish stuff wrought 
 with arabesques had been tossed into the cor- 
 ner. A window was broken, and there were 
 stains on the jagged edges, as if some one had 
 thrust his hand through the glass to his own 
 hurt. 
 
 Nothing moved in the room, but in the 
 thwart sunbeams the motes danced, and the 
 unstable shadows of the trees without flecked 
 the floor. 
 
 All the more because of this unwholesome 
 quiet in the great house of Earlstoun, it was 
 very dismaying to listen to the roll and thun- 
 der of the voice up there, speaking on and on 
 to itself in the regions above. 
 
 But I had come at much cost to do my duty, 
 
 21
 
 312 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 and this I could not depart from. So I began 
 to mount the last stairs, which were of wood, 
 and exceedingly narrow and precipitous. 
 
 Then for the first time I could hear clearly 
 the words of the possessed: 
 
 " Cast into deepest hell, Lord, if any power 
 is left in Thee, the whole Presbytery of Kirk- 
 cudbright! Set thy dogs upon them, O Satan, 
 Prince of Evil, for they have worked ill-will 
 and mischief upon earth. Specially and par- 
 ticularly gie Andrew Cameron his paiks! Rub 
 the fiery brimstone flame onto his bones, like 
 salt into a new-killed swine. Scowder him 
 with irons heated white hot. Tear his inward 
 parts with twice-barbed fishing hooks. Gie 
 William Boyd his bellyful of curses. Turn him 
 as often on thy roasting-spit as he has turned 
 his coat on the earth. Frighten wee Telfair wi' 
 the uncanniest o' a' thy deils' imps. And as for 
 the rest of them may they burn back and front, 
 ingate and outgate, hide, hair, and harrigals, 
 till there is nocht left o' them but a wee pluff 
 o' ash, that I could hold like snuff between my 
 fingers and thumb and blaw away like the white 
 head o' the dandelion." 
 
 He came to an end for lack of breath, and 
 I could hear him stir restlessly, thinking, per-
 
 THE CURSING OF THE PRESBYTERY. 313 
 
 haps, that he had omitted some of the Presby- 
 tery who were needful of a yet fuller and more 
 decorated cursing. 
 
 I called up to him. 
 
 " Alexander Gordon, I have come to speak 
 with you." 
 
 " Who are you that dares giff-gaff with Al- 
 exander Gordon this day? " 
 
 " I am Quintin MacClellan, minister of the 
 Gospel in Balmaghie, a friend to Alexander 
 Gordon and all his house." 
 
 " Get you gone, Quintin MacClellan, while 
 ye may. I have no desire for fellowship with 
 you. You are also of the crew of hell — the 
 black corbies that cry ' Glonk! Glonk! ' over the 
 carcase of puir perishing Scotland." 
 
 " Hearken, Alexander Gordon," said I, from 
 the ladder's foot, " I have been your friend. I 
 have sat at your table. A word is given me to 
 speak to you, and speak it I will." 
 
 " And I also have a gun here that has a 
 message rammed down its thrapple. I warn 
 ye clear and fair, if ye trouble me at all with 
 any of your clavers, ye shall get that message 
 frae the black jaws of Bell-mouthed Mirren." 
 
 And as I looked up the wooden ladder which 
 led into the dim garret above me, I saw peeping
 
 2i 4 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 through the angle of the square trap-door above 
 me the wicked snout of the musket — while be- 
 hind, narrowed to a slit, glinted, through a red 
 mist of beard and hair, the eye of Sandy Gor- 
 don. 
 
 " Ye may shoot me if ye will, Alexander," 
 said I; " I am a man unarmed, defenceless, and 
 so stand fully within your danger. But listen 
 first to that which I have to say. 
 
 " You are a great man, laird of Earlstoun. 
 Ye have come through much and seen many 
 peoples and heard many tongues. Ye have 
 been harried by the Malignants, prisoned by the 
 King's men, and now the Presbytery have taken 
 a turn at you, even as they did at me, and for 
 the same reason. 
 
 " You were ever my friend, Earlstoun, and 
 William Boyd mine enemy. Therefore he was 
 glad to take up a lying report against you that 
 are my comrade; for such is his nature. Can 
 the sow help her foulness, the crow his colour? 
 Forbye, ye have given some room to the enemy 
 to speak reproachfully. You, an elder of the 
 Hill-folk, have collogued in the place of drink- 
 ing with the enemies of our cause. They laid 
 a snare for your feet, and like a simple fool ye 
 fell therein. So much I know. But the darker
 
 THE CURSING OF THE PRESBYTERY. 
 
 315 
 
 sin that they witness against you — what say 
 ye to that?" 
 
 ' It is false as the lies that are spewed up 
 from the vent of Hell! " cried the voice from 
 the trap-door above, now hoarse and trembling. 
 I had touched him to the quick. 
 
 ' Who are they that witness this thing 
 against you? " 
 
 He was silent for a little, and then he burst 
 out upon me afresh. 
 
 " Who are you that have entered into mine 
 own house of Earlstoun to threat and catechise 
 me? Is Alexander Gordon a bairn to be har- 
 ried by bairns that were kicking in swaddling 
 clouts and buttock-hippens when he was at the 
 head of the Seven Thousand? And who may 
 you be? A deposed minister, a college jack- 
 daw whom the other daws have warned from 
 off the steeple. I will not kill you, Ouintin 
 MacClellan, but I bid you instantly evade and 
 depart, for the spirit has bidden me fire a shot 
 at the place where ye stand! " 
 
 ' Ye may fire your piece and slay your friend 
 on the threshold of your house, an' it please you, 
 laird of Earlstoun," cried I, " but ye shall never 
 say that he was a man unfaithful, a man afraid 
 of the face of men! "
 
 316 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " Stand from under, I say! " 
 
 Nevertheless I did not move, for there had 
 grown up a stubbornness within me as there 
 had done when the Presbytery set themselves 
 to vex me. 
 
 Then there befell what seemed to be a 
 mighty clap of thunder. A blast of windy heat 
 spat in my face; something tore at the roots 
 of my hair; fire singed my brow, and the reek 
 of sulphur rose stifling in my nostrils. 
 
 The demon-possessed had fired upon me. 
 For a moment I knew not whether I was 
 stricken or no, for there grew a pain hot as 
 fire at my head. But I stood where I was till 
 in a little the smoke began to lazily clear 
 through the trap-door into the garret. 
 
 I put my hand to my head and felt that my 
 brow was wet and gluey. Then I thought that 
 I was surely sped, for I knew that men stricken 
 in the brain by musket shot ofttimes for a mo- 
 ment scarce feel their wound. I understood not 
 till later the reason of my escape, which was 
 that the balls of Earlstoun's fusil had no time 
 to spread, but passed as one through my thick 
 hair, snatching at it and tearing the scalp as 
 they passed.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 LIKE THE "SPIRIT OF A LITTLE CHILD. 
 
 The smoke of the gun curled slowly and 
 reluctantly out of the narrow windows, and 
 through the garret opening I heard a hurried 
 rush of feet beneath me on the stairs, light and 
 quick — a woman's footsteps when she is young. 
 My head span round, and had it not been for 
 Mary Gordon, whose arm caught and steadied 
 me, I should doubtless have fallen from top to 
 bottom. 
 
 " Quintin, Ouintin," she cried, passionately, 
 "are you hurt? Oh, my father has slain him. 
 Wherefore did I let him go? " 
 
 I held by the wall and steadied myself on 
 her shoulder, scarce knowing what I did. 
 
 Suddenly she cried aloud, a little frightened 
 
 cry, and, drawing her kerchief from her bosom, 
 
 she reached up and wiped my brow, down which 
 
 red drops were trickling. 
 
 317
 
 318 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 'You are hurt! You are sort hurt!" she 
 cried. " And it is all my fault! " 
 
 Then I said, " Nay, Mary, I am not hurt. 
 It was but a faintish turn that came and 
 passed." 
 
 ' Oh, come away," she cried; " he will sure- 
 ly slay you if you bide here, and your blood will 
 be upon my hands." 
 
 ' Nay, Mary," I answered; " the demon, and 
 not your father, did this thing, and such can 
 do nothing without permission. I will yet 
 meet and expel the devil in the name of the 
 Lord!" 
 
 She put her netted fingers about my arm to 
 draw me away; nevertheless, even then, I with- 
 stood her. 
 
 " Alexander Gordon," I cried aloud, " the 
 evil spirit hath done its worst. He will now 
 depart from you. I am coming up the lad- 
 der." 
 
 I drew my arm free and mounted. As my 
 head rose through the trap-door I own that 
 my heart quaked, but there had come with the 
 danger and the excitement a sort of angry ex- 
 altation which, more than aught else, carried 
 me onward. Also I knew within me that if, 
 as I judged, God had other work yet for me to
 
 LIKE THE SPIRIT OF A LITTLE CHILD. 319 
 
 do in Scotland, He would clothe me in secret 
 armour of proof against all assault. 
 
 Also the eyes of Mary Gordon were upon 
 me. I had passed my word to her; I could not 
 go back. 
 
 As I looked about the garret between the 
 cobwebs, the strings of onions, and the bunches 
 of dried herbs, I could see Sandy Gordon 
 crouching at the far end, all drawn together 
 like a tailor sitting cross-legged on his bench. 
 He had his musket between his knees, and his 
 great sword was cocked threateningly over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "What, Corbie! Are ye there again? ' : 
 cried he, fleeringly. " Then ye are neither dead 
 nor feared." 
 
 " No," said I; " the devil that possesses you 
 has been restrained from doing me serious hurt. 
 I will call on the Lord to expel what He hath 
 already rendered powerless." 
 
 " Man, Quintin," he cried, " ye should have 
 fetched Telfair and the Presbytery with you. 
 Ye are not fit for the job by yourself. Mind 
 you, this is no hotchin' wee de'il, sitting cross- 
 legged on the hearth in the gloaming like An- 
 drew Mackie's in Ringcroft. It takes the black 
 Father of Spirits himself, ripe from hell, to grip
 
 3 20 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 the Bull of Earlstoun, and set him to roaring 
 like this in the blank middle of the day." 
 
 " But," said I, " there is One stronger than 
 any devil or devilkin — your father's and your 
 mother's God! You are but a great bairn, 
 Sandy. Do ye mind where ye first learned the 
 Lord's Prayer and the Twenty-third Psalm? ' : 
 
 At my words the great mountain of a man 
 threw his head back and dropped his sword. 
 
 " Aye, I mind," he said, sullenly. 
 
 " Where was it? " said I. 
 
 " It was at my mother's knee in the turret 
 chamber that looks to the woods, if ye want 
 to ken." 
 
 " What did your mother when ye had ended 
 
 the lesson? " 
 
 " What is that to you, Quintin MacClel- 
 lan? " he thundered, fiercely. " I tell you, tor- 
 ment me not! " 
 
 He snarled this out at me suddenly like the 
 roar of a beast in a cage, thrusting forth his 
 head at me and showing his teeth in the midst 
 of his red beard. 
 
 " What did your mother when ye had 
 learned your psalm? " 
 
 " She put her hands upon my head." 
 
 " And then what did she? "
 
 LIKE THE SPIRIT OF A LITTLE CHILD. 321 
 
 " She prayed." 
 
 " Do ye mind the words of that prayer? ' : 
 
 " I mind them." 
 
 " Then say them." 
 
 "I will not!" he shouted loud and fierce, 
 clattering his gun on the floor and leaping to 
 his feet. His sword was in his hand, and he 
 pointed it threateningly at me. 
 
 " You will not say your mother's prayer," 
 I answered; " then I will say it for you." 
 
 " No, you shall not, Quintin MacClellan," 
 he growled. " If it comes to that, I will say 
 it myself. What ken you about my mother's 
 prayer? " 
 
 " I have a mother of mine own, and not once 
 nor twice she hath said a prayer for me." 
 
 The point of the sword dropped. He stood 
 silent. 
 
 " Her hands were on your head," I sug- 
 gested, " you had finished your prayers. It 
 was in the turret chamber that looks to the 
 north." 
 
 " I ken — I ken! " he cried, turning his head 
 this way and that like a beast tied and tor- 
 mented. 
 
 But in his eyes there grew a far-away look. 
 The convulsive fingers loosened on the sword-
 
 322 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 hilt. The blade fell unheeded to the ground 
 and lay beside the empty musket. 
 
 "O Lord!' he gasped, hardly above his 
 breath, ' from all the dangers of this night 
 keep my laddie. From powers of evil guard 
 him with thy good angels. The Lord Christ 
 be his yoke-bearer. Deliver him from sin and 
 from himself. When I am under green kirk- 
 yard sward, be Thou to him both father and 
 mother. O God, Father in Heaven, bless the 
 lad!" 
 
 It was his mother's prayer. 
 
 And as the words came softer Alexander 
 Gordon fell on his knees, and moaned aloud in 
 the dim smoky garret. 
 
 Then, judging that my work was done, I, 
 too, kneeled on my knees, and for the space of 
 an hour or thereby the wind of the summer 
 blew through the chamber, the shadows crawled 
 up the walls, and Alexander Gordon moved 
 not nor spoke. 
 
 Then I arose, took him by the hand, and 
 bade him follow me. We went down both of 
 us together. And in the room below we found 
 Mary, who had sat listening with her head on 
 her hand. 
 
 " Here is your father," I said; " take him to
 
 LIKE THE SPIRIT OF A LITTLE CHILD. 323 
 
 his chamber, and when he is ready bring him 
 again into the great room." 
 
 So very obediently he went with her as a 
 little child might. 
 
 Presently she brought him in again, clean 
 washed and with the black look gone from his 
 brow. 
 
 I bade her set him by the window. She 
 looked at me to see if she should leave us alone. 
 But I desired her to stay. 
 
 Then very gently I set the right way before 
 him. 
 
 " Alexander," said I, " ye have done that 
 which has worked great scandal. Ye shall con- 
 fess that publicly. Ye are innocent of the 
 greater iniquity laid to your charge. Ye shall 
 clear yourself of that by a solemn oath taken 
 both in the presence of God and before men." 
 
 " That I cannot," said he, speaking for the 
 first time; " the Presbytery have refused me the 
 privilege." 
 
 " There is a door open for you," I said, " in 
 a place where the Presbytery and your enemies 
 have no power. It may not be long mine to 
 offer you. But for one day it shall be yours, 
 and after the service on Sabbath in the Kirk 
 of Balmaghie ye shall stand up and clear your-
 
 324 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 self by oath of the greater sin — after having 
 made confession of the more venial fault." 
 
 " I will do it! " he said, and put his hand in 
 mine. 
 
 So I left him sitting there with his daugh- 
 ter, with the knowledge that my soul had power 
 over his. And in the eventide, greatly com- 
 forted, I took my way homewards, knowing 
 that he would not fail me.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE STONE OF STUMBLING. 
 
 But whilst I had been going about my work 
 the enemies had not been idle. They had de- 
 posed me from the ministry. They could not 
 depose me from the hearts of a willing and loyal 
 people. They had invoked the secular arm, and 
 that had been turned back. 
 
 Now, by hasty process, they had also ap- 
 pointed one, McKie, to succeed me — a young 
 man that had been a helper to one of them, 
 harmless enough, indeed, in himself, a good and 
 quiet lad. Him, for the sake of the stipend, 
 they had persuaded to be their cat's-paw. 
 
 But the folk of Balmaghie were clear against 
 giving him any foothold, so that he made little 
 more of it than he had done at first. 
 
 But it chanced that on the day on which I 
 had gone to Earlstoun to speak with Alexander 
 Gordon, the more active of the Presbytery had 
 
 gathered together many of the wild and riotous 
 
 325
 
 326 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 out of their parishes, and had sent them to take 
 possession of the manse and glebe of Balmaghie. 
 
 Hob, my brother, was over by at the house 
 of Drumglass, helping them with the last 
 of their meadow hay, being a lad ever kind 
 and helpful to all, saying little but doing 
 much. 
 
 So that the house, being left defenceless in 
 fancied security, the young lad McKie and his 
 party had been in and about the manse for a 
 full hour before any brought word of their ap- 
 proach. 
 
 McKie, acting doubtless under the advice of 
 those that were more cunning than he, had in- 
 truded into the kitchen, extinguished the fire 
 on the hearth and relighted it in his own name. 
 
 Also the folk who were with him, men from 
 other parishes, wholly ignorant of the matter, 
 had brought a pair of ploughs with them. To 
 these they now harnessed horses and would 
 have set to the ploughing up of the glebe, which 
 was of ancient pasture, the grass clean and old, 
 a paradise of verdure, smooth as a well-mown 
 lawn. 
 
 But by this time the noise and report of the 
 invasion had spread abroad, and from farm- 
 towns far and near swarmed down the angry
 
 THE STONE OF STUMBLING. 327 
 
 folk of Balmaghie, like bees from a byke upon 
 a company of harrying boys. 
 
 The mowers took their scythes over their 
 shoulders and set off all coatless and bonnet- 
 less from the water-meadows. The herds left 
 their sheep to stray masterless upon the hill, 
 and came with nothing but their crooks in their 
 hands. The farmers hastily ran in for Brown 
 Bess and a horn of powder. So that ere the 
 first furrow was turned from end to end the 
 glebe was black with people, swarming like an 
 angry hive whose defences have been stormed. 
 
 So the invaders could not stand, either in 
 numbers or anger, against the honest folk who 
 had sworn to keep sacred the home of the man 
 of their choice. 
 
 Even as I came to the entering in of the 
 
 Kirk loaning, I saw the ending of the fray. 
 
 The invaders were fleeing down the water-side 
 
 the poor lad McKie, who in his anger had 
 
 stricken a woman to the ground and stamped 
 
 upon her, had a wound in his hand made by a 
 
 reaping-hook. The ploughs had been thrown 
 
 into the Dee, and the folk of Balmaghie were 
 
 pursuing and beating stray fugitives, like school 
 
 laddies threshing at a wasps' nest. 
 
 Then I, who had striven so lately with the 
 22
 
 328 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 powers of evil in high places, was stricken to 
 the heart at this unseemly riot, and resolved 
 within me that there should be a quick end 
 to this. 
 
 Who was I that I should thus be a troubler 
 of Israel, and make the hot anger rise in these 
 quiet hearts? Could I stand against all Scot- 
 land? Nay, could I alone be in the right and 
 all the others in the wrong? There was surely 
 work for me to do outside the bounds of one 
 small parish — at least, in all broad Scotland, a 
 few godly folk of the ancient way to whom I 
 could minister. 
 
 So I resolved then and there, that after the 
 Sabbath service at which I had bidden Earls- 
 toun to purge himself by oath and public con- 
 fession, I would no longer remain in Balmaghie 
 to stir up wrath, but depart over Jordan with 
 no more than my pilgrim-staff in my hand. 
 
 So, when at last the people had vanquished 
 the last invader and come back to the kirk, 
 I called them together and spoke quietly to 
 them. 
 
 " This thing," said I, " becomes a scandal 
 and a shaming. This is surely not the King- 
 dom of the Prince of Peace. True, not we, but 
 those who have come against us, began the fray.
 
 THE STONE OF STUMBLING. 
 
 329 
 
 But when men stumble over a stone in the path, 
 it is time that the stone be removed. 
 
 " Now I, Quintin MacClellan, your minister, 
 am the stone of stumbling — I, and none other, 
 the rock of offence. I will therefore remove 
 myself. I will cease to trouble Israel." 
 
 " No, no," they cried; " surely after this 
 they will leave us alone. They will never re- 
 turn. Bide with us, for you are our minister, 
 and we your faithful and willing folk." 
 
 And this saying of theirs, in which all joined, 
 moved me much; nevertheless I was fixed in 
 my heart, and could make no more of it than 
 that I must depart. 
 
 Which, when they heard, they were grieved 
 at very sorely, and appointed certain of them, 
 men of weight and sincerity, to combat my reso- 
 lution. 
 
 But it was not to be, for I made up my 
 mind. 
 
 I saw that there might be an open door 
 elsewhere, and though I would not abandon 
 my work in Balmaghie, yet neither would I any 
 more confine my ministrations. I would go 
 out to the Hill-folk, who before had called me, 
 and if they accepted of me, well! And if not — 
 why, there were heathen folk enough in Scot-
 
 330 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 land with none to minister to them; and it 
 would be strange if He who sent out his dis- 
 ciples two by two, bidding them take neither 
 purse nor script, would not find bread and water 
 for a poor wandering teacher throughout the 
 length and breadth of Scotland.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 FARE YOU WELL! 
 
 The fateful Sabbath came — a day of infinite 
 stillness, so that from beside the tombs of the 
 martyr Hallidays in the kirkyard of Balmaghie 
 you could hear the sheep bleating on the hills 
 of Crossmichael a mile away, the sound break- 
 ing mellow and thin upon the ear over the still 
 and azure river. 
 
 To me it was like the calm of the New 
 Jerusalem. And, indeed, no place that ever I 
 have seen can be so blessedly quiet as the bon- 
 nie kirk-knowe of Balmaghie, mirrored on a 
 windless day in the encircling stillness of the 
 Water of Dee. 
 
 The folk gathered early, clouds upon clouds 
 of them, so that I think every man, woman, and 
 child in the parish must have save the children 
 that could not walk, and the aged who dwelt 
 too far away to be carried. 
 
 Alexander Gordon sat at my right hand, 
 
 immediately beneath the pulpit. 
 
 331
 
 332 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 There seemed an extraordinary graciousness 
 in the singing that day, a special fervour in the 
 upward swell of the voices, a more excellent, 
 sober sweetness in the Sabbath air. And of 
 that I must not think, for I was to leave all 
 this — to leave for ever the vale of blessing 
 wherein I had hoped to spend my days. 
 
 Yes, I would adventure forth alone rather 
 than that a loyal folk should suffer any more 
 because of me. But first, so far as in me lay, 
 I would set right the matter of Alexander Gor- 
 don and his trouble. 
 
 It was the forty-sixth Psalm that they were 
 singing, and as they sang the people tell that 
 herds on the hill stood still to listen to the 
 chorus of that mighty singing, and, without 
 knowing why, the water stood in their eyes that 
 day. There seemed to be something by-ordi- 
 narily moving in all that was done. Thuswise 
 it went: 
 
 God is our refuge and our strength, 
 
 In straits a present aid, 
 Therefore although the earth remove, 
 
 We will not be afraid. 
 
 And as she sang I saw Mary Gordon look- 
 ing past me with the glory of the New Song 
 in her eyes. And I knew that her heart, too, 
 was touched.
 
 FARE YOU WELL! 
 
 333 
 
 By the pillar in the arched nook at the door 
 stood Hob my brother, and by him Alexander- 
 Jonita. They looked sedately down upon one 
 psalm-book. And in that day I was glad to 
 think that one man was happy. 
 
 Poor lad! That which it was laid upon me 
 to do came as a sad surprise to him. Out of 
 the window, as I stood up to the sermon, I 
 could see the river slowly take its way. It 
 glinted back more blue and sparkling than ever 
 I had seen it, and my heart gave a great stound 
 that never more was I to abide by the side of 
 that quiet water, and in the sheltered nook 
 where I had known such strange providences. 
 Once I had thought it would be gladsome for 
 me to leave it, but now, when the time came, 
 I thought so no more. 
 
 Even the little glimpses I had of that fair 
 landscape through the narrow kirk windows 
 brought back a thousand memories. Yonder, 
 by the thorn, I had seen a weak one made no- 
 bler than I by the mighty power of love. 
 
 Down there beside the dark still waters I 
 had watched the lights glimmer in the Kirk of 
 Crossmichael, where sat my foes, angry-eager 
 to make an end. But the psalm again seized 
 my heart and held it.
 
 334 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 A river is, whose streams do glad 
 
 The city of our God, 
 The Holy Place wherein the Lord 
 
 Most High hath His abode. 
 
 And in a moment the Dee Water and its 
 memories of malice were blotted out. The rip- 
 ples played instead over the River that flows 
 from about the Throne of God. I saw all the 
 warrings of earth, the heart-burnings, the 
 strifes, the little days and evil nights washed 
 away in a broad flood of grace and mercy. 
 
 I was ready to go I knew not whither. It 
 might be that there was a work greater and 
 more enduring for me to do, my pilgrim staff 
 in my hand, among the flowe-mosses and peaty 
 wildernesses of the South-west than here in the 
 well-sheltered strath of Dee. 
 
 Now, at all events, I must face the blast, 
 the bluster and the bite of it. But though 
 I was to look no more on these well-kenned, 
 kindly faces as their minister, I knew that their 
 hearts would hold by me, and their lips breathe 
 a prayer for me each day at eventide. 
 
 And so I bade them farewell. What I said 
 to them is no man's business but theirs and 
 mine, and shall not be written here. But the 
 tears flowed down and the voice of mourning 
 was heard.
 
 FARE YOU WELL! 
 
 335 
 
 Then, ere I pronounced the benediction, I 
 told them how that one dear to me and well 
 known to them had a certain matter to set be- 
 fore them. 
 
 With that uprose Alexander Gordon in the 
 midst, looming great like a hero seen in the 
 morning mist. 
 
 I put him to the solemn oath, and then and 
 there he declared before them his innocence of 
 the greater evil, purging himself, as the manner 
 was, by solemn and binding oath, which purga- 
 tion had been refused him by the Presbytery. 
 
 " By the grace and kindness of your minis- 
 ter, I, Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun, being 
 known to you all, declare myself wholly inno- 
 cent of the crime laid to my charge by the 
 Presbytery of Kirkcudbright. May the Lord 
 in whom I believe have no mercy on my soul if 
 I speak not the truth. 
 
 " But as for the lesser shame," so he con- 
 tinued, " that I brought on myself and on the 
 cause for which I have been in time past privi- 
 leged to suffer, in that I was overcome with 
 wine in the change-house of St. John's, Clachan 
 — that much is true. With contrition do I con- 
 fess it. And I confess also to the unholy and 
 hellish anger that descended on my spirit, from
 
 336 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 which blackness of darkness I was brought by 
 your minister. For which I, unworthy, shall 
 ever continue to praise the Lord of mercies, 
 who did not cut me off with my sin unconfessed 
 or my innocence unproclaimed." 
 
 Alexander Gordon sat down, and there went 
 a sigh and a murmur over all the folk like the 
 wind over ripe wheat in a large field. 
 
 Then I told them how that my resolve was 
 taken, and that it was necessary that I should 
 depart from the midst of them in order that 
 there might be peace. 
 
 But one and another throughout the kirk 
 cried, " Nay, we will not let you go! We have 
 fought for you; desert us not now. The bit- 
 terness of the blast is surely over; now they 
 will let us alone! " 
 
 Thus one and another cried out there in the 
 kirk, but the most part only groaned in spirit 
 and were troubled. 
 
 " Ye shall not be less my people that an- 
 other is set in my place. I go indeed to seek 
 a wider ministry. I have been called by the 
 remnant of the Hill-folk that have so long been 
 without a pastor. Whether I am fitted to be 
 their minister I do not know, but in weakness 
 and the acknowledgment of it there is ever the
 
 FARE YOU WELL! 
 
 337 
 
 beginning of strength. I have loved your par- 
 ish and you. Dear dust lies in that kirkyard 
 out there, and when for me the Angel of the 
 Presence comes who calls not twice, that is 
 where I should like to lie, under the blossom- 
 ing hawthorn trees near by where the waters 
 of Dee flow largely and quietly about the bonny 
 kirk-knowe of Balmaghie."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 "i LOVE YOU, QUINTIn!" 
 
 There was little more to do. The scanty 
 stock of the glebe was, by Hob's intervention, 
 sold in part to Nathan Gemmell, of Drumglass, 
 and the remainder driven along the Kenside 
 by the fords of the Black Water to Ardarroch, 
 where my mother received it with uplifted, 
 querulous hands, and my father calmly as if he 
 had never expected anything else. 
 
 " To think," cried my mother, " that the 
 laddie we sent so proudly to the college should 
 shut himself out of manse and kirk, and tak' 
 to the moors and mosses as if the auld perse- 
 cuting days were back again." 
 
 " It is in a guid cause," said my father, 
 quieting her as best he could. 
 
 ' I daresay," said my mother, " but the lad 
 will get mony a wet fit and weary mile if he 
 ministers to the Hill-folk. Aye, and mony a 
 
 sair heart to please them." 
 
 338
 
 "I LOVE YOU, QUINTIN!" 339 
 
 " Fear ye not for Quintin," said my father, 
 to soothe her, " for if it comes to dourness the 
 Lord pity them that try to overcrow our Quin- 
 tin." 
 
 I made no farewell round of the kindly, 
 faithful folk of Balmaghie. My heart would 
 have had too many breakings. Besides, I 
 promised myself that, when I took up the pil- 
 grim's staff and ministered to the remnant scat- 
 tered abroad, seeking no reward, I should often 
 be glad of a night's shelter at Drumglass or 
 Cullenoch. 
 
 Nevertheless, for all my brave resolves, it 
 was with an overweighted heart that I passed 
 the Black Water at the Tornorrach fords with 
 my staff in my hand. I had as it were come 
 over in two bands, with Hob driving the beasts 
 for the glebe, and I the house furniture upon 
 a car or trail cart. 
 
 Now I left the parish poorer than I entered 
 it. I knew not so much as where I would sleep 
 that night. I had ten pounds in my pocket, 
 and when that was done — well, I would surely 
 not be worse off than the King's Blue Gown. 
 I was to minister to a scattered people, mostly 
 of the poorest. But at the worst I was sure of 
 an inglenook, a bed in the stable-loft, and a
 
 34© THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 porringer of brose at morn and e'en anywhere 
 in Scotland. And I am sure that ofttimes 
 the Galilean fishermen had not so much. 
 
 My mother threw her arms about my neck. 
 " O laddie, laddie, ye are ganging far awa 
 on a rough road and a lonely. Guid kens if 
 your auld mither will ever look on your face 
 again. Quintin, this is a sair heartbreak. But 
 I ken I hae mysel' to thank for it. I bred ye to 
 the Hill-folks' ways mysel'. It was your ain 
 mither that took ye in her arms to the sweet 
 conventicles on the green bosom of Cairnsmuir, 
 that delectable mountain. I, even I, had ye bap- 
 tized at the Holy Linn by guid Maister Semple, 
 and never a whinge or a greet did ye gae when 
 he stappit ye into the thickest o' the jaw." 
 
 And the remembrance seemed in part to 
 reconcile my mother to the stern Cameronian 
 ministry I was about to take up. 
 
 " And what stipend are they promising ye? " 
 she said, presently, after she had thought the 
 matter over. 
 
 ' Nothing! " I answered, calmly. 
 
 ' Nocht ava' — no a bawbee — and a' that 
 siller spent on your colleging." 
 
 Then my mother's mind took a new tack. 
 
 " And what will puir Hob be gaun to do,
 
 "I LOVE YOU, QUINTINr* 341 
 
 puir fellow? He has had nae ither thocht than 
 you since ever he was a laddie." 
 
 " Faith," said I, smiling back at her, " I am 
 thinking that now at last he has some other 
 thought in his mind." 
 
 My mother fell back a step. 
 
 "No a lassie! ' : she cried, 'a laddie like 
 him." 
 
 " Hob is no week-old bairn chicken, moth- 
 er," said I; "he will be five-and-thirty if he is 
 a day." 
 
 " But our Hob — to be thinking o' a lassie! " 
 
 " At what age might ye have been married, 
 mother? " I asked, knowing that I could turn 
 her from thinking of Hob's presumption and 
 my own waygoing. 
 
 " Me? I was married at seventeen, and 
 your father scant a score. Faith, there was 
 spunk in the countryside then. Noo a lass will 
 be four-and-twenty before she gets an offer; 
 aye, and not think hersel' ayont the mark for 
 the wedding-ring, when I had sons and dochters 
 man and woman-muckle! " 
 
 " Then," said I, " that being so, ye will not 
 be hard on Hob if he marries and settles him- 
 self down at Drumglass."
 
 342 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 My father clapped me on the shoulder. 
 ' God speed ye," he said; " I need not tell 
 ye to be noways feared. And if ye come to 
 the bottom of your purse — well, your faither 
 is no rich man. But there will be aye a bit 
 of yellow siller for ye in the cupboard of Ar- 
 darroch." 
 
 I had meant to take my way past Earlstoun 
 without calling. And with that intent it was 
 in my mind to hold directly over the moor past 
 Lochinvar. But when it came to the pinch I 
 simply could not do it. 
 
 So to the dear grey tower chin-deep among 
 the woodlands I betook me once more. My 
 eyes had been looking for the first glint of it 
 over the tree tops for miles ere I came within 
 sight of it. " There," and " there," so I said 
 to myself, " under that white cloud, by the nick 
 of that hill, where the woodland curls down, 
 that is the place." 
 
 At last I arrived. 
 
 " Quintin MacClellan, come your ways in. 
 Welcome are ye as the smell o' the supper 
 brose," cried Alexander Gordon, coming heart- 
 ily across from the far angle of the courtyard 
 at sight of me. " Whither away so travel-har- 
 nessed? "
 
 "I LOVE YOU, QUINTIN!" 343 
 
 " To the Upper Ward," said I, " to make a 
 beginning on the widest minister's charge in 
 Scotland." 
 
 " You are, then, truly bent on leaving all 
 and taking upon you the blue bonnet and the 
 plaid of the minister of the Remnant? ,: 
 
 "I have already done it," said I, "burned 
 
 my boats, emptied my house, sold my plenishing 
 
 and bestial. And now with my scrip and staff 
 
 I go forth, whither I know not — perchance to a 
 
 hole in the hedge-root and the death of a dog." 
 
 ' Tut, man," cried Alexander Gordon, ' 'tis 
 
 not thus that the apostle of the Hill-folk, the 
 
 bearer of their banner, should go forth. Bide 
 
 at least this night with me, and I will set you 
 
 up the waterside, aye, and fit you with a beast 
 
 to ride on forbye." 
 
 ' I thank you from my heart, Earlstoun. 
 
 This is spoken like a true man and from the 
 
 full heart. Only Alexander Gordon would offer 
 
 as much. But I would begin as I must end if 
 
 I am to be the poor man's minister. I must 
 
 not set out on my pilgrimage riding on the 
 
 back of Earlstoun's charger. I must tramp it 
 
 — moss and mountain, dub and mire. Yet, 
 
 friend of mine, I could not go without bidding 
 
 you a kindly adieu." 
 23
 
 344 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " At least bide till the mistress and Mary 
 can shake ye by the hand," cried Alexander 
 Gordon. 
 
 And with that he betook him to the 
 nearest window, and without ceremony pushed 
 it open, for the readiest way was ever Sandy 
 Gordon's way. Then he roared for his wife and 
 daughter till the noise shook the tower like an 
 earthquake. 
 
 In a moment Mary Gordon came out and 
 stood on the doorstep with her fingers in her 
 ears, pretending a pretty anger. 
 
 " What an unwholesome uproar, father! 
 Well do they call you the Bull of Earlstoun, 
 and say that they hear you over the hill at 
 Ardoch bidding the herd lads to be quiet!" 
 
 Then seeing me (as it appeared) for the first 
 time, she came forward and took my hand sim- 
 ply, and with a pleasant open frankness. 
 
 " You will come in and rest, will you not? ' : 
 she said. " Are you here on business with my 
 father? " 
 
 " Nay," said I, smiling at her; " I have no 
 business save that of bidding you farewell." 
 
 " Farewell! ' : cried she, dropping the nee- 
 dle-work she held in her hand, ' why fare- 
 well?"
 
 "I LOVE YOU, QUINTIN!" 345 
 
 ' I go far away to a new and untried 
 work. I know not when nor how I shall re- 
 turn." 
 
 She gave a little quick shivering gasp, as 
 if she had been about to speak. 
 
 " At the least, come in and see my mother," 
 she said, and led the way within. 
 
 But when we had gone into the long oaken 
 chamber naught of the Lady of Earlstoun was 
 to be seen. And the laird himself cried up to 
 Mary to entertain me till he should speak to 
 his grieve over at the cottage. 
 
 In the living room of Earlstoun was peace 
 and the abiding pleasant sense of on ordered 
 home. As soon as she had shut the door the 
 lass turned upon me. 
 
 1 You have truly given up your parish? " 
 she said, holding her hands before her with the 
 fingers clasped firmly together. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 '' And you are journeying to the west to 
 join the Hill-folk? " 
 
 I smiled as I looked into her deep and anx- 
 ious eyes. 
 
 :i Again you have rightly divined," I said. 
 
 " And what stipend are ye to get from 
 them? "
 
 346 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 ' I am to have no stipend. It has not been 
 mentioned between us." 
 
 ' O Quintin! " she cried suddenly, her eyes 
 growing ever larger and darker, till the pupil 
 seemed to invade the iris and swallow it up. 
 
 But though I waited for her to speak fur- 
 ther she said nothing more. 
 
 So I went on to tell her how I was going 
 to the west to spend my life among the poor 
 folk there who had been so long without a 
 shepherd. 
 
 " And would you " — she paused — " would 
 you leave us all? " 
 
 " Nay," said I, " for this Earlstoun shall ever 
 be a kindly and a beloved spot to me. Often 
 when the ways are long and dreary, the folk 
 unfriendly, will my heart turn in hither. And, 
 whenever I am in Galloway, be sure that I will 
 not pass you by. Your father hath been a good 
 and loving friend to me." 
 
 " My father! " she cried, with a little dis- 
 dainful outward pout of the lip. 
 
 " Aye, and you also, Mistress Mary. You 
 have been all too kind to a broken man — a 
 man who, when the few coins he carries in his 
 purse are expended, knows not whence he will 
 get his next golden guinea."
 
 "I LOVE YOU, QUINTIN!" 347 
 
 I was silent for a while and only looked 
 steadily at her. She moved her feet this way 
 and that on the floor uncertainly. Her grace 
 and favour cried out to me anew. 
 
 " As for me, Mary," I said, " I need not tell 
 you that I love you. I have loved you ever 
 since I met you on the Bennan brae-face. But 
 now more greatly — more terribly that I love al- 
 together without hope. I had not meant to 
 speak again, but only to take your hand once 
 thus — and get me gone! ' : 
 
 Impulsively she held her fingers out to me 
 and I clasped them in mine. 
 
 I thought she was ready to bid me farewell, 
 and that she desired not to prolong the pain of 
 the interview. 
 
 " Fare thee well then, Mary," said I. " I 
 have loved the cause because it is the Cause of 
 the Weak. I have striven to raise again the 
 Banner of Blue. I have loved my people. But 
 none of these hath this aching, weary heart 
 loved as it has loved Mary Gordon. I have 
 neither heart nor right to speak of my love, 
 nor house nor home to offer. I can but go! " 
 
 " Speak on," she said, a little breathlessly, 
 but never once taking her eyes from my face. 
 
 " There is no other word to tell, Mary,"
 
 348 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 said I. ' I have spoken the word, and now 
 there remains but to turn about and set face 
 forward as bravely as may be, to shut out the 
 pleasant vision, seen for a moment, to leave be- 
 hind for ever the heart's desire 
 
 ' No! No! No! ' : she interrupted, jerking 
 her clasped hands quickly downward. 
 
 " To lay aside the deep, unspoken hopes 
 of a man who has never loved woman be- 
 fore " 
 
 She came a little nearer to me, still explor- 
 ing my face with her eyes, as I spoke the last 
 words. 
 
 " Did you not, Quintin? Are you sure? ' ; 
 
 ' I have never loved before," said I, " be- 
 cause I have loved Mary Gordon from the be- 
 ginning, yea, every day and every hour since I 
 was a herd boy on the hills. Once I was filled 
 with pride and the security of position. But 
 of these the Lord hath stripped me. I am 
 well-nigh as poor as when I came into the 
 world. I have nothing now to offer you or any 
 woman." 
 
 ' Nay," she cried, speaking very quickly and 
 suddenly, laying her clasped hands on my arm, 
 " you are rich — rich, Quintin! Listen, lad! 
 There is one that loves you now — who has loved
 
 "I LOVE YOU, QUINTIN!" 349 
 
 you long. Do you not understand? Must I, 
 that am a maid, speak for myself? Must I say, 
 / love you, Quintin f " 
 
 And then she smiled suddenly, gloriously, 
 like the sun bursting through black and leaden 
 clouds. 
 
 Oh, sweet and perilously sweet was her 
 smile ! 
 
 " Mary," I cried, suddenly, : ' you are not 
 playing with me? Ah, for God's dear sake, do 
 not that! It would break my heart. You 
 cannot love a man broken, penniless, outcast, 
 one of a down-trodden and despised folk. You 
 must not give yourself to one whose future 
 path is lone and desolate! " 
 
 " / love you, Quintin! " 
 
 " One who has nothing to offer, nothing to 
 give, not even the shelter of a roof-tree — a wan- 
 derer, a beggar! ''' 
 
 " I love you, Quintin! " 
 
 And the hands that had been clasped on 
 my arm of their own sweet accord stole upward 
 and rested lovingly about my neck. The eyes 
 that had looked so keenly into mine were sat- 
 isfied at last, and with a long sobbing sigh of 
 content Mary Gordon's head pillowed itself on 
 my breast.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE LAST ROARING OF THE BULL. 
 
 " Come," she said, after a while, " let us go 
 to my father! " 
 
 And now, the rubicon being passed, there 
 shone a quick and alert gladness upon her face. 
 Her feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground. 
 The mood of sedateness had passed away, and 
 she hummed a gay tune as we went down the 
 stairs. 
 
 Alexander Gordon was coming across the 
 yard to speak with his wife as Mary and I ap- 
 peared hand in hand at the stair foot. 
 
 He stopped as it had been suddenly aghast 
 when he caught sight of us. 
 
 "Mary!" he cried. 
 
 She nodded and made him a little prim 
 curtesy. 
 
 " What means this? " he said, sternly. 
 
 " Just that Quintin and I love one an- 
 other! " 
 
 350
 
 THE LAST ROARING OF THE BULL. 
 
 351 
 
 And as she spoke I saw the frown gather 
 ominously on Alexander Gordon's face. His 
 wife came near and looked at him. I saw him 
 flash a glance at her so quick, so stern, and 
 full of meaning that the ready river of her 
 speech froze on her lips. 
 
 " This is rank foolishness, Mary! " he cried; 
 " go indoors this instant and get to your broi- 
 dering. Let me hear no more of this! ' : 
 
 But the spirit of the Gordons was in the 
 daughter as well as in the sire. 
 
 ' I will not," she said; " I am of age, and 
 though in all else I have obeyed you, in this I 
 will not." 
 
 Glance for glance their eyes encountered, 
 nor could I see that either pair quailed. 
 
 The Laird of Earlstoun turned to me. 
 
 ''' And you, sir, whom I trusted as my friend, 
 how came you here under pretext of amity, 
 thus to lead away my daughter? " 
 
 The question was fiercely spoken, the tone 
 sullenly angry. Yet somehow both rang hol- 
 low. 
 
 I was about to answer when Mary inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 ' Nay, father," she cried, looking him fear- 
 lessly in the face; "it was I that proffered my
 
 352 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 love. He would not ask me, though I tried to 
 make him. I had to tell him that I loved him, 
 and make him ask me to marry him! ' : 
 
 Was it fancy that the flicker of a smile 
 passed at that moment over the grim counte- 
 nance of the Bull? 
 
 His wife was again about to speak, but 
 he turned fiercely on her and bade her be si- 
 lent. 
 
 " And now," he said, turning to his daugh- 
 ter, ' what do you propose to do with your 
 man when ye have ' speered ' him? " 
 
 He used the local country expression for a 
 proposal of marriage. " I will marry him here 
 and now," she said; adding hastily, " that is, if 
 he will have me." 
 
 'Ye had better speer him that too!" said 
 her father, grimly. 
 
 " I will do better," cried Mary Gordon. " I 
 will acknowledge him! " 
 
 And holding up my hand in hers she cried 
 aloud: " I take you for my husband, Quintin 
 MacClellan! ' : She looked up at me with a 
 challenge in her eye. 
 
 " My wife! " was all that I could utter. 
 
 " Well," said Sandy, " that is your bed 
 made, my lassie. You have both said it before
 
 THE LAST ROARING OF THE BULL. 353 
 
 witnesses. You must take him now, whether 
 ye will or not! 
 
 " Hugh," he cried, with a sudden roar to- 
 wards the servants' quarters. And from the 
 haymow in the barn where he had been making 
 a pretence of work a retainer appeared with a 
 scared expression on his face. 
 
 '' Run over to the cot-house at the road- 
 end and tell the minister lad that the Dum- 
 fries Presbytery deposed to come to the Earls- 
 toun and that smartly, else I will come down 
 and fetch him myself! " 
 
 The man was already on his way ere the 
 sentence was ended, and when the Laird roared 
 the last words after him he fairly seemed to 
 jump. 
 
 He was out of sight among the trees a mo- 
 ment after. 
 
 " Now," said Alexander Gordon, ' Mary 
 and you have proclaimed yourselves man and 
 wife. Ye shall be soundly married by a minis- 
 ter, and then ye shall go your ways forth. 
 Think not that I will give you the worth of a 
 boddle either in gear or land. Ye have asked 
 me no permission. Ye have defied me. I say 
 not that I will disown ye. But, at least, I owe 
 you nothing."
 
 354 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " Father," said Mary, " did I ask you for 
 aught, or did Quintin? " 
 
 ' Nay," said he, grimly, " not even for my 
 daughter." 
 
 " Then," said she, " do not refuse that for 
 which you have not been asked! " 
 
 "And how may you propose to live?" her 
 • father went on triumphantly. ' Ye would not 
 look at him when he had kirk and glebe, manse 
 and stipend. And now ye take him by force 
 when he is no better than a beggar at the dyke- 
 back. That it is to be a woman! " 
 
 She kindled at the words. 
 
 " And what a thing to be a man! Ye think 
 that a woman's love consists in goods and gear, 
 comfortable beds and fine apparelling! ' : 
 
 : ' Comfortable beds are not to be lightlied," 
 said her father; " as ye will find, my lass, or a' 
 be done." 
 
 She did not heed him, but flashed on with 
 her defiance. 
 
 ' You, and those like you, think that the 
 way to win a woman is to bide till ye have made 
 all smooth, so that there be not a curl on the 
 rose-leaves, nor yet a bitter drop in the cup. 
 Even Quintin there thought thus, till he learned 
 better."
 
 THE LAST ROARING OF THE BULL. 
 
 355 
 
 She did not so much as pause to smile, 
 though I think her father did — but covertly. 
 
 "No!" she cried, 'I love, and because I 
 love I will (as you say floutingly) be ready to 
 lie at a dykeback like a tinkler's wench. I will 
 follow my man through the world because he is 
 my man — yes, all the more because he is in- 
 jured, despised, one who has had little happi- 
 ness and no satisfaction in life. And now I 
 will give him these things. I — I only will make 
 it all up to him. With my love I can do it, and 
 I will!" 
 
 Her father nodded menacingly. 
 ' Ye shall try the dykebacks this very nicht, 
 my lass! And ye shall e'en see how ye like 
 them, after the fine linen sheets and panelled 
 chambers of the Earlstoun." 
 
 But her mother broke out at last. 
 
 ' No, my bairn! " she cried. ' Married or 
 single ye shall not go forth from us thus! " 
 
 "Hold your tongue, woman!" roared the 
 Bull, shaking the very firmament with his voice. 
 
 " Be not feared, my lass; ye shall have your 
 mother's countenance, though your father cast 
 you off," said Janet Gordon, nodding at us 
 with unexpected graciousness. 
 
 " Hold your peace, I tell you! "
 
 356 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 " Aye, Sandy, when I have done! " 
 " Though he turn you to the doorstep I 
 will pray for you," she went on; " and for com- 
 pany on the way I will give you a copy of my 
 meditations, which are most meet and pre- 
 
 cious." 
 
 Her husband laughed a quick, mocking 
 laugh. 
 
 " A bundle of clean sarks wad fit them bet- 
 ter — but here comes the minister." 
 
 I turned about somewhat shamefacedly, and 
 there, bowing to the Laird of Earlstoun, was 
 young Gilchrist of Dunscore, whom the Pres- 
 bytery of Dumfries had lately deposed. He 
 was about to begin a speech of congratulation, 
 but the Bull broke through. 
 
 " Marry these two! " he commanded. 
 
 And with his ringer he pointed at Mary 
 and myself, as if he had been ordering us for 
 immediate execution. 
 
 "But " began the minister. 
 
 Instantly an astonishing volume of sound 
 filled the house. 
 
 " But me no buts! Tie them up this mo- 
 ment! Or, by the Lord, I will eviscerate you 
 with my sword! " 
 
 And with that he snatched his great basket-
 
 THE LAST ROARING OF THE BULL. 
 
 357 
 
 hilted blade from the scabbard, where it swung 
 on a pin by the side of the door. 
 
 So, with a quaking minister, my own head 
 dazed and uncertain with the whirl of events, 
 and Mary Gordon giving her father back defiant 
 glance for glance, we were married decently and 
 in order. 
 
 " Now," said Alexander Gordon, so soon as 
 the " Amen " was out, " go to your chamber 
 with your mother, Mistress Mary! Take what- 
 ever ye can carry, but no more, and get you 
 gone out of this house with the man you have 
 chosen. I will teach you to be fond of dyke- 
 backs and of throwing yourself away upon beg- 
 garly, broken men!" 
 
 And he frowned down upon her, as with 
 head erect and scornful carriage she swept past 
 him — her mother trotting behind like a fright- 
 ened child. 
 
 I think Alexander Gordon greatly desired 
 to say something to me while he and I stood 
 waiting for her return. For he kept shifting 
 his weight from one foot to the other, now 
 turning to the window, anon humming half a 
 tune and breaking off short in the midst. But 
 ever as he came towards me with obvious in- 
 tent to speak, he checked himself, shaking his
 
 358 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 head sagely, and so resumed again his restless 
 marching to and fro. 
 
 Presently my lass came down with a proud 
 high look on her face, her mother following 
 after, all beblubbered with tears and wringing 
 her hands silently. 
 
 'I bid you farewell, father!' Mary said; 
 " till now you have ever been a kind father to 
 me. And some day you will forgive this seem- 
 ing disobedience! " 
 
 Then it was that her father made a strange 
 speech. 
 
 ;< Quintin MacClellan has muckle to thank 
 me for. For had it not been for the roaring 
 of the Bull, he had not so easily gotten away 
 the dainty quey! " 
 
 So side by side, and presently when we got 
 to the wood's edge hand in hand, Mary Gordon 
 and I went out into the world together. 
 
 Final Addition and Conclusion by Hob MacClellan. 
 
 Thus my brother left the writing which has 
 fallen into my hand. In a word I must finish 
 what I cannot alter or amend. 
 
 His marriage with Mary Gordon was most 
 happy and gracious, though I have ever heard
 
 THE LAST ROARING OF THE BULL. 359 
 
 that she retained throughout her life her high 
 proud nature and hasty speech. 
 
 Her father relented his anger after the great 
 renovation of the Covenants at Auchensaugh. 
 Indeed, I question whether in driving them 
 forth from Earlstoun, as hath been told, Alex- 
 ander Gordon was not acting a part. For when 
 he came to see my wife, Alexander-Jonita, after 
 our little Quintin was born, he said, " Heard 
 ye aught of your brother and his wife? ' : 
 
 I told him that they were well and hearty, 
 full of honour, work, and the happiness of chil- 
 dren. 
 
 " Aye," said he, after a pause of reflection, 
 " Quintin has indeed muckle to thank me for. 
 I took the only way with our Mary, to make 
 her ten times fonder o' him than she was." 
 
 And he chuckled a little deep laugh in his 
 throat. 
 
 " But," he said, " I wad gie a year's rent to 
 ken how she liked the dykeback the night she 
 left the Earlstoun." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 24
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 By S. R. CROCKETT. 
 
 Uniform edition. Each, ismo, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 ^HE STANDARD BEARER. An Historical 
 
 -*■ Romance. 
 
 Mr. Crockett stands on ground that he has made his own in this romance 
 of the Scottish Covenanters. The story opens in 1685, " the Terrible Year," 
 with a vivid picture of the pursuit of fugitive Covenanters by the dragoons. 
 The hero, who becomes a Covenanting minister, sees many strange and 
 stirring adventures. The charming love story which runs through the book 
 is varied by much excellent fighting and many picturesque incidents. " The 
 Standard Bearer" is likely to be ranked by readers with Mr. Crockett's 
 most successful work. 
 
 J ADS' LOVE. Illustrated. 
 
 ' " It seems to us that there is in this latest product much of the realism of per- 
 sonal experience. However modified and disguised, it is hardly possible to think that 
 the writer's personality does not present itself in Saunders McQuhirr. . . . Rarely has 
 the author drawn more truly from life than in the cases of Nance and ' the Hempie' ; 
 never more typical Scotsman of the humble sort than the farmer Peter Chrystie." — 
 London A thenceum. 
 
 f^LEG KELLY, ARAB OF THE CLTY. His 
 ^-' Progress and Adventures. Illustrated. 
 
 "A masterpiece which Mark Twain himself has never rivaled. . . . If there ever 
 was an ideal character in fiction it is this heroic ragamuffin." — London Daily 
 Chronicle. 
 
 " In no one of his books does Mr. Crockett give us a brighter or more graphic 
 picture of contemporary Scotch life than in ' Cleg Kelly.' ... It is one of the great 
 books." — Boston Daily Advertiser. 
 
 JDOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. Third edition. 
 
 — " Here are idyls, epics, dramas of human life, written in words that thrill and 
 
 burn. . . . Each is a poem that has an immoital flavor. They are fragments of 
 the author's early dreams, too bright, too gorgeous, too full of the blood of rubies 
 and the life of diamonds to be caught and held palpitating in expression's grasp."— 
 Boston Courier. 
 
 " Hardly a sketch among them all that will not afford pleasure to the reader for 
 its genial humor, artistic local coloring, and admirable portrayal of character."— Boston 
 Home Journal. 
 
 T'HE LLLAC SUNBONNET. Eighth edition. 
 
 "A love story, pure and simple, one of the old-fashioned, wholesome, sun 
 shiny kind, with a pure minded, sound-hearted hero, and a heroine, who is merely a 
 good and beautiful woman ; and if any other love story half so sweet has been written 
 this year it has escaped our notice." — New York Times. 
 
 "The general conception of the story, the motive of which is the growth of love 
 between the young chief and heroine, is delineated with a sweetness and a freshness, 
 a naturalness and a certainty, which places 'The Lilac Sunbonnet' among the best 
 stories of the time." — New York Mail and Express. 
 
 D APPI.ETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 " A VERY REMARKABLE BOOK." 
 
 ^HE BETH BOOK. By Sarah Grand, author of 
 
 " The Heavenly Twins," etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Readers will linger delightedly over one of the freshest and deepest studies of 
 child character ever given to the world, and hereafter will find it an ever-present factor 
 in their literary recollections and impressions."— Z.<?»rt<;« Globe. 
 
 " Here there are humor, observation, and sympathetic insight into the tempera- 
 ments both of men and women.'' — London Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " Beth and her environments live before us. We see her sensitive as a musical 
 instrument to the touch of surrounding influences, every latent quality for good and 
 evil in her already warring for mastery." — London Daily JVews. 
 
 " There is much vivacity, much sympathy for the moods of girlhood, and with the 
 strange, quaint, happy fancies of a child ; and much power of representing these 
 things with humor, eloquence, and feeling." — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 "Sarah Grand's new work of fiction, 'The Beth Book,' will be likely to meet a 
 wider acceptance than her famous book, ' The Heavenly Twins,' for the reason that it 
 is a more attractive piece of literary workmanship, and has about it a certain human 
 interest that the other book lacked. . . . Madame Grand's wit and humor, her 
 mastery of a direct and forceful style, her quick insight, and the depth of her penetra- 
 tion into human character, were never more apparent than in 'The Beth Book.'" — 
 Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 " 'The Beth Book' is important because it is one of the few intelligent and 
 thoughtful studies of life that have appeared this season. . . . The essence of the 
 whole book is the effort to study and to trace the evolution of character; and because 
 the author has done this to admiration, her book is a success. Moreover, it is writ- 
 ten with a masterly command of style, and is so utterly absorbing and so strongly 
 and connectedly logical, that the author's thought impresses you at every line. You 
 skip nothing. Even a reader whom the deeper qualities of the book failed to hold 
 would follow every incident from sheer pleasure in its vividness, its picturesqueness, 
 and its entertainment." — Boston Herald. 
 
 "'The Beth Book ' is distinctly a notable achievement in fiction. . . . Written 
 in a style that is picturesque, vigorous, and varied, with abundance of humor, ex- 
 cellence of graphic description, and the ability to project her chief characters with a 
 boldness of relief that is rare." — Philadelphia Press. 
 
 " One of the strongest and most remarkable books of the year. ... ' The Beth 
 Book ' stands by itself. There is nothing with which to compare it." — Bztffalo 
 Express. 
 
 " ' The Beth Book' is a powerful book. It is written with wonderful insight and 
 equally wonderful vividness of portrayal. It is absorbingly interesting. . . . The 
 heroine awakens our wonder, pity, and admiration. We soon become enthralled by 
 the fascinating study, and follow her physical and spiritual footsteps with breathless 
 eagerness from page to page, from stage to stage of her development and the fore- 
 shadowings of her destiny." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " In ' The Beth Book ' the novelist has given us a story at once a marvelously well- 
 evolved study in psychology and at the same time an absorbing review of human life 
 in its outward aspects. ' The Beth Book ' is a wonder m its departure from conven- 
 tional methods of fiction, and in an ever-growing charm in its development and 
 sequence." — San Francisco Call. 
 
 " Decidedly a notable addition to the few works which are of such quality to be 
 classed as ' books of the year.' There are many reasons for this. First, it is an intel- 
 ligent and faithful study of human life and character; second, because it has a depth 
 of purpose rare indeed in ordinary fiction ; and last, because from start to finish there 
 is a charm which never ceases to hold the reader's interest. Decidedly, ' The Beth 
 Book ' is a great book." — Philadelphia Item. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 IV' 
 
 HAMLIN GARLAND'S BOOKS. 
 Uniform edition. Each, i2mo, cloth, $1.25. 
 
 4 Y SIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " A faithful and an entertaining portrayal of village and rural life in the West. 
 . . No one can read this collection of short stones without feeling that he is master 
 of the subject."— Chicago Journal. 
 
 " One of the most delightful books of short stories which have come to our notice in 
 a long time." — Boston Times. 
 
 "The historian of the plains has done nothing better than this group of Western 
 stories. Wayside courtships they are, but full of tender feeling and breathing a fine, 
 strong sentiment." — Louisville Times. 
 
 J 
 
 ASON ED WARDS. An Average Man. 
 
 " The average man in the industrial ranks is presented in this story in as lifelike 
 a manner as Mr. Bret Harte presented the men in the California mining camps thirty 
 year.-> ago. ... A story which will be read with absorbing interest by hundreds of 
 workingmen." — Boston Herald. 
 
 A 
 
 MEMBER OF THE THIRD HOUSE. 
 
 Story of Political Warfare. 
 
 " The work is, in brief, a keen and searching study of lobbies and lobbyists. At 
 least, it is the lobbies that furnish its motive. For the rest, the story is narrated with 
 much power, and the characters of Brennan the smart wire-puller, the millionaire Davis, 
 the reformer Tuttle, and Evelyn Ward are skillfully individualized. . . . Mr. Garland's 
 people have this peculiar characteristic, that they have not had a literary world made 
 for them to live in. They seem to move and act in the cold gray light of reality, and 
 in that trying light they are evidently human." — Chicago Record. 
 
 A 
 
 SPOIL OF OFFICE. A Story of the Modern 
 
 West. 
 
 " It awakens in the mind a tremendous admiration for an artist who could so find 
 his way through the mists of familiarity to an artistic haven. ... In reading ' A Spoil 
 of Office ' one feels a continuation of interest extending from the fictional into the actual, 
 with no break or divergence. And it seems to be onlv a question of waiting a day or 
 two ere one will run up against the characters in real life." 
 
 A 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 LITTLE NORSK ; or, 01 Pap's Flaxen. i6mo. 
 Boards, 50 cents. 
 
 "True feeling, the modesty of Nature, rnd the sure touch of art are the marksof 
 this pure and graphic story, which has added a bright leaf to the author's laurels." — 
 Chicago Tribune. 
 
 " A delightful story, full of humor of the finest kind, genuine pathos, and enthralling 
 in its vivid human interest." — London Academy. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 H^HE BROOM OF TEE WAR GOD. A Story 
 -* of the Recent War between the Greeks and Turks. By Henry 
 Noel Brailsford. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 This remarkable picture of the actual conditions in the Greek army 
 during the recent war is drawn by a new author of exceptional promise 
 who served in the Foreign Legion. There are glimpses of Lamia, 
 Pharsala, Larissa, Volo. Velestino, and Domoko. The author was one 
 of the disorganized and leaderless assemblage which constituted the 
 Greek army, and his wonderfully graphic sketches of the conditions 
 in the ranks, the incompetence of officers, and the attitude of the 
 King and Crown Prince toward the war shed a new light upon the 
 disasters of the campaign. The hero, an Englishman, embodies the 
 characters and the feelings of his strangely assorted cosmopolitan 
 comrades, and illustrates the psychology of war as displayed in a hope- 
 less campaign. 
 
 y^HE DISASTER. A Romance of the Franco- 
 -* Prussian War. By Paul and Victor Margueritte. i2mo. 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Like Zola's La Debdcle, with which it naturally challenges com- 
 parison, Le Dfcastre has for its theme the Franco-Prussian War. The 
 authors have the advantage of being well equipped for writing of army 
 scenes, being descendants of a line of soldiers ; their father was the 
 cavalry general, Auguste Margueritte, who fell at the battle of Sedan ; 
 and the youngest son, Victor, was himself an officer in the French 
 army, but recently abandoned the military career in order to associate 
 himself with his brother in literary work. 
 
 "This powerful picture of the fate of the Army of the Rhine, by the 
 sons of one of the generals who did their duty, is among the finest descrip- 
 tions of war that have been penned. " — London Athenaum. 
 
 "A strong, a remarkable book. 'The Disaster' is even more over- 
 whelming than Zola's Le Debacle. Zola's soldiers possessed, after all, the 
 untold advantage of their ignorance. But the officers in 'The Disaster' 
 saw everything, understood from the very beginning the immensity of the 
 blunder. Like the spectators of some grim tragedy, they waited and watched 
 for the curtain to fall." — London Speaker. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 Miss F. F. MONTRESOR'S BOOKS. 
 
 UNIFORM EDITION. EACH, l6MO, CLOTH. 
 
 T THE CROSS-ROADS. $1.50. 
 
 A 
 
 " Miss Montr6sor has the skill in writing of Olive Schreiner and Miss Harra- 
 den, added to the fullness of knowledge of life which is a chief factor in the success of 
 George Eliot and Mrs. Humphry Ward. . . . There is as much strength in this book 
 as in a dozen ordinary successful novels." — London Literary World. 
 
 " I commend it to all my readers who like a strong, cheerful, beautiful story. It 
 is one of the truly notable books of the season." — Cincinnati Commercial Tribune. 
 
 F 
 
 ALSE COIN OR TRUE? $1.25. 
 
 "One of the few true novels of the day. . . . It is powerful, and touched with a 
 delicate insight and strong impressions of life and character. . . . The author's theme 
 is original, her treatment artistic, and the book is remarkable for its unflagging inter- 
 est" — Philadelphia Record. 
 
 " The tale never flags in interest, and once taken up will not be laid down until the 
 last page is finished." — Boston Budget. 
 
 "A well-written novel, with well-depicted characters and well-chosen scenes." — 
 Chicago News. 
 
 " A sweet, tender, pure, and lovely story." — Buffalo Commercial. 
 
 HTHE ONE WHO LOOKED ON. $1.25. 
 
 "A tale quite unusual, entirely unlike any other, full of a strange power and 
 realism, and touched with a fine humor."— London World. 
 
 "One of the most remarkable and powerful of the > ear's contributions, worthy to 
 stand with Ian Maclaren's."- British Weekly. 
 
 "One of the rare books which can be read with great pleasure and recommended 
 without reservation. It is fresh, pure, sweet, and pathetic, -with a pathos which is per- 
 fectly wholesome." — St. Paul Globe. 
 
 " The story is an intensely human one. and it is delightfully told. . . . The author 
 shows a marvelous keenness in character analysis, and a marked ingenuity in the de- 
 velopment of her story."— Boston Advertiser. 
 
 TNTO THE HIGH IV A YS AND HEDGES. $1.50. 
 
 "A touch of idealism, of nobility of thought and purpose, mingled with an air of 
 reality and well-chosen expression, are the most notable features of a book that has not 
 the ordinary defects of such qualities. With all its elevation of utterance and spirit- 
 uality of outlook and insight it is wonderfully free from overstrained or exaggerated 
 matter, and it has glimpses of humor. Most of the characters are vivid, yet there are 
 restraint and sobriety in their treatment, and almost all are carefully and consistently 
 evolved. " — London A thenceum. 
 
 " ' Into the Highways and Hedges ' is a book not of promise only, hut of hish 
 achievement. It is original, powerful, artistic, humorous. It places the author at a 
 bound in the rank of those artists to whom we look for the skillful presentation of strong 
 personal impressions of life and character."- London Daily News. 
 
 "The pure idealism of 'Into the Highways and Hedges ' does much to redeem 
 modern fiction from the reproach it has brought upon itself. . . . The story is original, 
 and told with gTeat refinement"— Philadelphia Public Ledger. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NOVELS BY MAARTEN MAARTENS. 
 
 y^HE GREATER GLORY. A Siory of High Life. 
 
 ■* By Maarten Maartens, author of " God's Fool," " Joost 
 
 Aveiingh," etc. l2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Until the Appletons discovered the merits of Maarten Maartens, the foremost of, 
 Dutch novelists, it is doubtful if many American readers knew that there were IJuich! 
 novelists. His ' God's tool' and 'Joost Avelingh ' made for him an American remita- 
 tion. To our mind this just published work of his is his best. . . . He is a master ot 
 epigram, an artist in description, a prophet in insight." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " It would take several columns to give any adequate idea of the superb way in 
 which the Dutch novelist has developed his theme and wrought out one of the nest 
 impressive stories of the period. ... It belongs to the small class of novels which 
 one can not afford to neglect." — San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 " Maarten Maartens stands head and shoulders above the average novelist of the 
 day in intellectual subtlety and imaginative power." — Boston Beacon, 
 
 /~*OD'S FOOL. By Maarten Maartens. i2mo. 
 y-7 cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Throughout there is an epigrammatic force which would make palatable a less 
 interesting story of human lives or one less deitly told." — London Saturday Review. 
 
 " Perfectly easy, graceful, humorous. . . . The author's skill in character-drawing 
 is undeniable." — London Chronicle. 
 
 "A remarkable work." — New York Times. 
 
 "Maarten Maartens his secured a firm footing in the eddies of current literature. 
 . . . Pathos deepens into tragedy in the thrilling story of ' God's Foul.'" — Philadel- 
 phia Ledger. 
 
 " Its preface alone stamps the author as one of the leading English novelists of 
 to-day " — Boston Daily Advertiser. 
 
 "The story is wonderfully brilliant. . . . The interest never lags; the style is 
 realistic and intense; and there is a constantly underlying current of subtle humor. 
 ... It is, in short, a book which no student of modern literature should fail to read." 
 — Boston Times. 
 
 " A story of remarkable interest and point." — New York Observer. 
 
 7 
 
 'OOST AVELINGH. By Maarten Maartens. 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "So unmistakably good as to induce the hone that an acquaintance with the Dutch 
 literature of fiction may soon become more general among us." — London Morning 
 Post. 
 
 " In scarcely any of the sensational novels of the day will the reader find more 
 nature or more human nature."— London Standard. 
 
 • "A novel of a very high type. At once strongly realistic and powerfully ideal ) 
 _stic." — London Literary World. 
 
 " Full of local color and rich in quaint phraseology and suggestion." — London 
 ■Telegraph. 
 
 " Maarten Maartens is a capital story-teller."— Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 "Our English writers of fiction will have to look to their laurels." — Birmingham 
 Daily Post. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 A 
 
 Books by Mrs. Everard Cotes (Sara Jeannette Duncan). 
 
 VOYAGE OF CONSOLATION. Illustrated. 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Mrs. Cotes returns to the field which she developed with such success in 
 "A Social Departure " and " An American Girl in London." 
 
 1-fLS HONOUR, AND A LADY. Illustrated. 
 ■* -* i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 T* 
 
 HE STORY OF SONNY SAHIB. Illustrated. 
 2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 TZERNON'S AUNT. With many Illustrations. 
 * i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 A 
 
 DAUGHTER OF TO-DAY. A Novel. i 2 mo. 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " This novel is a strong and serious piece of work, one of a kind that is getting too 
 rare in these days of universal crankiness." — Boston Courier. 
 
 A 
 
 SOCIAL DEPARTURE: How Orthodocia and I 
 
 Went Round the World by Ourselves. With in Illustrations 
 
 by F. H. Townsend. i2mo. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, $1.75. 
 
 " A brighter, merrier, more entirely charming book would be, indeed, difficult to 
 find." — St. Louis Republic. 
 
 A 
 
 N AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON. With 80 
 Illustrations by F. H. Townsend. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents; 
 cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " So sprightly a book as this, on life in London, as observed by an American, has 
 never before been written." — Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 *y^HE SIMPLE ADVENTURES OF A MEM- 
 ■* SAHIB. With 37 Illustrations by F. H. Townsend. i2mo. 
 Cloth, $1.50, 
 
 " It is like traveling without leaving one's armchair to read it. Miss Duncan has 
 the descriptive and narrative gift in large measure, and she brings vividly before us 
 the street scenes, the interiors, the bewilderingly queer natives, the gayeties of the 
 English colony." — Philadelphia Telegraph. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 SOME LEADING FICTION. 
 
 EACH, I2MO, CLOTH, $I.OO. 
 
 X/ EKL. A Tale of the New York Ghetto. By A. 
 ■* Cahan. 
 
 " A new and striking tale ; the charm, the verity, the literary quality of the book de- 
 pend upon its study of character, its ' local color,' its revelation to Americans of a social 
 state at their very doors of which they have known nothing." — New York Times. 
 
 "The story is a revelation to us. It is written in a spirited, breezy way, with an 
 originality in the telling which is quite unexpected. The dialect is striking in its 
 truth to Nature." — Boston Courier. 
 
 JTEIE SENTIMENTAL SEX. By Gertrude War- 
 
 •*■ DEN. 
 
 " The cleverest book by a woman that has been published for months. . . . Such 
 books as 'The Sentimental Sex' are exemplars of a nudern cult that will not be 
 ignored." — New York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 " The story forms an admirable study. The style is graphic, the plot original, and 
 cleverly wrought out." — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 
 
 J\/fAJESTY. By Louis Couperus. Translated by 
 
 ■*■ *■*■ A. Teixeira and Ernest Dowson. 
 
 " No novelist whom we can call to mind has ever given the world such a master- 
 piece of royal portraiture as Louis Couperus's striking romance entitled ' Majesty.' " — 
 Philadelphia Record. 
 
 " There is not an uninteresting page in the book, and it ought to be read by all who 
 desire to keep in line with the best that is published in modern fiction." — Buffalo Com- 
 mercial. 
 
 SjL . 
 
 STREET IN SUBURBIA. Bv Edwin Pugh. 
 
 " Thoroughly entertaining, and more : it shows traces of a creative genius some- 
 thing akin to Dickens."— Boston Traveler. 
 
 " Simplicity of style, strength, and delicacy of character study will mark this book 
 as one of the most significant of the year." — New York Press. 
 
 y^HE WISH. By Hermann Sudermann. With a 
 
 •"• Biographical Introduction by Elizabeth Lee. 
 
 " A powerful story, very simple, very direct." — Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 " Contains some superb specimens of original thought." — New York World. 
 
 HE NEW MOON. By C. E. Raimond, author 
 
 of " George Mandeville's Husband," etc. 
 
 *' One of the most impressive of recent works of fiction, both for its matter and es- 
 pecially for its presentation." — Milwaukee Journal. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 SOME CHOICE FICTION. 
 
 EACH, I6MO, CLOTH, SPECIAL BINDING, $1.25. 
 
 "J^HE MYSTERY OF CHOICE. By R. W. Cham- 
 
 -* bers, author of " The Moon-Maker," " The Red Republic," etc. 
 
 " Probably Mr. Robert W. Chambers is to-day the most promising American writer 
 of fiction of his age. . . . ' The Mystery of Choice ' reveals his most delightful quali- 
 ties at their best. . . . Imagination he has first of all, and it is of a fine quality ; con- 
 stant action he achieves without apparent effort; naturalness, vividness, the power of 
 description, and especially local color, come to him like delight in one of those glorious 
 mornings when distance seems annihilated." — Boston Herald. 
 
 M- 
 
 ARCH HARES. By Harold Frederic, author 
 
 of "The Damnation of Theron Ware," " In the Valley," etc. 
 
 " One of the most cheerful novels we have chanced upon for many a day. It has 
 much of the rapidity and vigor of a smartly written farce, with a pervading freshness a 
 smartly written farce rarely possesses. . . . A book decidedly worth reading." — Lon- 
 don Saturday Review. 
 
 " A striking and original story, . . . effective, pleasing, and very capable." — Lon- 
 don Literary World. 
 
 " Mr. Frederic has found fairyland where few of us would dream of looking for it. 
 . . . ' March Hares' has a joyous impetus which carries everything before it; and it 
 enriches a class of fiction which unfortunately is not copious." — London Daily Chronicle. 
 
 SCREEN GATES. An Analysis of Foolishness. By 
 ^ Mrs. K. M. C. Meredith (Johanna Staats), author of " Drum- 
 sticks," etc. 
 
 "Crisp and delightful. . . . Fascinating, not so much for what it suggests as for 
 its manner, and the cleverly outlined people who walk through its pages." — Chicago 
 Times-Herald. 
 
 " An original strain, bright and vivacious, and strong enough in its foolishness and 
 its unexpected tragedy to prove its sterling worth." — Boston Herald. 
 
 Y^HE STATEMENT OF STELLA MABERLY. 
 
 ■*■ By F. Anstey, author of " Vice Versa," " The Giant's Robe," 
 
 etc. 
 
 " Most admirablv done. . . . We read fascinated, and fully believing every word 
 we read. . . . The book has deeply interested us, and even thrilled us more than 
 once." — London Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " A wildly fantastic story, thrilling and impressive. . . . Has an air of vivid reality, 
 . . . of bold conception and vigorous treatment. . . . A very noteworthy novelette."— • 
 London Times. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 STEPHEN CRANE'S BOOKS. 
 "J" HE THIRD VIOLET. i 2 mo. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " By this latest product of his genius our impression of Mr. Crane is con- 
 firmed that, for psychological insight, for dramatic intensity, and for the potency of 
 phrase, he is already in the front rank of English and American writers of fiction, 
 and that he possesses a certain separate quality which places him apart." — London 
 
 A cadetny. 
 
 " The whole book, from beginning to end, fairly bristles with fun. ... It is adapted 
 for pure entertainment, yet it is not easily put down or forgotten." — Boston Herald. 
 
 "J^HE LITTLE REGIMENT, and Other Episodes 
 
 •*■ of the American Civil War. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " In ' The Little Regiment ' we have again studies of the volunteers waiting impa- 
 tiently to ficht and fighting, and the impression of the contest as a private soldier hears, 
 sees, and feels it, is really wonderful. The reader has no privileges. He must, it seems, 
 take his place in the ranks, and stand in the mud, wade in the river, fight, yell, swear, 
 and sweat with the men. He has some sort of feeling, when it is all over, that he has 
 been doing just these things. This sort of writing needs no praise. It will make its 
 way to the hearts of men without praise." — New York Times. 
 
 " Told with a verve that brings a whiff of burning powder to one's nostrils. . . . 
 In some way he blazons the scene before our eyes, and makes us feel the very impetus 
 of bloody war." — Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 ft /T AGGIE: A GIRL OF THE STREETS. 
 
 drl i2mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 "By writing 'Maggie' Mr. Crane has made for himself a permanent place in lit- 
 erature. . . . Zola himself scarcely has surpassed its tremendous portrayal of throb- 
 bing, breathing, moving life." — New York Mail and Express. 
 
 "Mr. Crane's story should be read for the fidelity with which it portrays a life 
 that is potent on this island, along with the best of us. It is a powerful portrayal, and, 
 if somber and repellent, none the less true, none the less freighted with appeal to those 
 who are able to assist in righting wrongs." — New York Times. 
 
 T 
 
 HE RED BADGE OF COURAGE. An Episode 
 
 ej the American Civil War. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " Never before have we had the seamy side of glorious war so well depicted. . . . 
 The action of the story throughout is splendid, and all aglow with color, movement, 
 and vim. The style is as keen and bright as a sword-blade, and a Kipling has done 
 nothing better in this line." — Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 " There is nothing in American fiction to compare with it. . . . Mr. Crane has 
 added to American literature something that has never been done before, and that is, 
 in its own peculiar way, inimitable." — Boston Beacon. 
 
 " A truer and completer picture of war than either Tolstoy or Zola." — London New 
 Review. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 By A. CONAN DOYLE, 
 Uniform edition. i2tno. Cloth, $i jo per volume. 
 
 f TNCLE BERN AC. A Romance of the Empire, 
 ^-J Illustrated. 
 
 '"Uncle Bemac' is tor a truth Dr. Doyle's Napoleon. Viewed as a picture of the 
 little man in the gray coat, it must rank before anything he has written. The fascina- 
 tion of it is extraordinary." — London Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " From the opening pages the clear and energetic telling of the story never falters 
 and our attention never flags." — London Observer. 
 
 T^ODNEY STONE. Illustrated. 
 
 " A remarkable book, worthy of the pen that gave us ' The White Company,' 
 ' Micah Clarke,' and other notable romances." — London Daily News. 
 
 " A notable and very brilliant work of genius." — London Speaker. 
 
 " ' Rodney Stone ' is, in our judgment, distinctly the best of Dr. Conan Doyle's 
 novels. . . . There are few descriptions in fiction that can vie with that race upon the 
 Brighton road." — London Times. 
 
 T 
 
 HE EXPLOfTS OF BRfGADfER GERARD- 
 
 A Romance of the\Life of a Typical Napoleonic Soldier. Illus- 
 trated. 
 
 "The brigadier is brave, resolute, amorous, loyal, chivalrous; never was a foe mof 
 ardent in battle, more clement in victory, or more ready at need. . . . Gallantry, humot, 
 nrutial gayety, moving incident, make up a really delightful book." — London Times. 
 
 " May be set down without reservation as the most thoroughly enjoyable book that 
 Dr. Doyle has ever published." — Boston Beacon. 
 
 T 
 
 HE STARK MUNRO LETTERS. Being a 
 Series of Twelve Letters written by Stark Munro, M. B., 
 to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert Swanborough, 
 of Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1 881-1884. Illus- 
 trated. 
 
 " Cullingworth, ... a much more interesting creation than Sherlock Holmes, and 
 I pray Dr. Doyle to give 11s more of him." — Ricliard le Gallienne, in the London Star. 
 
 " 'The Stark Munro Letters' is a bit of real literature. ... Its reading will be an 
 epoch-making event in many a life." — Philadelphia Evening Telegraph. 
 
 7DOUND THE RED LAMP. Being Facts and 
 
 ■*■ *- Fancies of Medical Life. 
 
 "Too much can not be said in praise of these strong productions, that to read, 
 keep one's heart Isapmg to the throat, and the mind in a tumult of anticipation to the 
 end. . . . No series of short stories in modern literature can approach them." — Hart, 
 ford Times, 
 
 " If Dr. A. 'Conan Doyle had not already placed himself in tie front rank of living 
 Fnglish writers by ' The Refugees,' and other of his larger stories, he would surely dy 
 «o by these fifteen short tales." — New 1 ork Mail and Express. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BY ANTHONY HOPE. 
 
 H^HE CHRONICLES OE COUNT ANTONIO. 
 
 •^ With Photogravure Frontispiece by S. W. Van Schaick. i2mo. 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "No adventures were ever better worth recounting than are those of Antonio of 
 Monte Velluto, a very Bayard among outlaws. . . . To all those whose pulses still stir 
 at the recital of deeds of high courage, we may recommend this book. . . . The chron- 
 icle conveys the emotion of heroic adventure, and is picturesquely written." — Lon- 
 don Daily News. 
 
 " It has literary merits all its own, of a deliberate and rather deep order. . . . 
 In point of execution 'The Chronicles of Count Antonio' is the best work that Mr. 
 Hope has yet done. The design is clearer, the workmanship more elaborate, the style 
 more colored." — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 "A romance worthy of all the expectations raised by the brilliancy of his former 
 books, and likely to be read with a keen enjoyment and a healthy exaltation of the 
 spirits by every one who takes it up." — The Scotsman. 
 
 " A gallant tale, written with unfailing freshness and spirit." — London Daily 
 Telegraph. 
 
 " One of the most fascinating romances written in English within many days. The 
 quaint simplicity of its style is delightful, and the adventures recorded in these ' Chron- 
 icles of Count Antonio' are as stirring and ingenious as any conceived even by Wey- 
 inan at his best."— New York World. 
 
 "No adventures were ever better worth telling than those of Count Antonio. 
 . . . The author knows full well how to make every pulse thrill, and how to hold his 
 readers under the spell of his magic." — Boston Herald. 
 
 Y^EIE GOD IN THE CAR. New edition. Uniform 
 •*■ with "The Chronicles of Count Antonio." i2mo. Cloth, 
 
 $1.25. 
 
 " 'The God in the Car' is just as clever, just as distinguished in style, just as full 
 of wit, and of what nowadays some persons like better than wit— allusiveness— as 
 any of his stories. It is saturated with the modern atmosphere ; is not only a very 
 clever but a very strong story ; in some respects, we think, the strongest Mr. Hope 
 has yet written." — London Speaker. 
 
 "A very remarkable book, deserving of critical analysis impossible within our 
 limit; brilliant, but not superficial; well considered, but not elaborated ; constructed 
 with the proverbial art that conceals, but yet allows itself to be enjoyed by readers to 
 whom fine literary method is a keen pleasure." — London World. 
 
 "The book is a brilliant one. . . . 'The God in the Car' is one of the most re- 
 markable works in a year that has given us the handiwork of nearly all our best living 
 novelists." — London Standard. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 SOME LEADING FICTION. 
 
 rHE GODS, SOME MORTALS, AND LORD 
 WICKENHAM. By John Oliver Hobbes. With Por- 
 trait. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "One of the most refreshing novels of the period, full of grace, spirit, force, feeling, 
 and literary charm." — Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 " Here is the sweetness of a live love story. ... It is to be reckoned among the 
 brilliants as a novel." — Boston Courier. 
 
 " Mrs. Craigie has taken her place among the novelists of the day. It is a high 
 place and a place apart. Her method is her own, and she stands not exactly on the 
 threshold of a great career, but already within the temple of fame." — G. II'. Stnalley, 
 in the Tribune. 
 
 A/fAELCHO. By the Hon. Emily Lawless, author 
 
 !■*■*■ of " Grania," " Hurrish," etc. 121110. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " A paradox of literary genius. It is not a history, and yet it has more of the 
 stuff of history in it, more of the true national character and fate, than any historical 
 monograph we know. It is not a novel, and yet it fascinates us more than any novel." 
 — London Spectator. 
 
 "Abounds in thrilling incidents. . . . Above and beyond all, the book charms by 
 reason of the breadth of view, the magnanimity, and the tenderness which animate the 
 author." — London A theticeum. 
 
 A 
 
 N IMAGINATIVE MAN. By Robert S. Hich- 
 ENS, author of " The Folly of Eustace," " The Green Carna- 
 tion," etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 "A study in character. . . . Just as entertaining as though it were the conven- 
 tional story of love and marriage. The clever hand of the author of ' The Green Car- 
 nation ' is easily detected in ihe caustic wit and pointed epigram." — Jeannette L. 
 Gilder, in the New York World. 
 
 CORRUPTION. By Percy White, author of "Mr. 
 Bailey-Martin," etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 "A drama of biting intensity. A tragedy of inflexible purpose and relentless re- 
 sult."— Pail Mall Gazette. 
 
 "There is intrigue enough in it for those who love a story of the ordinary kind, and 
 the political part is perhaps more attractive in its sparkle and variety of incident than 
 the real thing itself." — London Daily News. 
 
 HARD WOMAN. A Story in Scenes. By Violet 
 Hunt. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 " A good story, bright, keen, and dramatic. ... It is out of the ordinary, and will 
 give you a new sensation." — New York Herald. 
 
 " A creation that does Mrs. Hunt infinite credit, and places her in the front rank of 
 the younger novelists. . . . Brilliantly drawn, quivering with life, adroit, quiet-witted, 
 unfalteringly insolent, and withal strangely magnetic."— London Standard. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. NEW YORK. 
 
 A
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 GILBERT PARKER'S BEST BOOKS. 
 Uniform Edition. 
 
 'J^HE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. Being the 
 Memoirs of Captain Robert Moray, sometime an Officer in 
 the Virginia Regiment, and afterwards of Amherst's Regiment. 
 Illustrated, $1.50. 
 
 "Another historical romance of the vividness and intensity of 'The Seats of the 
 Mighty ' has never come from the pen of an American. Mr. Parker's latest work may 
 without hesitation be set down as the best he has done. From the first chapter to the 
 last word interest in the book never wanes; one finds it difficult to interrupt the narra- 
 tive with breathing space. It whirls with excitement and strange adventure. All 
 of the scenes do homage to the genius of Mr. Parker, and make 'The Seats of the 
 Mighty' one of the books of the year."— Chicago Record. 
 
 tu' H r ' (3ilbert Parker >s to be congratulated on the excellence of his latest story, 
 
 The Seats of the Mighty,' and his readers are to be congratulated on the direction 
 
 which his talents have taken therein. ... It is so good that we do not stop to think of 
 
 its literature, and the personality of Doltaire is a masterpiece of creative art. "— New 
 
 1 'ork Mail and Express. 
 
 '/"HE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. A Novel. 
 
 -* $1.25. 
 
 " Mr. Parker here adds to a reputation already wide, and anew demonstrates his 
 power of pictorial portrayal and of strong dramatic situation and climax." — Philadel- 
 phia Bulletin. 
 
 "The tale holds the reader's interest from first to Inst, for it is full of fire and spirit, 
 abounding in incident, and marked by good character drawing."— Pittsburg Times. 
 
 Y"HE TRESPASSER. $1.25. 
 
 " Interest, pith, force, and charm— Mr. Parker's new story possesses all these 
 qualities. . . . Almost bare of synthetical decoration, his paragraphs are stirring be- 
 cause they are real. We read at times— as we have read the great masters of romance 
 — breathlessly." — The Critic. 
 
 "Gilbert Parker writes a strong novel, but thus far this is his masterpiece. ... It 
 is one of the great novels of the year." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 Y^HE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. $1.25. 
 
 "A book which no one will be satisfied to put down until the end has been 
 matter of certainty and assurance." — The Nation. 
 
 "A story of remarkable interest, originality, and ingenuity of construction." — 
 Boston Home journal. 
 
 M- 
 
 RS. FALCHION. $1.25. 
 
 'A well-knit story, told in an exceedingly interesting way, and holding the 
 reader's attention to the end." 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. NEW YORK.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-50wi-ll,'50 (2554)444
 
 ll 
 
 __ 
 
 P.rnp.k-fft.t - 
 
 U513 The Lard 
 
 Cist - er. 
 
 Ca*.Tl***-nE.-- 
 
 PR 
 C3st 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 365 286