Part 6

I was unprepared for such a rebuff, and a hot reply sprang to my lips, but I felt unwilling to hurt his feelings, so I held my tongue.

He sat with his knees drawn up towards his chin, his clasped hands holding them, and his eyes fixed on the distance.

I stretched myself lazily upon the hill-side and awaited his pleasure.

We rested for a long time, and then, as the eastern sky began to break into light, he rose to his feet and saying, "It is time to go on," he set out again. I followed close behind him as before. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, his two thumbs revolving ceaselessly round each other.

Out of the ebb of night, day rose like a goddess. Before me was beauty unspeakable. The moorland was covered by a thin vale of mist. Here and there, where the sun was reflected from it, it shone like silver, and where some mischievous hill-wind had torn a rent in it, a splash of brown heath or a tussock of purple heather broke colouringly through. The world was waking up from its slumber. A hare, startled, sprang along the hill-side before us--its ears acock, its body zig-zagging as though to evade some apprehended missile. The whaups called to each other mournfully, and, high above us, unseen, a lark poured out its soul in sparkling song.

I was beginning to wonder when we should arrive at our destination, when my companion turned suddenly to the left and walked downhill into the valley. Here, for a time, we followed what had been the bed of an ancient stream, long since dried up, until we came to a cleft between the hills which gradually widened out into a kind of amphitheatre. Almost for the first time since we had left our hiding-place, my companion spoke.

"This is the trysting-place," he said. "The folk will be here ere long. I'll leave ye while I complete my preparations," and saying "Rest ye," he walked on through the amphitheatre and disappeared.

I stretched myself upon my back and drew my bonnet over my eyes. I know not how long I lay thus, but suddenly I was conscious that someone was standing beside me, and opening my eyes I saw the minister at my side.

"They are beginning to come," he said, as he looked out through the cleft by which we had entered the hollow. My gaze followed his, and I saw at some distance a man of middle age, followed by two younger men, coming in single file towards us. My companion left me and hurried to meet them. I saw him approach the eldest with outstretched hand which was taken and shaken vigorously; then he greeted the two younger men, and the four stood, a little knot in the morning light, talking earnestly.

From glances that were cast from time to time in my direction, I knew they were talking of me. The colloquy lasted for some time. My friend was apparently vouching for my trustworthiness with many protestations, for I could see him strike the palm of his left hand with his clenched right fist. At last the minister and the elder man came towards me. The two younger men separated, one climbing to the top of the ridge on one side of the amphitheatre and the other ascending the slope upon its other side.

I surmised that these two younger men were to play the part of sentinels to give timely warning, if need arose, of the coming of the dreaded troopers. They had no weapons but shepherd's crooks.

As the two elder men approached me, I rose, and as they drew nearer I heard my friend still pleading for me. "I believe that, at heart, he is no' a bad young man, but being English, his opportunities have been few, and he is strangely lacking in a knowledge o' the fundamentals, but I am hoping that he may yet prove to be a brand plucked from the burning."

With difficulty I restrained a smile, but I took a step towards them and, bowing to my friend's companion who stood straight-backed and stalwart before me, I said: "My uniform is but a poor passport to your trust, but the heart beneath it is not a false heart and none of your people need fear ill from me."

The old man offered me his hand. "Young man," he said, "I hae little cause to trust your coat, but if your creedentials satisfy the meenister, they're guid enough for Tammas Frazer."

"That's richt, Thomas!" cried the minister, "that's richt. As the Buik says: 'Charity suffereth long and is kind'!"

We stood silent for an embarrassed moment, until the hill-man said: "And noo, Meenister, ye'll gi'e us a word afore I set the kirk in order," and lifting their bonnets the two men closed their eyes.

I followed their example, and then the minister lifted up his voice and, in tones of pathetic earnestness, besought the blessing of God upon all the doings of the day; sought, too, for divine protection for all who at the hazard of their lives should come to worship there that Sabbath morning.

When the prayer was over, Thomas turned to me, and said: "You are a likely young man and a hefty; we had better leave the man o' God to his meditations. Come and lend me a hand."

For a moment I was at a loss to understand what he meant, but I followed him, and when he picked up a small boulder I did likewise and together we carried the stones to the sloping hillside and arranged them at short intervals from each other. Altogether we gathered some thirty or forty stones, which we set in semi-circular rows. Opposite to these, on the other side of the amphitheatre, we built a little mound of boulders and laid upon the top of it a great flat rock. This was to be the preacher's pulpit, and I was struck with the care that Thomas devoted to its building. When it was finished he stood upon it and tested it. Satisfied, he descended from it, saying: "It'll dae fine. There's naething like a guid foundation for a sermon," and in his austere eyes a light flickered.

By this time other worshippers had begun to gather and were thronging round the minister in little clusters. From the looks cast in my direction I knew that I was the object of more than one inquiry, and while my recent companion went forward to greet some other of the worshippers, I hung back a little shamefacedly. Seeing my hesitation the minister beckoned me, and when I came near he placed a hand upon my shoulder and said:

"My friends, here is the prodigal. He has eaten of the husks of the swine, but, I think, he has at last set his foot on the road to his Father's house."

It was a strange introduction, received in silence by the little group, and with a mounting colour I looked at the people and they looked at me. There was a glint of challenge in the eyes of some of the men and a hint of suspicion in others. The older women looked at me with something I took for pity; the younger ones pretended not to look at all. The silence was embarrassing, but it was broken by the minister who said:

"And now, my friends, it is time to begin our service. Will you take your places?" and turning to me he said, "Young man, I think ye'd better come and sit near the pulpit, where I can see that ye behave yersel'!"

In silence, and with a demure sobriety as though they were crossing the threshold of a holy place, they stepped across the dip in the amphitheatre and seated themselves upon the stones laid ready for them. I walked behind the minister towards his pulpit. A couple of paces from it he stopped and raised his right hand high above his head. On the top of the hill that faced us I saw one of the sentinels spring erect and hold his hand aloft, and turning, we saw that the sentinel on the other hill top had made a like signal. It was a sign that all was well, and that the service might safely begin.

The minister mounted his pulpit and I sat down a little below it. In a voice which rang melodiously through the silence he said: "Let us worship God by singing to His praise the 121st psalm." He read the psalm from beginning to end and then the congregation, still sitting, took up the refrain and sang slowly the confident words. It was a psalm which to these hill-folk must have been charged with many memories.

There was more of earnestness than of melody in the singing, but suddenly I was aware of one voice that sounded clear and bell-like among the jumble of raucous notes. My ears guided my eyes and I was able to pick the singer out.

*CHAPTER XI*

*FLOWER O' THE HEATHER*

She was a girl of some twenty years who sat on the slope opposite to me. Her features were regular and fine and in strange contrast to the rugged countenances that surrounded her. From underneath the kerchief that snooded her hair a wanton lock of gold strayed over the whiteness of her high forehead. I caught a glimpse of two pink ears set like wild roses among the locks that clustered round them. She sat demurely, unaware of my rapt scrutiny. Her lips were red as ripe cherries, and as she sang I saw behind them the glint of white and regular teeth. Her eyes I could not catch; they were lifted to the distant sky over the hill-tops; her soul was in her singing. One hand rested in her lap, the other hung down by her side, and almost touched the grass beside her rough seat. The open book upon her knees was open for form's sake only. She was singing from her heart and she knew the words without appeal to the printed page. I took my eyes from her with difficulty and let them wander over the little congregation of which she was a part, but I found no face there which could hold them, and quickly they turned again to look upon this winsome maid.

She had lowered her eyes now, and as I glanced across at her I met their level gaze. There was a glint of light in them such as I have seen upon a moorland tarn when the sunbeams frolic there, and as I looked at her I was aware that something within me was beating against my ribs like a wild caged bird.

When the psalm was ended the minister behind me said solemnly, "Let us pray," and over against me I saw the heads of the congregation bend reverently. Some sat with clasped hands, others buried their faces in the hollow of their palms. My devotions were divided, and before the preacher had completed his sentences of invocation I found myself peeping through my separated fingers at the girl. Her eyes were closed, her dainty hands were clasped delicately. I had never, till that moment, known that the human hand may become as subtle an instrument for expressing the feelings as the human eye. In her clasped hands I saw the rapture of a splendid faith: I saw devotion that would not shrink from death; I saw love and sacrifice.

The preacher prayed on, embracing in his petitions the furthest corners of the universe. His words fell on my ears, but I did not hear them, for at that moment my whole world centred in this alluring daughter of the Covenant.

Once again I was conscious that my heart was thumping wildly, and I was selfish enough to wonder whether my presence was disturbing her devotions as much as hers was destroying mine. But she gave no sign. The lustrous pools of her eyes were hidden from my gaze behind the dropped lids. So long as she was unaware of it, I felt no hesitation in letting my eyes dwell upon her, to drink in the beauty of her soul-filled face.

I was still gazing upon this vision when suddenly the prayer ended. I can tell no more of the service. I only know that in that little band of worshippers I was one of the most fervent--but I fear that I was worshipping one of God's creatures rather than God Himself.

After the benediction had been pronounced over the standing congregation, I looked up at the sky and judged that well-nigh three hours must have elapsed since we sang the opening psalm, and to me it had passed in a flash. Never before had I known the minutes fly upon such winged feet.

I shook myself out of my dream and turned towards the minister. He had dropped on his knees and was engaged in silent prayer. Unwilling to disturb him, I turned once more toward the congregation which had already arisen from its stony pews and was standing clustered in little knots. I hesitated for a moment, and as I hung uncertain I felt an arm slip through mine. It was the minister.

"Come," he said, "you must get to know some of my flock. I could tell, my lad, as ye sat at my feet during the service that you were strangely moved."

Good honest man! I had been strangely moved, but by other emotions than those for which he gave me credit!

As he talked, we had descended the slope and stood in the hollow. The congregation gathered round us; many of the men, and some of the older women, grasped the preacher warmly by the hand. There was no effusiveness in these salutations, but a quiet earnestness that bespoke their love for him.

"Ye were michty in prayer the day," said one, while I heard another exclaim: "Ye divided the word maist skilfully, sir. The twalfth heid micht ha'e been expanded wi' advantage, but your fourteenth was by-ordinar'. I never heard finer words o' grace, no even frae godly Samuel Rutherford himself. God keep ye, sir." "Ay," said another. "When ye gied oot yer sixth heid says I tae masel', 'Noo, how will he handle that ane: but, sir, ye were maisterfu', an' I was mair than satisfied."

These words of praise were accepted by the minister with a modest derogation: "I am but a frail mouthpiece," he said. "The message has suffered through my poor imperfections."

In the press around him I was suddenly conscious of _her_ presence. I saw his face light up with a smile as he stretched his hand out to her: "Mary, lass," he said, as he drew her towards him, "ye're a woman grown. It seems but yesterday that I baptised you."

My eyes were on her face, and I saw the colour mount beneath her healthy brown as she smiled. I felt I would have given all of life that might lie before me had that smile been for me. With ears alert I waited to hear her speak. Softly, and in sweet accents, within whose music there was a note of roguery, she answered:

"If the wee ravens didna grow up, wha would bring food to Elijah?"

The minister laughed. "It was a fine cheese, Mary, and your oatcakes couldna be bettered in the shire. What say you, young man?" he said, turning to me.

The moment I had dreamed of had come, and the eyes of the girl were turned expectantly upon me, and then, fool that I was, any readiness of wit I had, oozed through the soles of my feet and left me standing in the adorable presence, an inarticulate dolt. I mumbled I know not what, but she laughed my confusion aside.

"If there are twa mouths to fill," she said, "the ravens will ha'e to fly into the wilderness a wee oftener. I maun tell mither."

She looked at me, and then with a glint in her beautiful eyes that made me think she had not been altogether unaware of my scrutiny during the service, said: "For a trooper, ye behaved very weel," and then lest I might imagine that I was more to her than the merest insect that hides among the heather, she turned once more to the minister.

I was too young then to know that, be she Covenanter's daughter or Court lady, woman is ever the same, with the same arts to provoke, the same witchery to allure, the same artfully artless skill to torture and to heal the heart of man. She had turned away from me, but in doing so she had drawn me closer to herself, and I was rivetted to the ground where I stood, ready to stand there for ever--just to be within sound of her voice, within arm's length of her hand. Suddenly she disentangled herself from the little group and going to its outskirts placed her hand upon the arm of a middle-aged bearded man and brought him to the minister. There was something in the shape of the forehead and eyebrows of the man that made me think he might be her father, and my thought was confirmed when the minister, taking him by the hand, said:

"Andrew, you have a daughter to be proud of. Her mither's ain bairn, and a bonnie lass."

Her father paid no attention to the compliment, and as though to bring back the thoughts of the man of God from such a worldly object as a pretty girl, said:

"And when may we expect ye tae honour our hoose by comin' for the catechisin'?"

"God willing, I shall be at Daldowie on Friday next, and, Andrew, I'll expect ye to be sounder in the proofs than ye were last time."

"And now," he said, turning to me, "we must be going. We have a long road before us. God keep you all. Good-bye," and without another word he strode away. I followed him, and as I passed the girl she glanced at me and her lips moved. I hesitated and stopped, and O wonder! she had stretched out her hand to me.

"Good-bye," she said. "Tak' care of the minister. Maybe you'll convoy him to the catechisin'."

"Trust me," I said. "No harm shall touch a hair of his head if I can fend it off."

"Thank you," she replied. "I think I can trust you, in spite o' your coat," and she dropped my hand.

That was all: but her words and the trust she was ready to place in me had made my whole world glow. I hurried after the minister, walking on air, and felt sorely tempted to burst into song, but I knew that, on such a day, to have done so would have rendered me suspect of wanton godlessness and I restrained myself; but it was only outwardly. My heart was singing like a clutch of larks, and the rugged hill-side was covered with springing flowers. Once before I had felt the spell of a woman, but never till now had any daughter of Eve cast such a glamour over me. Was it love? Was it love? And if it were--was it love on my side alone? It must be, for how dare I think that a renegade trooper, hall-marked by a uniform that to these simple folk meant blood and death, could awaken in the sweet soul of that innocent girl feelings such as she had stirred within my breast, I pictured her again: I saw her sweet brown eyes, and I remembered the glory of her hair, which for a moment I had seen in all its beauty when her kerchief had slipped back. It was chestnut-brown, coiled in great masses, save just above her brow, where in some mood of whim nature had set a golden curl like an aureole. And as I fondly recalled her features one by one I found myself thinking that behind the demure repose of her face there lurked some elfin roguishness--something elusive that gave her a mysterious charm.

I walked on in a maze of dreams, but was called sharply back to earth by the voice of the minister.

"Where are you going, my lad? Are you making for the border, or where? Our road lies up the brae face," and turning I discovered that, in my dreams, instead of following the minister I was walking obliquely away from him. I ran to rejoin him, but I had no excuse ready to explain my error, nor did he ask for one. We resumed our walk together and in a moment or two he said:

"Well, what think you o' a Conventicle?"

There was no mental reservation in my reply: "Never, sir, did I so enjoy a religious service."

"Enjoy?" he repeated, questioningly. "Enjoy? that is a worldly word to use concerning such a privilege."

I looked at him sharply, half suspecting that he had guessed the cause of my appreciation of the field-meeting; but there was nothing in his solemn countenance to make me think he suspected me of duplicity.

"You English folk," he continued, "have queer ways of using your own language. I can understand a hungry man enjoying a hearty meal; but enjoying a privilege seems wrong. One accepts a privilege with a thankful and humble heart." Then he stopped suddenly, stamping his foot upon the ground. "Alexander Main," he said, "ye're wrong. You are misjudging the young man; ye're growing old, and the sap in your heart is drying up. Shame on you that you should ever doubt that a man may rejoice at being privileged to enter the presence of God." Then he stretched out his hand: "Forgive me, young man. We Scots have perhaps lost our sense of joy in our sense of duty, but we are wrong, wrong, wrong!"

His wonted kindliness of heart was bubbling over. My joy had come from a very human source and sorely was I tempted to explain myself: but I held my peace.

We took the path again and plodded along the hillside until we came to the top of a long ridge. As we drew near it the minister signalled to me to crouch down, and on his hands and knees he crawled up and peered long and earnestly over the other side. I knew the reason of his caution. If he stood erect on the brow-top his dark figure, sharp-cut against the sky, might be seen by some patrol of troopers on the moorland. His caution brought me back sharply from the land of dreams. He and I were hunted men.

Apparently his scrutiny satisfied him, for he turned round and, sitting down, said: "We may rest here awhile." I sat beside him and together we scanned the valley that lay below us. It seemed to be a vast solitude, but as I looked I began to pick out here and there a moving figure, and startled, I called his attention to them. He looked and, after a pause, made answer: "They are only the moorland folk making their ways home. See yonder, that is no trooper, but a woman. Poor, harried sheep! May the Great Shepherd guide them all to the fold of home, and in His own good time to the fold abune." I looked again, scanning the moorland with sharpened eyes in the hope that afar I might catch a glimpse of her whose life had touched mine so tenderly that day; but I could not discern her.

I was stirred by a strange desire to talk, and I began to put to my companion questions about some of his flock, and by devious paths I led him to the subject that was really in my heart.

"Mary," he said, "what would you know about Mary?" and then he smiled. "Oh, that is how the land lies, is it? Well, I'm no' surprised. She's a bonnie lass, and as good as she is bonnie, and a likely lass to take a young man's eye. But put her out of your mind. She's no' for you. The dove maunna' mate wi' the corbie."

"She must be a brave woman," I said, "for I understand that she brings us our food."

"Wha tell't ye that?" he exclaimed, turning upon me sharply and lapsing into the fashion of speech which was ever his refuge when he was moved.

"Well, sir," I answered, "you said as much, and I put two and two together."

"Did I?" he exclaimed. "Well, ye maun guess nae mair; dinna forget this is the Sabbath day."

*CHAPTER XII*

*THE GREATER LOVE*

Idly I pulled a little sprig of thyme which grew beside me, and crushing it between my fingers inhaled its perfume.

My companion watched me, saying: "Wonderful! wonderful! what glories there are in creation. Many a time I've lain awake at nights and thought about it all. Flowers on the moor, far bonnier than anything that ever man fashioned; birds in the air lilting sweeter melodies than man can make; the colour spilled across the sky when the sun sets; the mist on the hills. Glory everywhere; but nothing to the glory yonder"--and he raised his eyes to the heavens.

When we had rested for a time, my companion rose and we set out again.

The sun was setting when we came within sight of our hiding places.

"Come to my side of the loch," he said. "Ye'll want your supper before ye make for your bed," and together we made for the place where we had already enjoyed so many meals together. I went to the little stream to see if haply I might discover a trout there, but he forbade me sternly.

"Must I tell ye again that it is the Sabbath day? Ye maunna catch fish the nicht."

He left me for a moment, and sought his little store, and when he came back, we took our meal in silence. When we had finished he said: "I am wearied to-night; God send us sweet repose," and kneeling down he commended us both and "all good hill-folk" to the protection of the Almighty. He prayed too for his little congregation, and as he did so I wondered if another prayer might at that hour be ascending like incense from the lips of the girl who had begun to haunt my heart; and I wondered if in her petitions there would be any thought of me.