Читать книгу Adam Hepburn's Vow: A Tale of Kirk and Covenant - Annie S. Swan - Страница 4

It was the month of April, and all Nature was sweetly rejoicing in the wealth and beauty of a perfect spring. While spring is ever a pleasant season in rural districts, it was especially so in that rich and picturesque part of Lanarkshire which included the parish and village of Inverburn. It lay in a secluded and lovely valley, sheltered from the north and east by heather-clad hills, while to the west it commanded a magnificent and wide-stretching view of the Vale of Clyde, at the utmost limit of which the smoke from the populous city of Glasgow obscured the clear brightness of the horizon. Although the parish of Inverburn was by no means small, the village itself consisted only of a small main street and a few straggling houses in the outskirts. The only building of any pretensions was the Hamilton Arms Inn, a substantial two-storey block, with a wide, low doorway and a trellised porch set round with benches, a favourite resort for the villagers on the long summer evenings, when honest Mistress Lyall's parlour became too close and warm to be pleasant. Upon a gentle eminence about a mile removed from the village, the grey turrets of Inverburn, long time the seat of the Hamiltons, peeped out from among its ancestral trees. It was a fine, proud old place, renowned for its beauty and its antiquity even in a district where many a princely heritage reared its stately head. The graceful spire of the parish church intervened, however, between the village and the mansion. It also stood upon a gentle knoll, and was beautifully shaded by the birch trees which were known far and near as the "birks of Inverburn." The manse was close by, a grey and rambling house, just such a one to be hallowed by many precious memories of home and loved ones. It was a common saying that there had been Grays in the manse as long as there had been Hamiltons in Inverburn, so that the one family could claim equal antiquity with its prouder neighbour.

There could be no sweeter spot to live and die in than that old-fashioned country manse, standing so cosily amid its wealth of greenery, the roses and honeysuckle and sweet woodbine clambering about doors and windows with a loving clinging touch. It looked fair indeed that mild April evening, for lilac, laburnum, and hawthorn were in flower in the shrubberies, and primrose and polyanthus blooming in the old-fashioned plots before the door. The air about it was sweet and fragrant indeed; but it was more: it breathed something of the peace which dwelt ever under its roof-tree.

By the open window of the family sitting-room sat a pleasant-faced, sedate-looking young woman, busily engaged embroidering a white frock for a child. She was neatly though plainly dressed, and there was an air of precision and daintiness about her which some women acquire as they grow older, especially if they are unmarried. It was a pleasant face, as I said, yet there was a grave firmness about the mouth, a dauntless gleam in the fine clear brown eye, which betokened that Jane Gray was not without a will of her own. She looked what she was, a firm, prudent, self-reliant woman, who had known the cares as well as the joys of life. To her dying mother Jane Gray had solemnly pledged herself not to quit the roof-tree of the manse so long as her father needed her care. Both the giver and receiver of that promise had felt assured that it would not be long ere she was released from its fulfilment, because the minister of Inverburn was at that time in a precarious state of health.

But, to the joy of those who loved him, certain means prescribed by an Edinburgh physician were blessed to his complete recovery, and he seemed to receive a new lease of life. That made no alteration, however, in the resolution of the elder daughter of the manse. Very faithfully year by year she discharged her duties as mistress of her father's household. She was mother and sister in one to her brothers, and it was a question which was dearer to her heart, the broad-shouldered, bluff-mannered farmer Andrew, or gentle-voiced, scholarly, meek-minded David, minister of the neighbouring parish of Broomhill.

She had watched them go forth to their own homes, with a blessing and a tear, and she had dressed for her bridal her fair and delicate sister Agnes, who had now been for two years the wife of Adam Hepburn of Rowallan. It must not be supposed that Jane Gray had no other alternative but to remain under her father's roof-tree. Nay, it was far otherwise. Many knew and appreciated her sterling worth, and more than one had pleaded for her love. But though there came one at last who stirred her heart to its deepest depths, she shook her head. She looked at her father's white head and drooping shoulders, thought of his desolate old age, the empty, childless home she would leave behind, and, crushing down the yearnings of her heart, she answered no. Perhaps it was that experience, undreamed of by those to whom she so unselfishly ministered, which had lined her broad brow, and tinged her hair with grey before its time. Her face in its repose was apt to look sad, for it was in the stillness of an evening such as this that Jane Gray's heart was often peculiarly stirred by memories of the past. She laid down her seam at length, and leaning her arm on the sill, looked out into the flower-laden garden, which was sweet with all the lovely bloom of spring.

Just then her reverie was disturbed by a short, sharp whistle, and a light, hurried footfall coming round the approach which led down to the gate, and thence to the public road. And almost immediately a young lad came bounding over to the open window, waving his cap in the air. Jane Gray looked at the young, eager face with a kindly smile, for the eldest son of her brother Andrew was very dear to her heart. He had been sojourning for some months at the manse, his grandfather taking much pride and pleasure in forwarding him in his studies preparatory to his entering the University of Edinburgh or Glasgow, as a student of divinity. It had been his father's desire that he should follow his vocation, and by-and-by succeed him as the farmer of Hartrigge, but the lad had so early shown his distaste for outdoor labour, and his love for books, that it was evident nature intended him for a scholar.

"What is it, Gavin? You seem eager and excited," said his aunt, resuming her work.

"There is a horse and rider coming up the road, Aunt Jane, and I am sure it is the Reverend James Guthrie. It is his horse, I am quite sure, by the white foot and the white star on its forehead. Is grandfather in?"

"Yes, he is in his study; nay, do not disturb him yet, until we make sure you are right," she said, restraining the impetuous boy, as he was about to run off in search of his grandfather. "Stay, and I will walk down with you to the road, and by that time the horse and his rider, whoever he may be, will have reached the gate."

So saying, Jane Gray folded up her work, and in a minute had joined her nephew out of doors. "I cannot think that you can be right, Gavin," she said thoughtfully, "for I remember that Mr. Guthrie intended to be present at a special meeting in Edinburgh this week, and he has not yet had time to return to Stirling and come on so far as this."

"Why, there he is alighting at the gate, Aunt Jane! it is just Mr. Guthrie!" exclaimed the lad, and darting forward, he was the first to greet the much-beloved minister of Stirling, and to relieve him of his horse's bridle rein.

A glow of pleasure overspread the face of Jane Gray as she advanced to meet her father's revered friend, who was almost a brother to her, so close and dear was the intimacy between the two families.

"Mr. Guthrie, it is no ordinary pleasure to see you so unexpectedly," she said, as they shook hands; nevertheless her eyes dwelt rather anxiously upon his fine face, for in these troublous and foreboding times the announcement of danger or alarm might come at any moment.

"To me also, Miss Gray; I trust I have arrived to find your honoured father under his own roof-tree.

"Oh, yes; he is busy with his sermon. It is not often a minister is far from home on a Friday evening if he is to supply his own pulpit on the Sabbath Day. We thought you had been in Edinburgh this week, Mr. Guthrie."

"So I have been; and thanks to the Lord's journeying mercies vouchsafed to his unworthy servant, I have again been brought to my father's house in safety. The lad is out of hearing, I see," he added, glancing towards Gavin, who was leading the hot and dusty steed away in the direction of his grandfather's stable, "so I may say that a strange apprehension of evil came upon me in my bed last night, and so strong was the conviction in my mind this morning that I should not long be at liberty, that I was constrained to ride over here to be encouraged and comforted by your father's sweet counsel, and, if need be, bid your family circle, who are as dear to me almost as my own kinsfolk at Guthrie, a last farewell."

The ruddy colour faded out of Jane Gray's cheeks, and her startled eye looked with alarm into the minister's face. She was astonished and relieved at its sweet serenity; evidently his gloomy convictions had not power to rob him of his tranquillity.

"The Lord forbid that a hand should be laid on you, one of His most honoured and valued servants," she said involuntarily; "but pray tell me, Mr. Guthrie, have you had any warnings that the evil men in power are jealous of your influence for good?"

"In Edinburgh, yesterday, I was told that that good and noble lord, Archibald, Marquis of Argyll, will be laid hands upon ere long. If that be so, I cannot hope to escape, for I am doubly guilty of the actions which have doomed him. If it be so, and the Lord call me to bear witness for Him on the scaffold, He will give me strength to crucify the passions and affections of the body, and to glory in suffering for His sake."

The good man's face was suffused with a holy peace and joy, but a shudder ran through Jane Gray's frame, for not yet had the scaffold become so common, and in those brutal times so desirable a mode of exit from this troublous life as it was destined to become ere long in poor stricken Scotland.

"The prayers of God's people can but be offered up on your behalf, Mr. Guthrie. Such as you can ill be spared from the vineyard in these times," said Jane Gray, earnestly. "But now, let us tarry no longer out of doors; I am sure you stand in need of refreshment after your long ride."

Ere he crossed the threshold, the minister, as was his wont, raised his eyes to Heaven and reverently invoked a benediction in the words of the apostle of old: "Peace be to this house."

Having shown her guest into the sitting-room, Jane Gray sent Betty the maid to tap at the minister's door and tell him the Reverend James Guthrie, from Stirling, had arrived at the manse. Betty, or Elizabeth McBean, had served with the Grays since her girlhood, and her love for the family was only exceeded by her intense love and devotion to the Kirk of Scotland, and her intense hatred to every form of religion alien to the sound Presbyterianism of her forefathers.

While Jane Gray with her own hands set about preparing some refreshment for the guest, the minister, her father, left his study with joyful haste, and entering the family room, very warmly greeted his friend and brother-minister, whom he had known and loved these many years. There was a great change in the minister of Inverburn since that memorable time three-and-twenty years before, when he had visited Edinburgh, and witnessed with his brethren for the Covenant in the Kirk of the Greyfriars.

His tall, spare figure was now much stooped, his face worn and wrinkled, his eye, though still bright and clear, far sunken in his head, his long hair and flowing beard as white as the driven snow. He looked a patriarch indeed, and the serene and heavenly expression on his face, his kindly smile, and sweet fatherliness of manner and tone were calculated to inspire the deepest reverence and love.

"Bless the Lord, I am again permitted to look upon your face, my brother!" he said, as he warmly and fervently grasped Mr. Guthrie's hand. "But I trust no untoward circumstances prompt your unlooked-for visit. In these troublous times we are all as watchers on the house-top."

"I was but saying to your daughter, Mr. Gray, that it was a presentiment of evil which brought me here to-night," replied the minister of Stirling. "I only returned from Edinburgh yesterday, and what I heard there augured ill for the peace of Zion. It is rumoured that the Marquis of Argyll is no longer safe, so the king's emissaries are not to be satisfied with common prey."

"I can hardly credit the truth of such rumours, Mr. Guthrie," replied the minister of Inverburn. "Gratitude for past invaluable services should render his person sacred in the eyes of the king."

An expression of mild scorn passed over Mr. Guthrie's face.

"Gratitude is a word not found in the vocabulary of the House of Stuart," he said, quietly. "The Marquis, I am told, leaves for London on Monday, to offer his congratulations to the king on his restoration. I fear me he takes the journey at his own great risk."

"If need be the Lord will hold His sheltering arm over him, Mr. Guthrie," said the minister of Inverburn, cheerfully. "No man, either prince or peasant, shall die before the appointed time. But here comes Jane with your refreshment. I hope it is not your intention to quit the roof-tree of the manse before the dawning of another day."

"If convenient for Miss Jane I will very gladly stay," answered Mr. Guthrie. "As troubles thicken round us, opportunities for sweet counsel together, though more sorely needed, will become more limited, I fear. And now, are all your kinsfolk at Hartrigge and Rowallan well? and is the kirk at Broomhill prospering under David's ministrations?"

"Verily the Lord hath been pleased to greatly bless the lad in his labours," said the minister of Inverburn, in tones of satisfaction. "Here comes young Gavin Gray, in whose studies I take a deep interest. Here Gavin, lad, come and speak to the Reverend Mr. Guthrie, and behold in him the pattern of what I one day hope to see you become."

The bright, happy-faced boy came forward frankly, and was again addressed cordially by the minister of Stirling.

"I have been thinking, father," said Jane Gray's pleasant voice in the doorway, "that Gavin might saddle Donald, and carry word of Mr. Guthrie's visitation both to his father's house, and to his uncle and aunt at Rowallan. Andrew and Susan, I am sure, would be greatly rejoiced to come over to the manse. They could drive round in their little cart to Rowallan, and bring over Adam and Agnes with them."

"A very good suggestion, my daughter," said Mr. Gray. "You hear what your aunt says, Gavin," he added to the lad. "Run and get Donald saddled and if you ride quickly they can all be here before the evening is far spent."

Gavin, nothing loth, at once obeyed his grandfather's behest, and was soon scampering along the road towards Hartrigge.

CHAPTER IV.

THE MINISTER'S CHILDREN.

The farm of Hartrigge, where abode the minister's eldest son, was one of the largest holdings on the estate of Inverburn. Andrew Gray had entered it on his marriage, seventeen years before, and was therefore drawing near the expiry of his lease. Having been trained as a practical farmer, he had converted the somewhat poverty-stricken acres into rich and fertile soil. He was a careful, prudent man himself, and, having married Susan Baillie (the daughter of the farmer under whom he had learned his business), one eminently fitted to be a true helpmeet to him in every way, he was a prosperous, and might even be called a rich man.

In disposition he was not nearly so lovable as his brother, the minister of Broomhill. He was by nature rather harsh and stern, and, though his anger was not easily kindled, it was a slow and deadly fire which did not quickly burn out. Had his wife not been of a singularly sweet and amiable temperament, Hartrigge would not have been such a happy, peaceable household as it was. And yet Andrew Gray was a sincerely good man, rather austere in his religious views, perhaps, but ardently attached to the Church of Scotland, and passionately jealous regarding all her ancient privileges. Four children had blessed Hartrigge with the sunshine of their presence--Gavin, the eldest; then Jane, a quiet douce maiden of fourteen; then merry, rattling Sandy; and sweet, winsome, gentle-eyed little Agnes, whom they called Nannie, to distinguish her from her namesake aunt at Rowallan.

Hartrigge was distant about two miles from the manse, the road leading in a southerly direction through rich and beautiful scenery, exquisitely varied by all the changing tints of spring. Here the tender, delicate green of the beech showed in sharp relief against some sombre fir; again the silver buds on the chestnut gleamed side by side with the brighter hue of the larch and the mountain ash. Cowslip and daisy dotted every grassy slope, and the hedgerows already were gleaming white with hawthorn bloom--so early had the summer burst in fragrance on the earth.

About a mile beyond the massive stone gateway which gave entrance to the grounds surrounding the mansion-house of Inverburn, a low white gate shut out intruders from the private road leading to Hartrigge. This familiar barrier Donald took at a bound, and in five minutes afterwards was galloping round the path which cut through the fir wood surrounding the house. It was a substantial dwelling, of plain and sober aspect, befitting its inmates, and, though there was ample garden ground in front, there were no flowers blooming sweetly as in the manse garden. Everything was austerely neat, simple, and plain. Gavin rode the pony round to the kitchen door, and, dismounting, tied the rein to a projecting hook placed in the wall for that purpose. Then he bounded into the house, It was milking-time, and the maids were in the byre (cowhouse), and he knew that his mother would be upstairs putting the younger ones to bed, for everything moved by clockwork in that most methodical of houses. The sound of voices in the ben-end (parlour) proclaimed that his father was giving Jeanie her evening lesson, which Gavin boldly interrupted.

"Grandfather sent me to bid mother and you come to the manse, father," he said, impetuously. "Mr. Guthrie from Stirling is here, and would like to see you. And I am to go to Rowallan and tell Uncle Adam and Aunt Agnes to be ready to drive down with you when you come for them."

Andrew Gray closed his book and rose to his feet, with a gleam of interest brightening his rugged face. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, whose physique was suggestive of giant strength, while his keen, stern black eye and massive jaw indicated an indomitable will. He was plainly dressed in rough homespun, and looked what he was--a substantial, well-to-do Clydesdale farmer.

"Mr. James Guthrie! Surely his coming was not anticipated, Gavin," he said in tones of surprise. "Was your grandfather very pressing? It is somewhat late to leave the house to-night."

"Yes; I believe it is something special, father, and I must away. Well, Jeanie, have you learned to milk Mysie yet?" he added, teasingly, to the quiet-faced little maiden, who was being initiated into all the household ways.

"Yes, I can milk her fine, Gavin, all but the strippings!" she answered, proudly. "Are you going away already?"

At that moment Mrs. Gray, having heard Gavin's voice upstairs, entered the room. She was a comely, pleasant-faced woman, with shrewd, grey eyes, in which shone a kindly, and at times very humorous gleam. She looked very young to be the mother of her tall son, for her figure was well preserved, and even graceful, her cheeks red and bonnie, as they had been in her girlhood. She appeared much pleased to hear of the invitation to the manse, and at once said they could go, for Sandy and Nannie were asleep, and Margaret, the more responsible of the two maids, could very well see to the house in their absence. So after another teasing word to Jeanie, a run upstairs to look at Sandy and Nannie sleeping in their beds, Gavin mounted Donald again, and turned his head into the field-path which led straight to Rowallan.

If Hartrigge was noted for its simplicity and absence of all outer adornments, Rowallan was renowned for the exquisite beauty of its natural situation and surroundings, as well as for the taste with which the little garden was laid out and kept.

Hartrigge stood upon a somewhat bleak and barren hill. Rowallan was sheltered in a cosy hollow, protected on every side from every wind that blew. It also formed a part of the lands of Inverburn, but was considerably smaller in extent than its neighbour.

And yet it had sufficed as a dwelling-place and livelihood for the Hepburns for generations. There had been an Adam Hepburn in Rowallan as far back as the country folk could remember or tell, and an Adam Hepburn of Rowallan had left his ploughshare at the call of patriotism, and had met his death on the fateful field of Flodden; an Adam Hepburn had signed the Covenant at Edinburgh, three-and-twenty years before, and though he was now gathered to his fathers, there was an Adam Hepburn in Rowallan still. True friends and generous foes the Hepburns had ever been, faithful to their plighted word, scorning the very name of meanness or dishonour. A wild, passionate impetuous temper was the family failing, and yet for deeds done, or words spoken in the heat of anger, they were ever ready to make amends. Although Adam Hepburn was married to Agnes Gray, her brother Andrew, at Hartrigge, had never taken kindly to him. Both were good men, and yet there was a strange antipathy between them, and it was better that they should not meet often. There was nothing of rigid solemn austerity about Adam Hepburn, and he often indulged in good-humoured banter against his brother-in-law's solemnity; yet none could have a truer reverence for things divine than Adam Hepburn. Under the gay exterior there was a deeper, more earnest current of feeling, which kept him in the paths of righteousness and peace. Both Uncle Adam and Aunt Agnes were almost worshipped by the young folk at Hartrigge, and also by the little Hepburns, the children of Adam's brother, who was a well-to-do merchant in the town of Lanark. Even manse Donald himself seemed to know and love the way to Rowallan, for he fairly capered and whinnied with delight when he came in sight of the cosy homestead at the foot of its sheltering hill. It was indeed a sweet spot. The house was whitewashed, and built in a low, rambling style, with many a quaint gable and window, about which crept green and lovely creepers, as well as time-honoured honeysuckle and wild-rose. A little lawn in front sloped down to a broad swift-running stream, which had its being in the hill to the east of the house, and which danced merrily over its pebbly bed on its way to join the noble Clyde. In the stillness of the April evening its bosom was broken by many a circling eddy, where the lusty trout leaped up to catch the buzzing insects which hummed in the drowsy air.

Catching sight of his aunt standing in the doorway, Gavin waved his cap, a salutation to which she replied by fluttering her white handkerchief in the breeze. And as if in response to a word from her, her husband joined her outside, and they came slowly along the path to meet the messenger. They were a goodly pair. Adam Hepburn stood six feet in his stockings, and his tall figure was well-built and splendidly proportioned, while his fine head, with its clustering, chestnut curls, was set firmly on his shoulders, giving the idea of strength and resolution as well as manly beauty. His face was sunny, open, and honest as the day; his keen, blue eye, with its humorous gleam, his firm yet tender mouth, redeemed the face from any harshness which the strongly-marked features might otherwise have given. His wife had fulfilled all the gentle promise of her girlhood. She was a sweet, shy, shrinking woman, such as makes the sunshine of home for one, but who is lost sight of in the busier ways of life. She was like the gentle lily-of-the-vale, breathing forth in her quiet life an unseen but exquisite perfume, which shed its influence on all around it. Of her husband's strong, deep, yearning love for her I cannot write; it was the passion of his life, and she was indeed the very desire of his heart and the apple of his eye. And she loved him, if less demonstratively, as truly and tenderly as such women do.

"Hullo, youngster, how have you and Donald managed to escape from the manse so late?" queried Uncle Adam when the pony and its rider were within a hundred yards or so of them, while Aunt Agnes gently hoped that he brought no bad news. Gavin delivered his message, which seemed to be very acceptable to both, and they signified their willingness and pleasure to prepare themselves against the arriving of the conveyance from Hartrigge. Then he turned Donald's head once more, and trotted rapidly back to the manse. About eight of the clock the conveyance arrived also, and all the minister's family with the exception of David, whose absence all deplored, were gathered under his roof-tree. Mr. Guthrie had not yet seen the husband whom Agnes Gray had married, and he was greatly taken with his pleasant manner and fine open face. Of the daughters of the manse the younger had ever been his favourite, because she reminded him of a dear sister of his own he had lost in early life. After the usual greetings, the talk turned upon the one absorbing topic of interest--the Church and her affairs, together with the evil doings of the two men, Middleton and Sharp, who held in their hands the reins of Scottish Government, and who seemed determined to exercise their power to the suppression of both civil and religious liberty in the land.

While the minister of Stirling fearlessly expressed his opinion regarding these matters, for all under the roof-tree of the manse were true as steel, it might have been observed with what deep and breathless interest Andrew Gray of Hartrigge hung upon every word, and how, at some revelation of tyranny and injustice hitherto unknown to him, he clenched his hands, and the veins on his forehead stood out like knotted cords. It was easy to see that when the approaching crisis came he would be found in the hottest forefront of the battle.

"I am of opinion, my friends, that there should be a day set apart for the nation to humble herself before the God of nations, lest it be through any backsliding or lukewarmness of her own that these ominous things are happening in her midst," said the minister, thoughtfully; "there had need to be a reviving of the covenanting spirit among us. In these times how many are sitting at their ease in Zion, while her very bulwarks are assailed by the sons of Belial."

"Could you not move such a resolution at the first meeting of your Presbytery, Mr. Guthrie, an example which I also would follow upon the eighteenth of May in my own Presbytery of Lanark?" suggested the minister of Inverburn.

Mr. Guthrie remained for a few minutes silent, while his countenance wore an expression of deep seriousness and settled conviction.

"If I be still in the body and at liberty, brother, I will indeed act upon your suggestion," he said at length.

"Why, Mr. Guthrie, do you fear that you may be laid hands on?" quoth Adam Hepburn, impetuously. "Surely the ill men in power would never venture upon sic an offence."

"There is no offence too heinous to be committed by those who sell their souls to Satan, young man," said the minister, mildly. "Will you bring the Book, Miss Jane, and we will comfort ourselves for a little season with the precious Word of His grace. It may be the last time we will have so sweet a privilege together."

Nothing loth, Jane Gray lifted the Book from its honoured place and laid it before the minister of Stirling. He read an appropriate portion of Scripture, and commented thereon in his own eloquent and persuasive style. Then the minister of Inverburn led the devotions of the little gathering, and so devout and impressive were these exercises that all felt that Jesus was indeed Himself in their midst. The memory of that night remained very sweet and precious in their hearts when Mr. Guthrie's prediction was fulfilled, and there were few opportunities for Christian fellowship permitted to God's people. When they parted for the night Mr. Guthrie bade them all a solemn farewell, knowing in his inmost heart that they should meet no more on earth.

CHAPTER V.

THE FIRST MARTYRS.

As several weeks passed, and Mr. Guthrie was still left to peaceable ministrations in his church and parish, his friends at Inverburn began to hope that his direful prophesies regarding his own fate might, after all, prove themselves to be but vain imaginings. The most noble Marquis of Argyll repaired to London according to arrangements, in response to the urgent solicitations of the king that he should present himself at Court, and for a space nothing was heard of him.

In the month of August a number of the ministers met in Edinburgh, by special appointment, for the purpose of drawing up a petition to the king. The Reverend Mr. Gray of Inverburn had hoped and expected to be present at that gathering, but was prevented by a severe chill caught after a long walk in the heat of the day. As it afterwards turned out, it appeared as if the Lord had specially preserved him in safety at home, for no sooner was the conference gathered together in Edinburgh than they were all apprehended, with the exception of one who very miraculously escaped. They were first imprisoned in the Castle of Edinburgh, but Mr. Guthrie was afterwards removed to Stirling Castle, as if to be taunted with his confinement in the place where he had long exercised so much liberty both of person and conscience. And so desolation and mourning fell upon the people of Stirling because of the strange and grievous affliction which had befallen their minister.

A very bountiful harvest blessed Scotland that year; nevertheless it was ingathered with a strange foreboding that ere long the dark cloud of want and misery would overshadow the now plentiful and peaceful land.

One evening early in the bleak month of December, when the minister of Inverburn was returning from visiting a sick parishioner, a shepherd among the hills beyond Rowallan, he met the laird riding between the manse gate and the entrance to Inverburn. Sir Thomas Hamilton was a fine, handsome-looking man, but, owing to his haughty and overbearing manner and his well-known leanings towards the side of Prelacy, he was not greatly beloved in the parish. The minister gravely and courteously saluted him, but, somewhat to his surprise, the laird drew rein, with the intention of speaking to him.

"Good evening, Mr. Gray. I have been to the manse seeking you," he said in his quick, imperious way. "Having missed you there, I am fortunate in meeting you. You were preaching in your own kirk on the Sabbath Day, I am told?"

"I was, Sir Thomas," answered the minister, in tones of mild surprise.

"And they tell me you preached a very disloyal discourse, calculated to stir up strife against the king and his honourable counsellors and representatives in Scotland," said the laird, with a peculiar smile.

"Nay, Sir Thomas; whoever carried such a tale to you grievously and wilfully misrepresented me," said the minister, quietly. "I said that these were woeful and troublous times for the Kirk and country, when such good men as James Guthrie of Stirling were imprisoned for fearlessly advocating the principles of civil and religious liberty, and protesting against the many strange and heathenish innovations which the king, through his representatives, is seeking to force into the worship of the Kirk of Scotland."

"Heathenish! By the powers, Andrew Gray, have a care, and keep a better bridle on thy prating tongue, or it will get thee into mischief yet," said the laird, rudely. "The time is coming when a man may get his mouth closed for less."

"Nay, it now is," said the minister, mournfully. "Truly, I know not whither this poor country is drifting nor what will become of her Church, unless the God of the Covenant stretch out to her a helping hand."

"See here, Andrew Gray," said the laird, leaning down from his saddle and speaking in very significant tones; "you are a prating old fool. Let me advise you, for your own safety and that of your household, to take a leaf out of the book of your neighbour, the minister of Lochlee. He is a wise man, now, who can seal his lips and obey the reasonable desires of the king, without making so much ado."

"You speak truly, Sir Thomas. John Methven is indeed a wise man for this present life, but woe is me for the lustre of his crown in glory. I fear me the fear of man is much more before his mind than the fear of God."

"But tell me, Andrew Gray," said the laird, impatiently, "what harm can there be in using the new prayer book in the service of the Church? It is a very holy and good book, and there is nothing in it even to offend the most fastidious taste."

"It savours too strongly of the popish breviary, Sir Thomas, besides being the thin end of the wedge which will drive the pure worship of God from every Scottish pulpit. As such I humbly pray it may be as resolutely kept without the church doors as it has been hitherto," returned the minister, fearlessly.

"I tell you, Andrew Gray, it is useless to resist the will of the king, who has might as well as right upon his side. And think you that when such men as Archibald of Argyll are not reckoned too high in influence and station to be punished for treason, that the king will regard with leniency lesser lights like you?"

The minister started.

"Then the spirit of prophecy which was vouchsafed to James Guthrie has had its double fulfilment and His Grace is a fellow-captive with his ministerial brethren?" he said sadly.

"Even so," replied the laird. "I have had intelligence from London that Argyll is confined in the Tower, awaiting trial for treason. I tell you this in confidence, to warn you, Andrew Gray, for, obstinate though you be, I have no desire to see any harm befall your grey hairs. And take my word for it, Episcopacy must sooner or later be established in Scotland, and it is simple madness to attempt to swim against the tide."

With these significant words the Laird of Inverburn gave his horse the rein, and rode rapidly away, leaving the minister to pursue his solitary way in sad meditation over the difficulties and dangers daily thickening round the path of God's people.

Turning a bend in the road, he beheld in the distance the figure of his son David, the minister of Broomhill, advancing to meet him. He was not surprised, having been duly apprised of his intention to come with his wife and child that day to spend a brief season at the manse. David Gray was now a tall and fine-looking man, although his figure was very slim and slenderly built, and his face wore that thoughtful and even careworn aspect common to the scholar and the earnest minister of the Gospel. Although only in his thirty-fifth year, his black locks were already tinged with grey, and there were not a few wrinkles on his high and thoughtful brow.

A warm greeting passed between father and son, mutual inquiries for each other's health and welfare, and then both plunged into the subject which was occupying the minds of all thinking people at that time. They walked slowly on to the manse, engaged in earnest discussion, and were so deeply absorbed that they stood outside the door, heedless of the chill and biting evening air, until Jane Gray, hearing voices, came and peremptorily ordered them in.

In the family room David Gray's wife was sitting by the hearth with her baby on her knee. She was a fair-faced, flaxen-haired young woman, without much depth of character or soundness of understanding. She was the only daughter of a little laird, in the parish of Broomhill, and had been brought up to think of little except her own pretty face. She was not in any way fitted to be the wife of a minister, especially of such a one as David Gray, and many had marvelled at his choice. The Grays had not much approved his marriage with her, but seeing his heart was set upon the maiden, they had kept their thoughts to themselves, and hoped that under his influence Lilian Burnet would become a better woman.

"And how is it with thee, my daughter?" queried the minister of Inverburn in his fatherly manner, and at the same time laying his hand in blessing on the fair head of the child sleeping on her knee.

"Oh I am very well, grandfather," she answered, flippantly; "and glad to come here for a change. David has harped so long about coming to the manse of Inverburn. I wanted to go home to my father's house at Haughhead and let him come alone, but he would not listen to me."

The minister readily guessed the cause of his son's desire to separate his wife as much as possible from the influence of her own kinsfolk. Although they followed an outward form of Presbyterianism they were at heart attached to Episcopacy, solely because it was the form of religion most favoured then by royalty and great folk, for whom the needy Burnets had a great admiration. In the presence of Mrs. David Gray there was not much said anent the affairs of the Church; but as there were many other matters relating to family and social life interesting to them, the conversation did not flag. Also, later in the evening, Adam Hepburn and his wife walked over from Rowallan and joined the family circle at the manse. And so the night sped on swift and pleasant wings.

Next day Betty McBean's brother, a carrier by trade, and who had been at Edinburgh on some errands for various people in the parish, brought word to the manse that the Marquis of Argyll had been brought a close prisoner by sea from London to Leith, and was confined in Edinburgh Castle. So the laird's statement, which Mr. Gray had partly disbelieved, was true after all. It was with deep anxiety that Mr. Gray, in common with all other God-fearing people throughout Scotland, awaited the results which must follow upon these significant proceedings.

On the 13th of February the Marquis of Argyll was arraigned before the bar of the Parliament in Edinburgh, charged with high treason. The evidence against him was of a very slender character, and was chiefly made up of a number of vile and baseless slanders gathered together for his condemnation. Upon the 20th of the same month the Reverend James Guthrie was put upon his trial, charged with a similar offence. But the real cause of offence against these two great and good men was that they were the two most influential Protestants in Scotland, and must therefore be removed out of the way.

Therefore both, after a mockery of a trial, were put on their defence, which not being satisfactory to their base accusers and unjust and perjured judges, they were both condemned to die, Argyll on the 28th of May, and Mr. Guthrie on the 1st of June. When the grievous news was brought to Inverburn, Mr. Gray at once rose and prepared himself for a journey to Edinburgh, in order to be present with his beloved friend during the last days of his life, to comfort him with the sweet counsel of brotherly and Christian sympathy. Jane Gray saw her aged father depart with some forebodings of mind, and was indeed moved to tears, as she bade him God-speed and farewell.

"Weep not for me, my daughter," said the minister, sadly, "but rather for our harassed and persecuted land. Know, Jane, that except it be of the Lord's good pleasure, wicked men shall not lay a hand upon me. And if his friends desert him in his hour of need, the soul of the Lord's servant may sink within him in his extremity."

Owing to his age and somewhat infirm health, the minister of Inverburn found it impossible to make the journey in one day, and had therefore to rest by the way at the house of a friend, about fifteen miles west from Edinburgh. And on the following morning he rode with speed into Edinburgh, arriving about noon at the house of his brother-in-law, in the Grass-market. His sister Jane was now dead, but her one child, grown to womanhood, ministered with kind heart and capable hands to her father's wants. The minister was warmly greeted by Ailie Kilgour and her father and made heartily welcome under their roof-tree. As was to be expected, the merchant was able to furnish his brother-in-law with all the particulars of the two trials, which had occasioned such excitement and sorrowful indignation in the city. He also assured him that he would have no difficulty in obtaining access to Mr. Guthrie, because he had been allowed to enjoy the fellowship of several friends, as well as some of his kinsfolk from Guthrie. So, before the day was spent, Mr. Gray betook himself to the tolbooth, or gaol, and was without ado admitted to the presence of his condemned friend. As was natural, the minister of Inverburn expected to find him somewhat cast down, for he was not yet stricken in years, and had many sweet ties to bind him to life; but he was agreeably surprised to find him not only composed and cheerful, but encompassed with a holy joy, a blessed and wondrous serenity, which seemed to have been specially vouchsafed to him from above.

"Ah, friend Gray," he said, as he affectionately embraced him, "hast thou come to see how our God can uphold His servants in the very swelling of Jordan? Wicked men can lay hands on and torment this poor body indeed, for which I am not ungrateful, since they will do me a good turn by giving me a quicker introduction to my Father's house, where are many mansions."

In that state of mind Mr. Guthrie continued up to his execution. Nor was the Marquis of Argyll less wonderfully upheld in his extremity. He died upon the Monday with triumphant courage, and it seemed as if the Lord's arm were veritably around him.

On the Friday following Mr. Guthrie followed his illustrious fellow-sufferer into glory. The minister of Inverburn was among those who accompanied him to the scaffold, and who witnessed (not without a passing feeling of envy, that he had reached the end of his troubles) the holy and triumphant joy with which he met the King of Terrors.

His last words, "The Covenants will yet be Scotland's reviving," were destined to be gloriously fulfilled, but not until the blood of the saints, of which his was but the earnest, was made to run like water on the ground.