CHAPTER I

Produced by Al Haines.

John Burnet of Barns

_A Romance_

BY

JOHN BUCHAN

TORONTO:

THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED.

1899.

Copyright, 1898

BY JOHN LANE

Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one

thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine, by THE COPP CLARK

COMPANY, LIMITED, Toronto, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture.

TO THE MEMORY OF

MY SISTER

VIOLET KATHARINE STUART

[Greek: Aster prin men elampes eni zooisin Heoos,

nun de oanon lampeis Hesperos en phthimenois.]

[Transcriber's note: the above Greek was transcribed

from a poor-quality scan, so may not be quite correct]

Contents

BOOK I--TWEEDDALE

CHAPTER

I. THE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL ME IN THE WOOD OF DAWYCK

II. THE HOUSE OF BARNS

III. THE SPATE IN TWEED

IV. I GO TO THE COLLEGE AT GLASGOW

V. COUSINLY AFFECTION

VI. HOW MASTER GILBERT BURNET PLAYED A GAME AND WAS CHECKMATED

VII. THE PEGASUS INN AT PEEBLES AND HOW A STRANGER RETURNED FROM THE

WARS

VIII. I TAKE LEAVE OF MY FRIENDS

IX. I RIDE OUT ON MY TRAVELS AND FIND A COMPANION

BOOK II--THE LOW COUNTRIES

I. OF MY VOYAGE TO THE LOW COUNTRIES

II. I VISIT MASTER PETER WISHART

III. THE STORY OF A SUPPER PARTY

IV. OUR ADVENTURE ON THE ALPHEN ROAD

V. THE FIRST SUNDAY OF MARCH

VI. THE FIRST MONDAY OF MARCH

VII. I SPEND MY DAYS IN IDLENESS

VIII. THE COMING OF THE BRIG SEAMAW

IX. AN ACCOUNT OF MY HOME-COMING

BOOK III--THE HILLMEN

I. THE PIER O' LEITH

II. HOW I RODE TO THE SOUTH

III. THE HOUSE OF DAWYCK

IV. HOW MICHAEL VEITCH MET HIS END

V. I CLAIM A PROMISE, AND WE SEEK THE HILLS

VI. THE CAVE OF THE COR WATER

VII. HOW TWO OF HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS MET WITH THEIR DESERTS

VIII. OF OUR WANDERINGS AMONG THE MOORS OF CLYDE

IX. I PART FROM MARJORY

X. OF THE MAN WITH THE ONE EYE AND THE ENCOUNTER IN THE GREEN

CLEUCH

XI. HOW A MILLER STROVE WITH HIS OWN MILL-WHEEL

XII. I WITNESS A VALIANT ENDING

XIII. I RUN A NARROW ESCAPE FOR MY LIFE

XIV. I FALL IN WITH STRANGE FRIENDS

XV. THE BAILLIES OF NO MAN'S LAND

XVI. HOW THREE MEN HELD A TOWN IN TERROR

XVII. OF THE FIGHT IN THE MOSS OF BIGGAR

XVIII. SMITWOOD

BOOK IV--THE WESTLANDS

I. I HEAR NO GOOD IN THE INN AT THE FORDS O' CLYDE

II. AN OLD JOURNEY WITH A NEW ERRAND

III. THE HOUSE WITH THE CHIPPED GABLES

IV. UP HILL AND DOWN DALE

V. EAGLESHAM

VI. I MAKE MY PEACE WITH GILBERT BURNET

VII. OF A VOICE IN THE EVENTIDE

VIII. HOW NICOL PLENDERLEITH SOUGHT HIS FORTUNE ELSEWHERE

IX. THE END OF ALL THINGS

John Burnet of Barns

BOOK I--TWEEDDALE

CHAPTER I

THE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL ME IN THE WOOD OF DAWYCK

I have taken in hand to write this, the history of my life, not without

much misgiving of heart; for my memory at the best is a bad one, and of

many things I have no clear remembrance. And the making of tales is an

art unknown to me, so he who may read must not look for any great skill

in the setting down. Yet I am emboldened to the work, for my life has

been lived in stirring times and amid many strange scenes which may not

wholly lack interest for those who live in quieter days. And above all,

I am desirous that they of my family should read of my life and learn

the qualities both good and bad which run in the race, and so the better

be able to resist the evil and do the good.

My course, by the will of God, has had something of a method about it,

which makes the telling the more easy. For, as I look back upon it from

the vantage ground of time, all seems spread out plain and clear in an

ordered path. And I would but seek to trace again some portion of the

way with the light of a dim memory.

I will begin my tale with a certain June morning in the year 1678, when

I, scarcely turned twelve years, set out from the house of Barns to the

fishing in Tweed. I had escaped the watchful care of my tutor, Master

Robert Porter, the curate of Lyne, who vexed my soul thrice a week with

Caesar and Cicero. I had no ill-will to the Latin, for I relished the

battles in Caesar well enough, and had some liking for poetry; but when

I made a slip in grammar he would bring his great hand over my ears in a

way which would make them tingle for hours. And all this, mind you,

with the sun coming in at the window and whaups whistling over the

fields and the great fish plashing in the river. On this morn I had

escaped by hiding in the cheese-closet; then I had fetched my rod from

the stable-loft, and borrowed tackle from Davie Lithgow, the stableman;

and now I was creeping through the hazel bushes, casting, every now and

then, a glance back at the house, where the huge figure of my teacher

was looking for me disconsolately in every corner.

The year had been dry and sultry; and this day was warmer than any I

remembered. The grass in the meadow was browned and crackling; all the

foxgloves hung their bells with weariness; and the waters were shrunken

in their beds. The mill-lade, which drives Manor Mill, had not a drop

in it, and the small trout were gasping in the shallow pool, which in

our usual weather was five feet deep. The cattle were _stertling_, as

we called it in the countryside; that is, the sun was burning their

backs, and, rushing with tails erect, they sought coolness from end to

end of the field. Tweed was very low and clear. Small hope, I thought,

for my fishing; I might as well have stayed with Master Porter and been

thrashed, for I will have to stay out all day and go supperless at

night.

I took my way up the river past the green slopes of Haswellsykes to the

wood of Dawyck, for I knew well that there, if anywhere, the fish would

take in the shady, black pools. The place was four weary miles off, and

the day was growing hotter with each passing hour; so I stripped my coat

and hid it in a hole among whins and stones. When I come home again, I

said, I will recover it. Another half mile, and I had off my shoes and

stockings and concealed them in a like place; so soon I plodded along

with no other clothes on my body than shirt and ragged breeches.

In time I came to the great forest which stretches up Tweed nigh to

Drummelzier, the greatest wood in our parts, unless it be Glentress, on

the east side of Peebles. The trees were hazels and birches in the

main, with a few rowans, and on the slopes of the hill a congregation of

desolate pines. Nearer the house of Dawyck were beeches and oaks and

the deeper shade, and it was thither I went. The top of my rod struck

against the boughs, and I had some labour in steering a safe course

between the Scylla of the trees and the Charybdis of the long brackens;

for the rod was in two parts spliced together, and as I had little skill

in splicing, Davie had done the thing for me before I started. Twice I

roused a cock of the woods, which went screaming through the shadow.

Herons from the great heronry at the other end were standing in nigh

every pool, for the hot weather was a godsend to them, and the trout

fared ill when the long thief-like bills flashed through the clear

water. Now and then a shy deer leaped from the ground and sped up the

hill. The desire of the chase was hot upon me when, after an hour's

rough scramble, I came to the spot where I hoped for fish.

A stretch of green turf, shaded on all sides by high beeches, sloped

down to the stream-side. The sun made a shining pathway down the

middle, but the edges were in blackest shadow. At the foot a lone

gnarled alder hung over the water, sending its long arms far over the

river nigh to the farther side. Here Tweed was still and sunless,

showing a level of placid black water, flecked in places with stray

shafts of light. I prepared my tackle on the grass, making a

casting-line of fine horse-hair which I had plucked from the tail of our

own grey gelding. I had no such fine hooks as folk nowadays bring from

Edinburgh, sharpened and barbed ready to their hand; but rough, homemade

ones, which Tam Todd, the land-grieve, had fashioned out of old needles.

My line was of thin, stout whipcord, to which I had made the casting

firm with a knot of my own invention. I had out my bag of worms, and,

choosing a fine red one, made it fast on the hook. Then I crept gently

to the alder and climbed on the branch which hung far out over the

stream. Here I sat like an owl in the shade, and dropped my line in the

pool below me, where it caught a glint of the sun and looked like a

shining cord let down, like Jacob's ladder, from heaven to the darkness

of earth.

I had not sat many minutes before my rod was wrenched violently

downwards, then athwart the stream, nearly swinging me from my perch. I

have got a monstrous trout, I thought, and with a fluttering heart stood

up on the branch to be more ready for the struggle. He ran up the water

and down; then far below the tree roots, whence I had much difficulty in

forcing him; then he thought to break my line by rapid jerks, but he did

not know the strength of my horse-hair. By and by he grew wearied, and

I landed him comfortably on a spit of land--a great red-spotted fellow

with a black back. I made sure that he was two pounds weight if he was

an ounce.

I hid him in a cool bed of leaves and rushes on the bank, and crawled

back to my seat on the tree. I baited my hook as before, and dropped it

in; and then leaned back lazily on the branches behind to meditate on

the pleasantness of fishing and the hatefulness of Master Porter's

teaching. In my shadowed place all was cool and fresh as a May morning,

but beyond, in the gleam of the sun, I could see birds hopping sleepily

on the trees, and the shrivelled dun look of the grass. A faint humming

of bees reached me, and the flash of a white butterfly shot, now and

then, like a star from the sunlight to the darkness, and back again to

the sunlight. It was a lovely summer's day, though too warm for our

sober country, and as I sat I thought of the lands I had read of and

heard of, where it was always fiercely hot, and great fruits were to be

had for the pulling. I thought of the oranges and olives and what not,

and great silver and golden fishes with sparkling scales; and as I

thought of them I began to loathe hazel-nuts and rowans and

whortleberries, and the homely trout, which are all that is to be had in

this land of ours. Then I thought of Barns and my kinsfolk, and all the

tales of my forbears, and I loved again the old silent valley of

Tweed--for a gallant tale is worth many fruits and fishes. Then as the

day brightened my dreams grew accordingly. I came of a great old house;

I, too, would ride to the wars, to the low countries, to Sweden, and I

would do great deeds like the men in Virgil. And then I wished I had

lived in Roman times. Ah, those were the days, when all the good things

of life fell to brave men, and there was no other trade to be compared

to war. Then I reflected that they had no fishing, for I had come on

nothing as yet in my studies about fish and the catching of them. And

so, like the boy I was, I dreamed on, and my thoughts chased each other

in a dance in my brain, and I fell fast asleep.

I wakened with a desperate shudder, and found myself floundering in

seven feet of water. My eyes were still heavy with sleep, and I

swallowed great gulps of the river as I sank. In a second I came to the

surface and with a few strokes I was at the side, for I had early

learned to swim. Stupid and angry, I scrambled up the bank to the green

glade. Here a first surprise befell me. It was late afternoon; the sun

had travelled three-fourths of the sky; it would be near five o'clock.

What a great fool I had been to fall asleep and lose a day's fishing! I

found my rod moored to the side with the line and half of the

horse-hair; some huge fish had taken the hook. Then I looked around me

to the water and the trees and the green sward, and surprise the second

befell me; for there, not twelve paces from me, stood a little girl,

watching me with every appearance of terror.

She was about two years younger than myself, I fancied. Her dress was

some rich white stuff which looked eerie in the shade of the beeches,

and her long hair fell over her shoulders in plentiful curls. She had

wide, frightened blue eyes and a delicately-featured face, and as for

the rest I know not how to describe her, so I will not try. I, with no

more manners than a dog, stood staring at her, wholly forgetful of the

appearance I must present, without shoes and stockings, coat or

waistcoat, and dripping with Tweed water. She spoke first, in a soft

southern tone, which I, accustomed only to the broad Scots of Jean

Morran, who had been my nurse, fell in love with at once. Her whole face

was filled with the extremest terror.

"Oh, sir, be you the water-kelpie?" she asked.

I could have laughed at her fright, though I must have been like enough

to some evil spirit; but I answered her with my best gravity.

"No, I am no kelpie, but I had gone to sleep and fell into the stream.

My coat and shoes are in a hole two miles down, and my name is John

Burnet of Barns." All this I said in one breath, being anxious to right

myself in her eyes; also with some pride in the last words.

It was pretty to see how recognition chased the fear from her face. "I

know you," she said. "I have heard of you. But what do you in the

dragon's hole, sir? This is my place. The dragon will get you without

a doubt."

At this I took off my bonnet and made my best bow. "And who are you,

pray, and what story is this of dragons? I have been here scores of

times, and never have I seen or heard of them." This with the mock

importance of a boy.

"Oh, I am Marjory," she said, "Marjory Veitch, and I live at the great

house in the wood, and all this place is my father's and mine. And this

is my dragon's den;" and straightway she wandered into a long tale of

Fair Margot and the Seven Maidens, how Margot wed the Dragon and he

turned forthwith into a prince, and I know not what else. "But no harm

can come to me, for look, I have the charm," and she showed me a black

stone in a silver locket. "My nurse Alison gave it me. She had it from

a great fairy who came with it to my cradle when I was born."

"Who told you all this?" I asked in wonder, for this girl seemed to

carry all the wisdom of the ages in her head.

"Alison and my father, and my brother Michael and old Adam Noble, and a

great many more--" Then she broke off. "My mother is gone. The

fairies came for her."

Then I remembered the story of the young English mistress of Dawyck, who

had died before she had been two years in our country. And this child,

with her fairy learning, was her daughter.

Now I know not what took me, for I had ever been shy of folk, and, above

all, of womankind. But here I found my tongue, and talked to my new

companion in a way which I could not sufficiently admire. There in the

bright sun-setting I launched into the most miraculous account of my

adventures of that day, in which dragons and witches were simply the

commonest portents. Then I sat down and told her all the stories I had

read out of Virgil and Caesar, and all that I had heard of the wars in

England and abroad, and the tales of the countryside which the packmen

had told me. Also I must tell the romances of the nettie-wives who come

to our countryside from the north--the old sad tale of Morag of the

Misty Days and Usnach's sons and the wiles of Angus. And she listened,

and thanked me ever so prettily when I had done. Then she would

enlighten my ignorance; so I heard of the Red Etin of Ireland, and the

Wolf of Brakelin, and the Seven Bold Brothers. Then I showed her nests,

and gave her small blue eggs to take home, and pulled great foxgloves

for her, and made coronets of fern. We played at hide-and-go-seek among

the beeches, and ran races, and fought visionary dragons. Then the sun

went down over the trees, and she declared it was time to be going home.

So I got my solitary fish from its bed of rushes and made her a present

of it. She was pleased beyond measure, though she cried out at my

hardness in taking its life.

So it came to pass that Mistress Marjory Veitch of Dawyck went home

hugging a great two-pound trout, and I went off to Barns, heedless of

Master Porter and his heavy hand, and, arriving late, escaped a

thrashing, and made a good meal of the remnants of supper.

CHAPTER II

THE HOUSE OF BARNS

The house of Barns stands on a green knoll above the Tweed, half-way

between the village of Stobo and the town of Peebles. Tweed here is no

great rolling river, but a shallow, prattling stream, and just below the

house it winds around a small islet, where I loved to go and fish; for

it was an adventure to reach the place, since a treacherous pool lay not

a yard below it. The dwelling was white and square, with a beacon tower

on the top, which once flashed the light from Neidpath to Drochil when

the English came over the Border. It had not been used for half a

hundred years, but a brazier still stood there, and a pile of rotten

logs, grim mementoes of elder feuds. This also was a haunt of mine, for

jackdaws and owls built in the corners, and it was choice fun of a

spring morning to search for eggs at the risk of my worthless life. The

parks around stretched to Manor village on the one side, and nigh to the

foot of the Lyne Water on the other. Manor Water as far as Posso

belonged to us, and many a rare creel have I had out of its pleasant

reaches. Behind, rose the long heathery hill of the Scrape, which is so

great a hill that while one side looks down on us another overhangs the

wood of Dawyck. Beyond that again came Dollar Law and the wild fells

which give birth to the Tweed, the Yarrow, and the Annan.

Within the house, by the great hall-fire, my father, William Burnet,

spent his days. I mind well his great figure in the armchair, a mere

wreck of a man, but mighty in his very ruin. He wore a hat, though he

seldom went out, to mind him of the old days when he was so busy at

hunting and harrying that he had never his head uncovered. His beard

was streaked with grey, and his long nose, with a break in the middle

(which is a mark of our family), and bushy eyebrows gave him a fearsome

look to a chance stranger. In his young days he had been

extraordinarily handsome and active, and, if all tales be true, no

better than he should have been. He was feared in those days for his

great skill in night-foraying, so that he won the name of the "Howlet,"

which never left him. Those were the high days of our family, for my

father was wont to ride to the Weaponshow with seven horsemen behind

him; now we could scarce manage four. But in one of his night-rides his

good fortune failed him; for being after no good on the hills above

Megget one dark wintry night, he fell over the Bitch Craig, horse and

all; and though he escaped with his life, he was lamed in both legs and

condemned to the house for the rest of his days. Of a summer night he

would come out to the lawn with two mighty sticks to support him, and

looking to the Manor Water hills, would shake his fist at them as old

enemies. In his later days he took kindly to theology and learning,

both of which, in the person of Master Porter, dined at his table every

day. I know not how my father, who was a man of much penetration, could

have been deceived by this man, who had as much religion as an ox. As

for learning, he had some rag-tag scraps of Latin which were visited on

me for my sins; but in eating he had no rival, and would consume beef

and pasty and ale like a famished army. He preached every Sabbath in

the little kirk of Lyne, below the Roman camp, and a woful service it

was. I went regularly by my father's orders, but I was the only one

from the household of Barns. I fear that not even my attendance at his

church brought me Master Porter's love; for I had acquired nearly as

much Latin as he possessed himself, and vexed his spirit at lesson-hours

with unanswerable questions. At other times, too, I would rouse him to

the wildest anger by singing a profane song of my own making:

"O ken ye his Reverence Minister Tam,

Wi' a heid like a stot and a face like a ram?"

To me my father was more than kind. He was never tired of making plans

for my future. "John," he would say, "you shall go to Glasgow College,

for you have the makings of a scholar in you. Ay, and we'll make you a

soldier, John, and a good honest gentleman to fight for your king, as

your forbears did before you." (This was scarce true, for there never

yet was a Burnet who fought for anything but his own hand.) "No damned

Whig for me. Gad, how I wish I were hale in the legs to be off to the

hills with the Johnstones and Keiths. There wouldna be one of the breed

left from Tweedwell to the Brig o' Peebles." Then he would be anxious

about my martial training, and get down the foils to teach me a lesson.

From this he would pass to tales of his own deeds till the past would

live before him, and his eyes would glow with their old fire. Then he

would forget his condition, and seek to show me how some parry was

effected. There was but one result; his poor weak legs would give way

beneath him. Then I had to carry him to his bed, swearing deeply at his

infirmities and lamenting the changes of life.

In those days the Burnets were a poor family--a poor and a proud. My

grandfather had added much to the lands by rapine and

extortion--ill-gotten gains which could not last. He had been a man of

a violent nature, famed over all the South for his feats of horsemanship

and swordsmanship. He died suddenly, of overdrinking, at the age of

fifty-five, and now lies in the kirk of Lyne beneath an effigy

representing the Angel Gabriel coming for his soul. His last words are

recorded: "O Lord, I dinna want to dee, I dinna want to dee. If ye'll

let me live, I'll run up the sklidders o' Cademuir to a' eternity." The

folk of the place seldom spoke of him, though my father upheld him as a

man of true spirit who had an eye to the improvement of his house. Of

the family before him I had the history at my finger-ends. This was a

subject of which my father never tired, for he held that the genealogy

of the Burnets was a thing of vastly greater importance than that of the

kings of Rome or Judah. From the old days when we held Burnetland, in

the parish of Broughton, and called ourselves of that ilk, I had the

unbroken history of the family in my memory. Ay, and also of the great

house of Traquair, for my mother had been a Stewart, and, as my father

said often, this was the only family in the country bide which could

hope to rival us in antiquity or valour.

My father's brother, Gilbert, had married the heiress of a westland

family, and with her had got the lands of Eaglesham, about the

headwaters of Cart. His son Gilbert, my cousin, was a tall lad some

four years my senior, who on several occasions rode to visit us at

Barns. He was of a handsome, soldierly appearance, and looked for an

early commission in a Scots company. At first I admired him mightily,

for he was skilful at all sports, rode like a moss-trooper, and could

use his sword in an incomparable fashion. My father could never abide

him, for he could not cease to tell of his own prowess, and my father

was used to say that he loved no virtue better than modesty. Also, he

angered every servant about the place by his hectoring, and one day so

offended old Tam Todd that Tam flung a bucket at him, and threatened to

duck him in the Tweed; which he doubtless would have done, old as he

was, for he was a very Hercules of a man. This presented a nice problem

to all concerned, and I know not which was the more put out, Tam or my

father. Finally it ended in the latter reading Gilbert a long and

severe lecture, and then bidding Tam ask his pardon, seeing that the

dignity of the family had to be sustained at any cost.

One other relative, though in a distant way, I must not omit to mention,

for the day came when every man of our name was proud to claim the

kinship. This was Gilbert Burnet, of Edinburgh, afterwards Divinity

Professor in Glasgow, Bishop of Salisbury, and the author of the famous

"Bishop Burnet's History of his Own Times." I met him often in after

days, and once in London he had me to his house and entertained me

during my stay. Of him I shall have to tell hereafter, but now he was

no more than a name to me, a name which my father was fond of repeating

when he wished to recall me to gravity.

Tam Todd, my father's grieve, who managed the lands about the house,

deserves more than a passing word. He was about sixty years of age,

stooped in the back, but with long arms and the strength of a giant. At

one time he had fought for Gustavus, and might have risen high in the

ranks, had not a desperate desire to see his native land come upon him

and driven him to slip off one night and take ship for Leith. He had

come to Peebles, where my father met him, and admiring his goodly

stature, took him into his service, in which Tam soon became as expert

at the breeding of sheep as ever he had been at the handling of a pike

or musket. He was the best story-teller and the cunningest fisher in

the place, full of quaint foreign words, French, and Swedish, and High

Dutch, for the army of Gustavus had been made up of the riddlings of

Europe. From him I learned to fence with the rapier, and a past-master

he was, for my father told how, in his best days, he could never so much

as look at Tam. _Bon pied bon oeil_ was ever his watchword, and I have

proved it a good one; for, short though it be, if a man but follow it he

may fear nothing. Also, he taught me a thing which has been most useful

to me, and which I will speak of again--the art of using the broadsword

or claymore, as the wild Highlanders call it. My school was on a strip

of green grass beside Tweed, and here I have had many a tough encounter

in the long summer nights. He made me stand with my back to the deep

pool, that I might fear to step back; and thus I learned to keep my

ground, a thing which he held to be of the essence of swordsmanship.

My nurse, Jean Morran, was the only woman body about the place. She and

Tam did the cooking between them, for that worthy had learned the art

gastronomical from a Frenchman whose life he saved, and who, in

gratitude, taught him many excellent secrets for dishes, and stole ten

crowns. She had minded me and mended my clothes and seen to my

behaviour ever since my mother died of a fever when I was scarce two

years old. Of my mother I remember nothing, but if one may judge from

my father's long grief and her portrait in the dining-hall, she had been

a good and a gentle as well as a most beautiful woman. Jean, with her

uncouth tongue and stern face, is still a clear figure in my memory.

She was a kind nurse in the main, and if her temper was doubtful from

many sore trials, her cakes and sugar were excellent salves to my

wronged heart. She was, above all things, a famous housewife, keeping

the place spotless and clean, so that when one entered the house of

Barns there was always something fresh and cool in the very air.

But here I am at the end of my little gallery, for the place was bare of

folk, and the life a lonely one. Here I grew up amid the woods and hills

and the clean air, with a great zest for all the little excellencies of

my lot, and a tolerance of its drawbacks. By the time I had come to

sixteen years I had swam in every pool in Tweed for miles up and down,

climbed every hill, fished in every burn, and ridden and fallen from

every horse in my father's stable. I had been as far west as Tintock

Hill and as far south as the Loch o' the Lowes. Nay, I had once been

taken to Edinburgh in company with Tam, who bought me a noble

fishing-rod, and showed me all the wondrous things to be seen. A band

of soldiers passed down the High Street from the Castle with a great

clanking and jingling, and I saw my guide straighten up his back and

keep time with his feet to their tread. All the way home, as I sat

before him on the broad back of Maisie, he told me tales of his

campaigns, some of them none too fit for a boy's ear; but he was carried

away and knew not what he was saying. This first put a taste for the

profession of arms into my mind, which was assiduously fostered by my

fencing lessons and the many martial tales I read. I found among my

father's books the chronicles of Froissart and a history of the Norman

Kings, both in the English, which I devoured by night and day. Then I

had Tacitus and Livy, and in my fourteenth year I began the study of

Greek with a master at Peebles. So that soon I had read most of the

"Iliad" and all the "Odyssey," and would go about repeating the long,

swinging lines. I think that story of the man who, at the siege of some

French town, shouted a Homeric battle-piece most likely to be true, for

with me the Greek had a like effect, and made me tramp many miles over

the hills or ride the horses more hard than my father permitted.

But this book-work was, after all, but half of my life, and that the

less memorable. All the sights and sounds of that green upland vale are

linked for me with memories of boyish fantasies. I used to climb up the

ridge of Scrape when the sun set and dream that the serried ranks of

hills were a new country where all was strange, though I knew well that

an hour of the morning would dispel the fancy. Then I would descend

from the heights, and for weeks be so fiercely set on the sports of the

time of year that I had scarcely time for a grave thought. I have often

gone forth to the lambing with the shepherds, toiled all day in the

brown moors, and at night dropped straight off to sleep as I sat in my

chair at meat. Then there was the salmon-fishing in the late spring,

when the blood ran hot at the flare of the torches and the shimmer of

the spears, and I, a forlorn young fool, shivered in my skin as the keen

wind blew down the water. There was the swing and crackle of the stones

in winter when the haughlands of Manor were flooded, and a dozen

brown-faced men came to the curling and the air rang with shouts and

laughter. I have mind, too, of fierce days of snow when men looked

solemn and the world was so quiet that I whistled to keep me from

despondency, and the kitchen at Barns was like a place in an inn with

famishing men and dripping garments. Then Tweed would be buried under

some great drift and its kindly flow sorely missed by man and beast.

But best I remember the loosening of winter, when the rains from the

moors sent down the river roaring-red, and the vale was one pageant of

delicate greenery and turbid brown torrent.

Often I would take my books and go into the heart of the hills for days

and nights. This, my father scarce liked, but he never hindered me. It

was glorious to kindle your fire in the neuk of a glen, broil your

trout, and make your supper under the vault of the pure sky. Sweet,

too, at noonday to lie beside the wellhead of some lonely burn, and

think of many things that can never be set down and are scarce

remembered. But these were but dreams, and this is not their chronicle;

so it behooves me to shut my ear to vagrom memories.

To Dawyck I went the more often the older I grew. For Marjory Veitch had

grown into a beautiful, lissom girl, with the same old litheness of body

and gaiety of spirit. She was my comrade in countless escapades, and

though I have travelled the world since then I have never found a

readier or a braver. But with the years she grew more maidenly, and I

dared less to lead her into mad ventures. Nay, I who had played with

her in the woods and fished and raced with her as with some other lad,

began to feel a foolish awe in her presence, and worshipped her from

afar. The fairy learning of her childhood was but the index of a

wistfulness and delicacy of nature which, to my grosser spirit, seemed

something to uncover one's head before. I have loved her dearly all my

life, but I have never more than half understood her; which is a good

gift of God to most men, for the confounding of vanity.

To her a great sorrow had come. For when she was scarce thirteen, her

father, the laird of Dawyck, who had been ever of a home-keeping nature,

died from a fall while hunting on the brow of Scrape. He had been her

childhood's companion, and she mourned for him as sorely as ever human

being mourned for another. Michael, her only brother, was far abroad in

a regiment of the Scots French Guards, so she was left alone in the

great house with no other company than the servants and a cross-grained

aunt who heard but one word in twenty. For this reason I rode over the

oftener to comfort her loneliness.

CHAPTER III

THE SPATE IN TWEED

The year 1683 was with us the driest year in any man's memory. From the

end of April to the end of July we had scarce a shower. The hay-harvest

was ruined beyond repair, and man and beast were sick with the sultry

days. It was on the last Monday of July that I, wearied with wandering

listlessly about the house, bethought myself of riding to Peebles to see

the great match at bowls which is played every year for the silver horn.

I had no expectation of a keen game, for the green was sure to be

well-nigh ruined with the sun, and men had lost spirit in such weather.

But the faintest interest is better than purposeless idleness, so I

roused myself from languor and set out.

I saddled Maisie the younger, for this is a family name among our

horses, and rode down by the Tweed side to the town. The river ran in

the midst of a great bed of sun-baked gravel--a little trickle that a

man might step across. I do not know where the fish had gone, but they,

too, seemed scared by the heat, for not a trout plashed to relieve the

hot silence. When I came to the Manor pool I stood still in wonder, for

there for the first time in my life I saw the stream dry. Manor, which

is in winter a roaring torrent and at other times a clear, full stream,

had not a drop of running water in its bed; naught but a few stagnant

pools green with slime. It was a grateful change to escape from the sun

into the coolness of the Neidpath woods; but even there a change was

seen, for the ferns hung their fronds wearily and the moss had lost all

its greenness. When once more I came out to the sun, its beating on my

face was so fierce that it almost burned, and I was glad when I came to

the town, and the shade of tree and dwelling.

The bowling-green of Peebles, which is one of the best in the country,

lies at the west end of the High Street at the back of the Castle Hill.

It looks down on Tweed and Peebles Water, where they meet at the

Cuddie's Pool, and thence over a wide stretch of landscape to the high

hills. The turf had been kept with constant waterings, but,

notwithstanding, it looked grey and withered. Here I found half the

men-folk of Peebles assembled and many from the villages near, to see

the match which is the greatest event of the month. Each player wore a

ribband of a special colour. Most of them had stripped off their coats

and jerkins to give their arms free play, and some of the best were

busied in taking counsel with their friends as to the lie of the green.

The landlord of the Crosskeys was there with a great red favour stuck in

his hat, looking, as I thought, too fat and rubicund a man to have a

steady eye. Near him was Peter Crustcrackit the tailor, a little wiry

man with legs bent from sitting cross-legged, thin active hands, and

keen eyes well used to the sewing of fine work. Then there were carters

and shepherds, stout fellows with bronzed faces and great brawny chests,

and the miller of the Wauk-mill, who was reported the best bowl-player

in the town. Some of the folk had come down like myself merely to

watch; and among them I saw Andrew Greenlees, the surgeon, who had

tended me what time I went over the cauld. A motley crowd of the odds

and ends of the place hung around or sat on the low wall--poachers and

black-fishers and all the riff-raff of the town.

The jack was set, the order of the game arranged, and the play

commenced. A long man from the Quair Water began, and sent his bowl

curling up the green not four inches from the mark.

"Weel dune for Quair Water," said one. "They're nane sae blind

thereaways."

Then a flesher's lad came and sent a shot close on the heels of the

other and lay by his side.

At this, there were loud cries of "Weel dune, Coo's Blether," which was

a name they had for him; and the fellow grew red and withdrew to the

back.

Next came a little nervous man, who looked entreatingly at the

bystanders as if to bespeak their consideration. "Jock Look-up, my

dear," said a man solemnly, "compose your anxious mind, for thae auld

wizened airms o' yours 'll no send it half-road." The little man sighed

and played his bowl: it was even as the other had said, for his shot was

adjudged a _hogg_ and put off the green.

Then many others played till the green was crowded at one end with the

balls. They played in rinks, and interest fell off for some little time

till it came to the turn of the two acknowledged champions, Master

Crustcrackit and the miller, to play against one another. Then the

onlookers crowded round once more.

The miller sent a long swinging shot which touched the jack and carried

it some inches onward. Then a bowl from the tailor curled round and lay

between them and the former mark. Now arose a great dispute (for the

players of Peebles had a way of their own, and to understand their rules

required no ordinary share of brains) as to the propriety of Master

Crustcrackit's shot, some alleging that he had played off the cloth,

others defending. The miller grew furiously warm.

"Ye wee, sneck-drawin' tailor-body, wad ye set up your bit feckless face

against a man o' place and siller?"

"Haud your tongue, miller," cried one. "Ye've nae cause to speak ill o'

the way God made a man."

Master Crustcrackit, however, needed no defender. He was ready in a

second.

"And what dae ye ca' yoursel' but a great, God-forsaken dad o' a man,

wi' a wame like Braid Law and a mouth like the bottomless pit for yill

and beef and a' manner o' carnal bakemeats. You to speak abune your

breath to me," and he hopped round his antagonist like an enraged

fighting-cock.

What the miller would have said no one may guess, had not a middle-aged

man, who had been sitting on a settle placidly smoking a long white

pipe, come up to see what was the dispute. He was dressed in a long

black coat, with small-clothes of black, and broad silver-buckled shoon.

The plain white cravat around his neck marked him for a minister.

"William Laverlaw and you, Peter Crustcrackit, as the minister of this

parish, I command ye to be silent. I will have no disturbance on this

public green. Nay, for I will adjudge your difference myself."

All were silent in a second, and a hush of interest fell on the place.

"But that canna be," grumbled the miller, "for ye're nae great hand at

the bowls."

The minister stared sternly at the speaker, who sank at once into an

aggrieved quiet. "As God has appointed me the spiritual guide of this

unworthy town, so also has He made me your master in secular affairs. I

will settle your disputes and none other. And, sir, if you or any other

dare gainsay me, then I shall feel justified in leaving argument for

force, and the man who offends I shall fling into the Cuddie's Pool for

the clearing of his brain and the benefit of his soul." He spoke in a

slow, methodical tone, rolling the words over his tongue. Then I

remembered the many stories I had heard of this man's autocratic rule

over the folk of the good town of Peebles; how he, alien like to whig

and prelatist, went on his steadfast path caring for no man and snapping

his fingers at the mandates of authority. And indeed in the quiet

fierce face and weighty jaws there was something which debarred men from

meddling with their owner.

Such was his influence on the people that none dared oppose him, and he

gave his decision, which seemed to me to be a just and fair one. After

this they fell to their play once more.

Meantime I had been looking on at the sport from the vantage-ground of

the low wall which looked down on the river. I had debated a question

of farriery with the surgeon, who was also something of a horse-doctor;

and called out greetings to the different players, according as I

favoured their colours. Then when the game no longer amused me, I had

fallen to looking over the country, down to the edge of the water where

the small thatched cottages were yellow in the heat, and away up the

broad empty channel of Tweed. The cauld, where salmon leap in the

spring and autumn, and which is the greatest cauld on the river unless

it be the one at Melrose, might have been crossed dryshod. I began to

hate the weariful, everlasting glare and sigh for the clouds once more,

and the soft moist turf and the hazy skyline. Now it was so heavily

oppressive that a man could scarce draw a free breath. The players

dripped with sweat and looked nigh exhausted, and for myself the

sulphurous air weighed on me like a mount of lead and confused such wits

as I had.

Even as I looked I saw a strange thing on the river bank which chained

my languid curiosity. For down the haugh, swinging along at a great

pace, came a man, the like of whom I had seldom seen. He ran at a

steady trot more like a horse than a human creature, with his arms set

close by his sides and without bonnet or shoes. His head swung from

side to side as with excessive weariness, and even at that distance I

could see how he panted. In a trice he was over Peebles Water and had

ascended the bank to the bowling-green, cleared the low dyke, and stood

gaping before us. Now I saw him plainer, and I have rarely seen a

stranger sight. He seemed to have come a great distance, but no sweat

stood on his brow; only a dun copper colour marking the effect of the

hot sun. His breeches were utterly ragged and in places showed his long

supple limbs. A shock of black hair covered his head and shaded his

swarthy face. His eyes were wild and keen as a hawk's, and his tongue

hung out of his mouth like a dog's in a chase. Every man stopped his

play and looked at the queer newcomer. A whisper went round the place

that it was that "fule callant frae Brochtoun," but this brought no news

to me.

The man stood still for maybe three minutes with his eyes fixed on the

ground as if to recover breath. Then he got up with dazed glances, like

one wakening from sleep. He stared at me, then at the players, and

burst into his tale, speaking in a high, excited voice.

"I hae run frae Drummeller to bring ye word. Quick and get the folk out

o' the waterside hooses or the feck o' the toun 'll be soomin' to

Berwick in an 'oor."

No one spoke, but all stared as if they took him for a madman.

"There's been an awfu' storm up i' the muirs," he went on, panting, "and

Tweed's com in' doun like a mill-race. The herd o' Powmood tellt me,

and I got twae 'oors start o't and cam off here what I could rin. Get

the folk out o' the waterside hooses when I bid ye, wi' a' their gear

and plenishing, or there'll no be sae muckle as a groat's worth left by

nicht. Up wi' ye and haste, for there's nae time to lose. I heard the

roar o' the water miles off, louder than ony thunderstorm and mair

terrible than an army wi' banners. Quick, ye auld doited bodies, if ye

dinna want to hae mourning and lamentation i' the toun o' Peebles."

At this, as you may believe, a great change passed over all. Some made

no words about it, but rushed into the town to give the alarm; others

stared stupidly as if waiting for more news; while some were disposed to

treat the whole matter as a hoax. This enraged the newsbearer beyond

telling. Springing up, he pointed to the western sky, and far off we

saw a thick blackness creeping up the skyline. "If ye'll no believe

me," said he, "will ye believe the finger of God?" The word and the

sight convinced the most distrusting.

Now Tweed, unlike all other rivers of my knowledge, rises terribly at

the first rain and travels slowly, so that Tweedsmuir may be under five

feet of water and Peebles high and dry. This makes the whole valley a

place of exceeding danger in sultry weather, for no man knows when a

thunderstorm may break in the hills and send the stream down a raging

torrent. This, too, makes it possible to hear word of a flood before it

comes, and by God's grace to provide against it.

The green was soon deserted. I rushed down to the waterside houses,

which were in the nearest peril, and in shorter time than it takes to

tell, we had the people out and as much of their belongings as were

worth the saving; then we hastened to the low-lying cottages on Tweed

Green and did likewise. Some of the folk seemed willing to resist,

because, as they said, "Whae kenned but that the body micht be a leear

and they werena to hae a' this wark for naething?" For the great floods

were but a tradition, and only the old men had seen the ruin which the

spate could work. Nevertheless, even these were convinced by a

threatening sky and a few words from the newsbearer's trenchant tongue.

Soon the High Street and the wynds were thick with household belongings,

and the Castle Hill was crowded with folk to see the coming of the

flood.

By this time the grim line of black had grown over half the sky, and

down fell great drops of rain into the white, sun-baked channel. It was

strange to watch these mighty splashes falling into the little stagnant

pools and the runlets of flowing water. And still the close, thick heat

hung over all, and men looked at the dawnings of the storm with sweat

running over their brows. With the rain came a mist--a white ghastly

haze which obliterated the hills and came down nigh to the stream. A

sound, too, grew upon our ears, at first far away and dim, but

increasing till it became a dull hollow thunder, varied with a strange

crackling, swishing noise which made a man eery to listen to. Then all

of a sudden the full blast of the thing came upon us. Men held their

breaths as the wind and rain choked them and drove them back. It was

scarce possible to see far before, but the outlines of the gorge of

Neidpath fleeted through the drift, whence the river issued. Every man

turned his eyes thither and strained them to pierce the gloom.

Suddenly round the corner of the hill appeared a great yellow wave

crested with white foam and filling the whole space. Down it came

roaring and hissing, mowing the pines by the waterside as a reaper mows

down hay with a scythe. Then with a mighty bound it broke from the

hill-barriers and spread over the haugh. Now, the sound was like the

bubbling of a pot ere it boils. We watched it in terror and admiration,

as it swept on its awful course. In a trice it was at the cauld, and

the cauld disappeared under a whirl of foam; now it was on the houses,

and the walls went in like nutshells and the rubble was borne onward. A

cry got up of "the bridge," and all hung in wonder as it neared the old

stonework, the first barrier to the torrent's course, the brave bridge

of Peebles. It flung itself on it with fiendish violence, but the stout

masonwork stood firm, and the boiling tide went on through the narrow

arches, leaving the bridge standing unshaken, as it had stood against

many a flood. As we looked, we one and all broke into a cheer in honour

of the old masons who had made so trusty a piece of stone.

I found myself in the crowd of spectators standing next to the man who

had brought the tidings. He had recovered his breath and was watching

the sight with a look half of interest and half of vexation. When all

was past and only the turbid river remained, he shook himself like a dog

and made to elbow his way out. "I maun be awa'," he said, speaking to

himself, "and a sair job I'll hae gettin' ower Lyne Water." When I

heard him I turned round and confronted him. There was something so

pleasing about his face, his keen eyes and alert head, that I could not

forbear from offering him my hand, and telling him of my admiration for

his deed. I was still but a boy and he was clearly some years my elder,

so I made the advance, I doubt not, with a certain shyness and

hesitancy. He looked at me sharply and smiled.

"Ye're the young laird o' Barns," said he; "I ken ye weel though ye

maybe are no aquaint wi' me. I'm muckle honoured, sir, and gin ye'll

come Brochtoun-ways sometime and speir for Nicol Plenderleith, he'll tak

ye to burns that were never fished afore and hills that never heard the

sound o' a shot."

I thanked him, and watched him slipping through the crowd till he was

lost to view. This was my first meeting with Nicol Plenderleith, of

whose ways and doings this tale shall have much to say. The glamour of

the strange fellow was still upon me as I set myself to make my road

home. I am almost ashamed to tell of my misfortunes; for after crossing

the bridge and riding to Manor Water, I found that this stream likewise

had risen and had not left a bridge in its whole course. So I had to go

up as far as St. Gordians' Cross before I could win over it, and did not

reach Barns till after midnight, where I found my father half-crazy with

concern for me and Tam Todd making ready to go and seek me.

CHAPTER IV

I GO TO THE COLLEGE AT GLASGOW

By this time I had grown a great stalwart lad, little above the middle

height, but broad and sinewy. I had made progress in all manly sports

and could fling the hammer almost as far as the Manor blacksmith, while

in leaping and running I had few rivals among lads of my age. Also I

was no bad swordsman, but could stand my own against all the wiles of

Tam Todd, and once even disarmed him to his own unspeakable disgust. In

my studies, which I pursued as diligently as I could with no teachers

and not over-many books, I had made some little advance, having read

through most of the Greek tragedians and advanced some distance in the

study of Plato; while in the Latin tongue I had become such an adept

that I could both read and write it with ease.

When I had reached the mature age of eighteen, who should come up into

our parts but my famous relative, Master Gilbert Burnet, the preacher at

St. Clement's in London, of whom I have already spoken. He was making a

journey to Edinburgh and had turned out of his way to revive an old

acquaintance. My father was overjoyed to see him and treated him to the

best the house could produce. He stayed with us two days, and I

remember him still as he sat in a great armchair opposite my father,

with his broad velvet cap and grey, peaked beard, and weighty brows.

Yet when he willed, though for ordinary a silent man, he could talk as

gaily and wittily as any town gallant; so much indeed that my father,

who was somewhat hard to please, declared him the best companion he ever

remembered.

Before he left, Master Burnet examined me on my progress in polite

learning, and finding me well advanced, he would have it that I should

be sent forthwith to Glasgow College. He exacted a promise from my

father to see to this, and left behind him, when he departed, letters of

introduction to many of the folk there, for he himself had, at one time,

been professor of divinity in the place. As for myself, I was nothing

loth to go, and see places beyond Tweeddale and add to my stock of

learning; for about this time a great enthusiasm for letters had seized

me (which I suppose happens at some time or other to most men), and I

conceived my proper vocation in life to be that of the scholar. I have

found in an old manuscript book a list of the titles of imaginary works,

editions, poems, treatises, all with my unworthy name subscribed as the

author. So it was settled that I should ride to Glasgow and take

lodgings in the town for the sake of the college classes.

I set out one November morning, riding Maisie alone, for no student was

allowed to have a servant, nor any one below the degree of Master of

Arts. The air was keen and frosty, and I rode in high fettle by the

towns of Biggar and Lanark to the valley of the Clyde. I lay all night

at Crossford in the house of a distant relative. Thence the next day I

rode to Hamilton and in the evening came to the bridge of the Clyde at

Glasgow. Then I presented myself to the Principal and Regents of the

college and was duly admitted, putting on the red gown, the badge of the

student class, than which I believe there is no more hideous habiliment.

The college in those days was poor enough, having been well-nigh ruined

by the extortions of Lord Middleton and his drunken crew; and it had not

yet benefited by the rich donations of the Reverend Zachary Boyd of the

Barony Kirk. Still, the standard of learning in the place was

extraordinarily high, especially in dialectic and philosophy--a standard

which had been set by the famous Andrew Melville when he was a professor

in the place. I have heard disputations there in the evenings between

the schoolmen and the new philosophers, the like of which could scarcely

be got from the length and breadth of the land.

Across the High Street were the college gardens and green pleasant

orchards where the professors were wont to walk and the scholars to have

their games. Through the middle ran the clear Molendinar Burn, so called

by the old Romans, and here I loved to watch the trout and young salmon

leaping. There was a severe rule against scholars fishing in the

stream, so I was fain to content myself with the sight. For soon a

violent fit of home-sickness seized me, and I longed for the rush of

Tweed and the pleasant sweep of Manor; so it was one of my greatest

consolations to look at this water and fancy myself far away from the

town. One other lad who came from Perthshire used to come and stand

with me and tell me great tales of his fishing exploits; and I did

likewise with him till we became great companions. Many afternoons I

spent here, sometimes with a book and sometimes without one; in the fine

weather I would lie on the grass and dream, and in rough, boisterous

winter days I loved to watch the Molendinar, flooded and angry, fling

its red waters against the old stones of the bridge.

No one of us was permitted to carry arms of any kind, so I had to sell

my sword on my first coming to the town. This was a great hardship to

me, for whereas when I carried a weapon I had some sense of my own

importance, now I felt no better than the rest of the unarmed crowd

about me. Yet it was a wise precaution, for in other places where

scholars are allowed to strut like cavaliers there are fights and duels

all the day long, so that the place looks less like an abode of the

Muses than a disorderly tavern. Nevertheless, there were many manly

exercises to be had, for in the greens in the garden we had trials of

skill at archery and golf and many other games of the kind. At the first

mentioned I soon became a great master, for I had a keen eye from much

living among woods and hills, and soon there was no one who could come

near me at the game. As for golf, I utterly failed to excel; and indeed

it seems to me that golf is like the divine art of poetry, the gift for

which is implanted in man at his birth or not at all. Be that as it

may, I never struck a golf-ball fairly in my life, and I misdoubt I

never shall.

As for my studies, for which I came to the place, I think I made great

progress. For after my first fit of home-sickness was over, I fell in

with the ways of the college, and acquired such a vast liking for the

pursuit of learning that I felt more convinced than ever that Providence

had made me for a scholar. In my classes I won the commendation of both

professors; especially in the class of dialectic, where an analysis of

Aristotle's method was highly praised by Master Sandeman, the professor.

This fine scholar and accomplished gentleman helped me in many ways, and

for nigh two months, when he was sick of the fever, I lectured to his

class in his stead. We were all obliged to talk in the Latin tongue and

at first my speech was stiff and awkward enough, but by and by I fell

into the way of it and learned to patter it as glibly as a Spanish monk.

It may be of interest to those of my house that I should give some

account of my progress in the several studies, to show that our family

is not wholly a soldiering one. In Greek I studied above others the

works of Plato, delighting especially in his Phaedo, which I had almost

by heart; Aristotle likewise, though I read but little of him in his own

tongue. I completed a translation of the first part of Plato's Republic

into Latin, which Master Sandeman was pleased to say was nigh as elegant

as George Buchanan's. Also I was privileged to discover certain notable

emendations in the text of this work, which I sent in manuscript to the

famous Schookius of Groningen, who incorporated them in his edition then

in preparation, but after the fashion of Dutchmen sent me no thanks.

As regards philosophy, which I hold the most divine of all studies, I

was in my first year a most earnest Platonic; nay, I went farther than

the master himself, as is the way of all little minds when they seek to

comprehend a great one. In those days I went about in sober attire and

strove in all things to order my life according to the rules of

philosophy, seeking to free myself from all disturbing outside powers

and live the life of pure contemplation. I looked back with unutterable

contempt on my past as a turbid and confused medley, nor did I seek

anything better in life than quiet and leisure for thought and study.

In such a condition I spent the first month of my stay at Glasgow.

Then the Platonic fit left me and I was all for Aristotle and the

Peripatetics. Here, at last, thought I, have I got the _siccum lumen_,

which Heraclitus spoke of: and his distinct and subtle reasoning seemed

to me to be above doubt. And indeed I have never wondered at the

schoolmen and others who looked upon Aristotle as having reached the

height of human wisdom, for his method is so all-embracing and

satisfying that it breeds wonder in the heart of any man; and it affords

so sure a bottom for thought that men become Aristotelians.

In the midsummer months I went down to Tweeddale again, where I

astonished my father and all in the place with my new learning, and also

grieved them. For I had no love for fishing or shooting; I would scarce

ride two miles for the pleasure of it; my father's tales, in which I

delighted before, had grown tiresome; and I had no liking for anything

save bending over books. When I went to Dawyck to see Marjory, she knew

not what had come over me, I was so full of whims and fancies. "O

John," she said, "your face is as white as a woman's, and you have such

a horrible cloak. Go and get another at once, you silly boy, and not

shame your friends." Yet even Marjory had little power over me, for I

heeded her not, though aforetime I would have ridden posthaste to

Peebles and got me a new suit, and painted my face if I had thought that

thereby I would pleasure her.

When the autumn came again I returned to college more inclined than ever

for the life of a scholar. I fell to my studies with renewed zeal, and

would doubtless have killed myself with work had I not been nearly

killed with the fever, which made me more careful of my health. And

now, like the weathercock I was, my beliefs shifted yet again. For

studying the schoolmen, who were the great upholders of Aristotle, I

found in them so many contradictions and phantasies which they fathered

on their master that, after reading the diatribes of Peter Ramus and

others against him, I was almost persuaded that I had been grievously

misled. Then, at last, I saw hat the fault lay not in Aristotle but in

his followers, who sought to find in him things that were beyond the

compass of his thought. So by degrees I came round toward the new

philosophy, which a party in the college upheld. They swore by the great

names of Bacon and Galileo and the other natural philosophers, but I

hesitated to follow them, for they seemed to me to disdain all mental

philosophy, which I hold is the greater study. I was of this way of

thinking when I fell in one day with an English book, a translation of a

work by a Frenchman, one Renatus Descartes, published in London in the

year 1649. It gave an account of the progress in philosophy of this

man, who followed no school, but, clearing his mind of all

presuppositions, instituted a method for himself. This marked for me

the turning point; for I gave in my allegiance without hesitation to

this philosopher, and ever since I have held by his system with some

modifications. It is needless for me to enter further into my

philosophy, for I have by me a written exposition of the works of this

Descartes with my own additions, which I intend, if God so please, to

give soon to the world.

For two years I abode at the college, thinking that I was destined by

nature for a studious life, and harbouring thoughts of going to the

university of Saumur to complete my studies. I thought that my spirit

was chastened to a fit degree, and so no doubt it was, for those who had

feared me at first on account of my heavy fist and straightforward ways,

now openly scoffed at me without fear of punishment. Indeed, one went

so far one day as to jostle me off the causeway, and I made no return,

but went on as if nothing had happened, deeming it beneath a wise man to

be distracted by mundane trifles. Yet, mind you, in all this there was

nothing Christian or like unto the meekness of our Master, as I have

seen in some men; but rather an absurd attempt to imitate those who

would have lived very differently had their lot been cast in our hot and

turbid days.

How all this was changed and I veered round of a sudden to the opposite

I must hasten to tell. One April day, towards the close of my second

year, I was going up the High Street toward the Cathedral with a great

parcel of books beneath my arm, when I heard a shouting and a jingling,

and a troop of horse came down the street. I stood back into the

shelter of a doorway, for soldiers were wont to bear little love to

scholars, and I did not care to risk their rough jests. From this place

I watched their progress, and a gallant sight it was. Some twenty men

in buff jerkins and steel headpieces rode with a fine clatter of bridles

and clank of swords. I marked their fierce sun-brown faces and their

daredevil eyes as they looked haughtily down on the crowd as on lower

beings. And especially I marked their leader. He sat a fine bay horse

with ease and grace; his plumed hat set off his high-coloured face and

long brown curls worn in the fashion of the day; and as he rode he bowed

to the people with large condescension. He was past in a second, but

not before I had recognized the face and figure of my cousin Gilbert.

I stood for some minutes staring before me, while the echoes of the

horses' hooves died away down the street. This, I thought, is the

destiny of my cousin, only two years my elder, a soldier, a gentleman, a

great man in his place; while I am but a nameless scholar, dreaming away

my manhood in the pursuits of a dotard. I was so overwhelmed with

confusion that I stood gaping with a legion of thoughts and opposing

feelings running through my brain. Then all the old fighting spirit of

my house rose within me. By Heaven, I would make an end of this; I would

get me home without delay; I would fling my books into the Clyde; I

would go to the wars; I would be a great cavalier, and, by the Lord, I

would keep up the name of the house! I was astonished myself at the

sudden change in my feelings, for in the space of some ten minutes a

whole age had passed for me, and I had grown from a boy to some measure

of manhood. I came out from the close-mouth with my head in the air and

defiance against all the world in my eye.

Before I had gone five spaces I met the lad who had jostled me

aforetime, a big fellow of a raw-boned Ayrshire house, and before he

could speak I had him by the arm and had pulled him across the way into

the college gardens. There I found a quiet green place, and plucking

off my coat I said, "Now, Master Dalrymple, you and I have a small

account to settle." With that we fell to with our fists, and in the

space of a quarter of an hour I had beaten him so grievously that he was

fain to cry for mercy. I let him go, and with much whimpering he slunk

away in disgust.

Then I went into the town and bought myself a new blade and a fine suit

of clothes--all with the greatest gusto and lightness of heart. I went

to the inn where Maisie was stabled and bade them have her ready for me

at the college gate in an hour. Then I bade good-bye to all my friends,

but especially to Master Sandeman, from whom I was loth to part. I did

not fling my books into the Clyde as at first I proposed, but left

injunctions that they were to be sent by the carrier. So, having paid

all my debts, for my father had kept me well appointed with money, I

waved a long farewell and set out for my own country.

CHAPTER V

COUSINLY AFFECTION

It was near midday before I started, so that night I got no farther than

the town of Hamilton, but lay at the inn there. The next morning I left

betimes, thinking to reach Barns in the afternoon. As I rode along the

green sward by the side of Clyde, the larks were singing in the sky and

the trout were plashing in the waters, and all the world was gay. The

apple orchards sent their blossom across the road, and my hat brushed it

down in showers on my horse and myself, so that soon we rode in a mail

of pink and white. I plucked a little branch and set it in my hat, and

sang all the songs I knew as I cantered along. I cried good-day to every

man, and flung money to the little children who shouted as I passed, so

that I believe if there had been many more boys on the road I would have

reached Tweeddale a beggar. At Crossford, where the Nethan meets the

Clyde, I met a man who had been to the salmon-fishing and had caught a

big salmon-trout; and as I looked, my old love for the sport awoke

within me, and I longed to feel a rod in my hand. It was good to be

alive, to taste the fresh air, to feel the sun and wind, and I cried a

plague on all close lecture-rooms and musty books.

At Lanark I had a rare dinner at the hostel there. The grey old inn had

excellent fare, as I knew of old, so I rode up to the door and demanded

its best. It was blessed to see a man obey your words after for many

months being a servant of others. I had a dish of well-fed trout and a

piece of prime mutton and as good claret, I think, as I have ever

tasted. Then I rode over Lanark Moor to Hyndford and through the moor

of Carmichael and under the great shadow of Tintock. Here the smell of

burning heather came to my nostrils, and so dear and homelike did it

seem that I could have wept for very pleasure. The whaups and snipe

were making a fine to-do on the bent, and the black-faced sheep grazed

in peace. At the top of the knowe above Symington I halted, for there

before my eyes were the blue hills of Tweeddale. There was Trehenna and

the hills above Broughton, and Drummelzier Law and Glenstivon Dod, and

nearer, the great Caerdon; and beyond all a long blue back which I knew

could be none other than the hill of Scrape which shadowed Dawyck and my

lady.

I came to Barns at three o'clock in the afternoon, somewhat stiff from

my ride, but elated with my home-coming. It was with strange feelings

that I rode up the long avenue of beeches, every one of which I could

have told blindfold. The cattle looked over the palings at me as if

glad to see me return. Maisie cocked up her ears at the hares in the

grass, and sniffed the hill air as if she had been in a prison for many

days. And when I came to the bend of the road and saw the old

weatherbeaten tower, my heart gave a great leap within me, for we

Tweeddale men dearly love our own countryside, doubtless by reason of

its exceeding beauty.

As I rode up Tam Todd came out from the back, and seeing me, let fall

the water which he was carrying and ran to my side.

"Eh, Maister John," said he, "I'm blithe to see ye back, sae braw and

genty-like. My airm's fair like timmer wi' stiffness for want o' the

backsword play, and the troots in Tweed are turned as thick as peas for

want o' you to haul them oot; and twae mornings last week there were

deer keekin' in at the front-door as tame as kittlins. There's muckle

need o' ye at hame."

He would have gone on in this strain for an hour, had I not cut him

short by asking for my father.

"Middlin', just middlin'. He misses ye sair. He'll scarce gang

out-doors noo, but he'll be a' richt gin he sees ye again. Oh, and I've

something mair to tell ye. That wanchancy cousin o' yours, Maister

Gilbert, cam yestreen, and he'll be bidin' till the deil kens when.

I'se warrant he's at meat wi' the auld maister the noo, for he cam in

frae the hills geyan hungry."

Now at this intelligence I was not over-pleased. My cousin was a great

man and a gentleman, but never at any time over-friendly to me, and I

knew that to my father he was like salt in the mouth. I blamed the

ill-luck which had sent him to Barns on the very day of my home-coming.

I needs must be on my dignity in his company, for he was quick to find

matter for laughter, and it was hard that he should come at the time

when I longed so eagerly for the free ways of the house. However, there

was no help for it, I reflected, and went in.

In the passage I met Jean Morran, my old nurse, who had heard the sound

of voices, and come out to see who the newcomer might be. "Maister

John, Maister John, and is't yoursel'? It's a glad day for the house o'

Barns when you come back"; and when I gave her the shawl-pin I had

brought her from Glasgow, she had scarce any words to thank me with. So,

knowing that my father would be in the dining-hall with his guest, I

opened the door and walked in unbidden.

My father sat at the head of the long oak table which had been scoured

to a light-brown and shone like polished stone. Claret, his favourite

drink, was in a tankard by his elbow, and many wines decked the board.

Lower down sat my cousin, gallantly dressed in the fashion of the times,

with a coat of fine Spanish leather and small-clothes of some rich dark

stuff. His plumed hat and riding cloak of purple velvet lay on the

settle at his side. His brown hair fell over his collar and shoulders

and well set off his strong, brown face. He sat after the fashion of a

soldier, on the side of his chair half-turned away from the table, and

every now and then he would cast a piece of meat to Pierce, my old

hound, who lay stretched by the fireplace.

My father turned round as I entered, and when he saw me his face glowed

with pleasure. Had we been alone we should have met otherwise, but it

is not meet to show one's feelings before a stranger, even though that

stranger be one of the family. He contented himself with looking

eagerly upon me and bidding me welcome in a shaking voice. I marked

with grief that his eye did not seem so keen and brave as before, and

that he was scarce able to rise from his chair.

My cousin half arose and made me a grand bow in his courtly fashion.

"Welcome, my dear cousin," said he. "I am glad to see that your studies

have had little effect on your face." (I was flushed with hard riding.)

"You look as if you had just come from a campaign. But fall to. Here

are prime fish which I can commend; and venison, also good, though I

have had better. Here, too, is wine, and I drink to your success, my

learned cousin"; and he filled his glass and drank it at a gulp. He

spoke in a half-bantering tone, though his words were kindly. I

answered him briskly.

"I had little thought to find you here, Gilbert, but I am right glad to

see you. You are prospering mightily, I hear, and will soon be

forgetting your poor cousins of Barns"; and after a few more words I set

myself to give my father a history of my doings at Glasgow College.

Again, had we been alone, I should have told him my causes for leaving

and my wishes for my after life, but since my cousin was present, who

had ever a sharp tongue, I judged it better to say nothing.

I told my father all that I could think of, and then asked how he had

fared in my absence, for I had had but few letters, and what of note had

happened at Barns.

"Ay, John," he said, "I'm an old man. I fear that my life here will be

short. I scarce can get outside without Tam Todd to lean on, and I have

little sleep o' nights. And John, I could wish that you would bide at

home now, for I like to see you beside me, and you'll have learned all

the folk of Glasgow have to teach you. I once wished you a soldier, but

I am glad now that I let the thing blow by, for I would have cared

little to have you coming here but once in the six months, for a flying

visit."

"Nay, uncle," said my cousin, "you do not put the matter fairly. For

myself, I believe there is none busier in Scotland than I, but, Gad, I

have always time to slip home to Eaglesham for a day or more. But my

father would care little though he never saw me but once in the year,

for each time I go back I get a long sermon on my conduct, with my

expenses for the year as a text, till I am fairly driven out of the

house for peace."

At this my father laughed. "Ay, ay," said he, "that's like my brother

Gilbert. He was always a hard man at the siller. Man, I mind when we

were both the terrors o' the place, but all the while not a thing would

he do, if it meant the loss of a bodle. Pity but I had taken after him

in that, and John would have been better supplied to-day."

"Oh," I answered, "I have all I need and more."

Hereupon my cousin spoke with a sneer in his voice. "A groat is enough

for a scholar, but the soldier must have a crown. Your scholar, as

doubtless John can tell, is content if he have a sad-coloured suit, some

musty books, and a stoup of bad wine; but your fine gentleman must have

his horses and servants, and dress himself like his quality for all the

maids to stare at, and have plenty of loose silver to fling to the

gaping crowd; and he is a poor fellow indeed if he do not eat and drink

the best that each tavern can give. As for me, I would as soon be a

clown in the fields as a scholar, with apologies to my cousin"; and he

made me another of his mocking bows.

I answered as gently as I could that gentrice did not consist in

daintiness of eating and drinking or boisterous display, and that in my

opinion nothing gave so fine a flavour to gentility as a tincture of

letters; but my father changed the conversation by asking Gilbert what

he had been after that day.

"'Faith, it would be hard to say," said he. "I got a gun from that

long-legged, sour-faced groom and went up the big hill above the trees

to have a shot at something. I killed a couple of hares and sprung an

old muirfowl; but the day grew warm and I thought that the wood would

make a pleasant shade, so I e'en turned my steps there and went to sleep

below a great oak, and dreamed that I ran a man through the bowels for

challenging my courage. It was an ill-omened dream, and I expected to

meet with some mishap to account for it ere I got back, but I saw

nothing except a lovely girl plucking primroses by the water side.

Zounds, Jock, what a fool you must be never to have found out this

beauty! She had hair like gold and eyes like sapphires. I've seen many

a good-looking wench, but never one like her."

"And what did you do?" I asked, with my heart beating wildly.

"Do," he laughed. "Your scholar would have passed in silence and

written odes to her as Venus or Helen for months; whereas I took off my

bonnet and made haste to enter into polite conversation. But this girl

would have none of me; she's a rose, I warrant, with a pretty setting of

thorns. She tripped away, and when I made to follow her, became Madam

Fine-airs at once, and declared that her servants were within easy

reach, so I had better have a care of my conduct."

My father shot a sharp glance at me, and addressed my cousin. "The maid

would be Marjory Veitch, old Sir John's daughter, at Dawyck. He, poor

man, has gone to his account, and her brother is abroad, so the poor

girl is lonely enough in that great house. John and she have been

friends from the time they were children. She has come here, too, and a

pretty, modest lass she is, though she favours her mother rather than

her father's folk."

At this intelligence my cousin whistled long and low. "So, so," said

he, "my scholar has an eye in his head, has he? And Dawyck is not far

off, and--well, no wonder you do not care for the military profession.

Though, let me tell you, it is as well for the course of true love that

there are few cavaliers in this countryside, else Mistress Marjory might

have higher notions."

I answered nothing, for, though I loved Marjory well, and thought that

she loved me, I had never spoken to her on the matter; for from

childhood we had been comrades and friends. So I did not care to reply

on a matter which I regarded as so delicate and uncertain.

My cousin was a man who grew sorely vexed by receiving no answer from

the object of his wit; and, perhaps on this account, he went further

than he meant in his irritation. "Nay, John," he went on, "you're but a

sorry fellow at the best, with your tags from the Latin, and your poor

spirit. I am one of the meanest of His Majesty's soldiers, but I can

outride you, I can beat you at sword-play, at mark-shooting, at all

manly sports. I can hold my head before the highest in the land; I can

make the vulgar bow before me to the ground. There are no parts of a

gentleman's equipment in which I am not your better."

Now, had we been alone, I should not have scrupled to fling the lie in

his teeth, and offer to settle the matter on the spot. But I did not

wish to excite my father in his feeble health, so I made no reply beyond

saying that events would show the better man. My father, however, took

it upon himself to defend me. "Peace, Gilbert," he said. "I will not

have my son spoken thus of in my own house. He has as much spirit as

you, I'll warrant, though he is less fond of blowing his own trumpet."

I saw with annoyance that my father plainly thought my conduct cowardly,

and would have been better pleased had I struck my cousin then and

there. But I knew how cruelly excited he would be by the matter, and,

in his weakness, I feared the result. Also, the man was our guest, and

my cousin.

When we rose from supper I assisted my father in walking to his chair by

the fire; for, though the weather was mild and spring-like, his blood

was so impoverished that he felt the cold keenly. Then my cousin and

myself strolled out of doors to the green lawn, below which Tweed ran

low and silvery clear. I felt anger against him, yet not so much as I

would have felt towards another man, had he used the same words; for I

knew Gilbert to be of an absurd boasting nature, which made him do more

evil than he had in his heart. Still my honour, or pride (call it what

you please), was wounded, and I cast about me for some way to heal it.

"Gilbert," I said, "we have both done much work to-day, so we are both

about equally wearied."

"Maybe," said he.

"But your horse is fresh, and a good one, as I know; and you are a good

horseman, as you say yourself. You had much to say about my poor

horsemanship at supper. Will you try a race with me?"

He looked at me scornfully for a minute. "Nay, there is little honour

to be got from that. You knew the ground, and your horse, for all I

know, may be swifter than mine. It was not of horses I spoke, but of

the riders."

"In the race which I offer you," I answered, "we will both start fair.

Do you see yon rift in the hill beyond Scrape? It is the Red Syke, a

long dark hole in the side of the hill. I have never ridden there, for

the ground is rough and boggy, and I have never heard of a horseman

there since Montrose's rising. Will you dare to ride with me to yonder

place and back?"

At this my cousin's face changed a little, for he had no liking for

breaking his neck on the wild hills. And now, when I look back on the

proposal, it seems a mad, foolhardy one in very truth. But then we were

both young and spirited, and reckless of our lives.

"Mount and ride," said he. "I'll be there and back before you are

half-road, unless, indeed, I have to carry you home."

Together we went round to the stables, and I saddled a black horse of my

father's, for Maisie had already travelled far that day. The Weasel, we

called him, for he was long and thin in the flanks, with a small head,

and a pointed muzzle. He was viciously ill-tempered, and would allow no

groom to saddle him; but before I had gone to Glasgow I had mounted and

ridden him bareback up and down the channel of Tweed till he was

dead-beat, and I half-drowned and shaken almost to pieces. Ever since

this escapade he had allowed me to do what I liked with him; and, though

I did not find him as pleasant to ride as the incomparable Maisie, yet I

knew his great strength and alertness. My cousin's horse was a good

cavalry charger, strong, but, as I thought, somewhat too heavy in the

legs for great endurance.

We mounted and rode together out among the trees to the fields which

bordered on the hills. I was sore in the back when I started, but,

after the first half-mile, my sprightliness returned, and I felt fit to

ride over Broad Law. My cousin was in an ill mood, for the sport was

not to his taste, though he felt bound in honour to justify his words.

The spur of Scrape, which we came to, was called, by the country people,

the Deid Wife, for there an Irish woman, the wife of one of Montrose's

camp followers, had been killed by the folk of the place after the rout

at Philiphaugh. We had much ado to keep our horses from slipping back,

for the loose stones which covered the face of the hill gave a feeble

foothold. The Weasel took the brae like a deer, but my cousin's heavy

horse laboured and panted sorely before it reached the top. Before us

stretched the long upland moors, boggy, and cleft with deep ravines,

with Scrape on the right, and straight in front, six miles beyond, the

great broad crest of Dollar Law. Here we separated, my cousin riding

forward, while I thought the road to the left would be the surer. Clear

before us lay the Red Syke, an ugly gash, into which the setting sun was

beginning to cast his beams.

And now I found myself in a most perilous position. The Weasel's feet

were light and touchy, and he stumbled among the stones and tall heather

till I had sore work to keep my seat. My cousin's horse was of a

heavier make, and I could see it galloping gallantly over the broken

ground. I cheered my steed with words, and patted his neck, and kept a

tight hand on the rein. Sometimes we slipped among the shingle, and

sometimes stumbled over rocks half-hid in brackens. Then we passed into

a surer place among short, burned heather. The dry twigs gave forth a

strange, creaking sound as the horse's feet trod on them, and puffs of

grey dust and ashes, the sign of the burning, rose at every step. Then,

beyond this, we went to a long stretch of crisp mountain grass, pleasant

for both horse and rider. We splashed through little tumbling burns,

and waded through pools left by the spring rains. But, of a sudden, the

ground grew softer, and even the Weasel's light weight could not pass in

safety. At one time, indeed, I reined him back just on the brink of a

treacherous well-eye, from which neither of us would have returned. I

cast a glance at my cousin, who was still ahead; his heavy charger was

floundering wearily, and he lashed it as if his life were at stake. Then

we passed the green bog and came to a great peat-moss, full of hags,

where the shepherds had been casting peats. Here the riding was more

difficult, for the holes whence the peats had come were often some five

feet deep, and it was no easy matter to get a horse out of that

treacherous black mud. The Weasel did gallantly, and only once did I

dismount, when his hind feet were too deeply sunk to permit him to leap.

Beyond me I saw my cousin, riding swiftly, for the middle of the moss,

as it chanced, was the firmest and evenest place. We were now scarce a

hundred yards from the ravine of the Red Syke, and, even as I looked, I

saw him reach it, rest a second to give his horse breathing-space, and

then turn on his homeward way.

I came to the place a minute after, and having compassion on my brave

horse, I dismounted, and eased him of my weight for a little. Then I

got on his back again and set off. Gilbert I saw before me, riding, as

I thought, in the worst part, and with a fury that must tell sooner or

later on his heavy steed. I had scarce been a moment in the saddle,

when, so strange are the ways of horses, the Weasel became aware, for

the first time, of the other in front. Before, it had been a toil for

him, now it became a pleasure, a race, which it lay with his honour to

win. He cocked up his wicked, black ears, put down his head, and I felt

the long legs gathering beneath me. I cried aloud with delight, for now

I knew that no horse in Tweeddale could hope to match him when the mood

was on him. He flew over the hags as if he had been in a paddock; he

leaped among the hard parts of the green bog, from tussock to tussock,

as skilfully as if he had known nothing but mosses all his days. We

came up with Gilbert at the edge of the rough ground, lashing on his

horse, with his face flushed and his teeth set. We passed him like the

wind, and were galloping among the rocks and brackens, while he was

painfully picking his steps. A merciful providence must have watched

over the Weasel's path that day, for never horse ran so recklessly.

Among slippery boulders and cruel jagged rocks and treacherous shingle

he ran like a hare. I grew exultant, laughed, and patted his neck. The

sun was setting behind us, and we rode in a broad patch of yellow light.

In a trice we were on the brow of the Deid Wife. Down we went, slipping

yards at a time, now doubling along the side; sometimes I was almost

over the horse's head, sometimes all but off the tail; there was never,

since the two daft lairds rode down Horsehope Craig, such a madcap ride.

I scarce know how I reached the foot in safety: but reach it I did, and

rode merrily among the trees till I came to the green meadowlands about

the house of Barns. Here I dismounted and waited for my cousin, for I

did not care to have the serving-men laugh at him riding in after me.

I waited a good half-hour before he appeared. A sorry sight he

presented. His breeches and jerkin had more than one rent in them; his

hat was gone; and his face was flushed almost crimson with effort. His

horse had bleeding knees, and its shoulders shook pitifully.

"Pardon me, Gilbert," I said in a fit of repentance; "it was a foolish

thing in me to lead you such a senseless road. I might have known that

your horse was too heavy for the work. It was no fault of yours that

you did not come home before me. I trust that we may forget our

quarrels, and live in friendship, as kinsmen should."

"Friendship be damned," he cried in a mighty rage.

CHAPTER VI

HOW MASTER GILBERT BURNET PLAYED A GAME AND WAS CHECKMATED

That night I was too wearied and sore in body to sleep. My mind also

was troubled, for I had made an enemy of my cousin, who, as I knew, was

not of a nature to forgive readily. His words about Marjory had put me

into a ferment of anxiety. Here was my love, bound to me by no promise,

at the mercy of all the gallants of the countryside. Who was I, to call

myself her lover, when, as yet, no word of love had passed between us?

Yet, in my inmost heart, I knew that I might get the promise any day I

chose. Then thoughts of my cousin came to trouble me. I feared him no

more than a fly in matters betwixt man and man; but might he not take it

into his head to make love to the mistress of Dawyck? and all maids

dearly love a dashing cavalier. At length, after much stormy

indecision, I made up my mind. I would ride to Dawyck next morn and get

my lady's word, and so forestall Gilbert, or any other.

I woke about six o'clock; and, looking out from the narrow window, for

Barns had been built three hundred years before, I saw that the sky was

cloudless and blue, and the morning as clear as could be seen in spring.

I hastily dressed, and, getting some slight breakfast from Jean Morran,

saddled Maisie, who was now as active as ever, and rode out among the

trees. I feared to come to Dawyck too early, so I forded Tweed below

the island, and took the road up the further bank by Lyne and Stobo.

All the world was bright; an early lark sang high in the heaven; merles

and thrushes were making fine music among the low trees by the river.

The haze was lifting off the great Manor Water hills; the Red Syke, the

scene of the last night's escapade, looked very distant in the morning

light; and far beyond all Dollar Law and the high hills about Manorhead

were flushed with sunlight on their broad foreheads. A great gladness

rose in me when I looked at the hills, for they were the hills of my own

country; I knew every glen and corrie, every water and little burn.

Before me the Lyne Water hills were green as grass with no patch of

heather, and to the left, the mighty form of Scrape, half-clothed in

forest, lay quiet and sunlit. I know of no fairer sight on earth; and

this I say, after having travelled in other countries, and seen

something of their wonders; for, to my mind, there is a grace, a wild

loveliness in Tweedside, like a flower-garden on the edge of a moorland,

which is wholly its own.

I crossed Lyne Water by the new bridge, just finished in the year

before, and entered the wood of Dawyck. For this great forest stretches

on both sides of Tweed, though it is greater on the side on which stands

the house. In the place where I rode it was thinner, and the trees

smaller, and, indeed, around the little village of Stobo, there lies an

open part of some fields' width. At the little inn there, I had a

morning's draught of ale, for I was somewhat cold with riding in the

spring air. Then I forded Tweed at a place called the Cow Ford, and,

riding through a wide avenue of lime-trees, came in sight of the grey

towers of Dawyck.

I kept well round to the back, for I did not care that the serving-folk

should see me and spread tales over all the countryside. I knew that

Marjory's window looked sharp down on a patch of green lawn, bordered by

lime-trees, so I rode into the shadow and dismounted. I whistled thrice

in a way which I had, and which Marjory had learned to know long before,

when we were children, and I used to come and beguile her out for long

trampings among the hills. To-day it had no effect, for the singing of

birds drowned my notes, so I had nothing left but to throw bits of bark

against her window. This rude expedient met with more success than it

deserved, for in a minute I saw her face behind the glass. She smiled

gladly when she saw me, and disappeared, only to appear again in the

little door beside the lilacs. She had no hat, so her bright hair hung

loose over her neck and was blown about by the morning winds. Her cheeks

were pink and white, like apple-blossom, and her lithe form was clad in

a dress of blue velvet, plainly adorned as for a country maiden. A

spray of lilac was in her breast, and she carried a bunch of

sweet-smelling stuff in her hands.

She came gladly towards me, her eyes dancing with pleasure. "How soon

you have returned! And how brave you look," said she, with many more

pretty and undeserved compliments.

"Ay, Marjory," I answered, "I have come back to Tweeddale, for I have

had enough of Glasgow College and books, and I was wearying for the

hills and Tweed and a sight of your face. There are no maidens who come

near to you with all their finery. You are as fair as the spring lilies

in the garden at Barns."

"Oh, John," she laughed, "where did you learn to pay fine compliments?

You will soon be as expert at the trade as any of them. I met a man

yesterday in the woods who spoke like you, though with a more practised

air; but I bade him keep his fine words for his fine ladies, for they

suited ill with the hills and a plain country maid."

At this, I must suppose that my brows grew dark, for she went on

laughingly.

"Nay, you are not jealous? It ill becomes a scholar and a philosopher

as you are, Master John, to think so much of an idle word. Confess,

sir, that you are jealous. Why, you are as bad as a lady in a play."

I could not make out her mood, which was a new one to me--a mocking

pleasant raillery, which I took for the rightful punishment of my past

follies.

"I am not jealous," I said, "for jealousy is a feeling which needs an

object ere it can exist. No man may be jealous, unless he has something

to be jealous about."

"John, John," she cried, and shook her head prettily, "you are

incorrigible. I had thought you had learned manners in the town, and

behold, you are worse than when you went away. You come here, and your

first word to me is that I am nothing."

"God knows," I said, "I would fain be jealous, and yet--" I became

awkward and nervous, for I felt that my mission was not prospering, and

that I was becoming entangled in a maze of meaningless speech. The

shortest and plainest way is still the best in love as in all things.

But I was not to be let off, and she finished my sentence for me. "If

only you could find a worthy object for your feeling, you mean," she

said. "Very well, sir, since I am so little valued in your eyes, we will

speak no more on the matter."

"Marjory," I said, coming to the matter at once, "you and I have been

old comrades. We have fished and walked together, we have climbed the

hills and ridden in the meadows. I have done your bidding for many

years."

"True, John," she said with an accent of grudging reminiscence, "you

have dragged me into many a pretty pickle. I have torn my dress on

rough rocks and soaked my shoes in bogs, all in your company. Surely we

have had a brave time together."

"You met a man in the wood yesterday who would fain have made love to

you. That man was my cousin Gilbert."

"Oh," she replied in a tone of mock solemnity and amused wonder, for I

had blurted out my last words like the last dying confession of some

prisoner. "Verily you are honoured in your cousinship, John."

"It is against him and such as him that I would protect you," I said.

"Nay," she cried, with an affected remonstrance. "I will have no

fighting between cousins on my account. I will even defend myself, as

Alison did when the miller made love to her."

"O Marjory," I burst out, "will you not give me this right to defend

you? We have been old companions, but it was only yesterday that I knew

how dearly I loved you. I have had more cares since yester-night than

ever in my life. We have been comrades in childhood; let us be comrades

on the rough paths of the world."

I spoke earnestly, and her face, which had been filled with mockery,

changed gently to something akin to tenderness.

"How little you know of women!" she cried. "I have loved you for years,

thinking of you at all times, and now you come to-day, speaking as if

you had scarce seen me before. Surely I will bear you company in life,

as I have been your comrade at its beginning."

What followed I need scarce tell, since it is but part of the old comedy

of life, which our grandfathers and grandmothers played before us, and

mayhap our grand-children will be playing even now when our back is

turned. Under the spring sky among the lilies we plighted our troth for

the years, and I entered from careless youth into the dim and resolute

region of manhood.

With a great joy in my heart I rode home. I took the high way over the

shoulder of Scrape, for I knew that few folk ever went that road, and I

wished to be alone. The birds were singing, the fresh clean air was

blowing on my face, and the primroses and wind-flowers made a gay carpet

under my horse's feet. All the earth seemed to partake in my gladness.

It was a good world, I thought, full of true hearts, fair faces, and

much good; and though I have seen much wickedness and sorrow in my day,

I am still of the same way of thinking. It is a brave world; a royal

world for brave-hearted men.

When I came to Barns I found that my cousin had gone out an hour since

and left my father greatly wondering at my absence. He sat in the chair

by the fireplace, looking more withered and old than I had ever seen

him. My heart smote me for not staying at his side, and so I sat down

by him and told him many things of my doings in Glasgow, and how I

desired above all things to see the world, having had my fill of books

and colleges. Then I told him what he had long guessed, of my love for

Marjory Veitch and the promise which she had given me. He heard me in

silence, but when he spoke, his words were cheerful, for he had long

liked the lass. He made no refusal, too, to the rest of my plans. "You

shall go and see the world, John," he said, "and take my blessing with

you. It ill becomes a young mettlesome lad in these stirring times to

lounge at home, when he might be wearing a steel breastplate in the

King's Guards, or trying the manners of twenty nations. Though I could

wish you to bide at home, for I am an old broken man with few pleasures,

and I love the sight of your face."

"Nay, I will never leave you," I said, "an you wish it. I am young yet

and a boy's road is a long road. Time enough for all."

After this I went out to see if the Weasel had come to any mishap in the

last night's ride. I found him as stout as ever, so I saddled him and

rode away by the green haughlands up the valley of the Manor, for I

longed for motion and air to relieve my spirit: and coming home in the

afternoon, I found my cousin returned and sitting with my father in the

dining-hall.

He glanced sharply at me when I entered, and I saw by his looks that he

was in no good temper. His heavy face was flushed and his shaggy

eyebrows were lowered more than their wont.

"Where have you been, Gilbert?" I asked. "I found you gone when I came

back in the morning."

"I took my horse down to Peebles to the farrier. Its knees were sorely

hurt last night on your infernal hills."

Now I knew that this was a lie, for I had looked at his horse before I

went out in the morning, and its wounds were so slight that it would

have been mere folly to take him to a farrier; and Gilbert, I well knew,

was not the man to be in error where horses were concerned. So I judged

that he had ridden in the contrary direction, and gone to Dawyck, and,

as I inferred from his sour looks, met with no good reception there. I

could afford to be generous; I felt a sort of half-pity for his

discomfiture, and forbore to ask him any further questions.

We sat down to supper, he and I and my father, in a sober frame of mind.

I was full of my own thoughts, which were of the pleasantest; my cousin

was plainly angry with something or other; and my father, in his

weakness dimly perceiving that all was not right, set himself to mend

matters by engaging him in talk.

"You're a good shot with the musket, they tell me, Gibbie," he said,

using the old name which he had called him by when he first came to

Barns as a boy, "and I was thinking that it would be a rare ploy for you

and John to go down the water to Traquair, where Captain Keith's horse

are lying. He is an old friend of mine, and would be blithe to see any

of my kin. They tell me he has great trials of skill in all exercises,

and that he has gathered half the gentry in the place about him."

"John," said my cousin in a scornful voice, "John is too busily employed

at Dawyck to care much for anything else. A flighty maid is a sore

burden on any man."

"I would have you learn, Master Gilbert," I said angrily, "to speak in a

better way of myself and my friends. You may be a very great gentleman

elsewhere, but you seem to leave your gentility behind when you come

here."

Now my cousin and I were of such opposite natures that I took most

things seriously, while he found matter for a jest in all--yet not in

full good-nature, but with a touch of acrid satire.

"Even a barn-door cock will defend his own roost. How one sees the truth

of proverbs!"

And then he added that which I will not set down, but which brought my

father and myself to our feet with flashing eyes and quivering lips. I

would have spoken, but my father motioned me to be silent.

"Gilbert," he said, his voice shaking with age and anger, "you will

leave this house the morn. I will have no scoundrelly fellow of your

kidney here. You are no true nephew of mine, and God pity the father

that begat you."

My cousin smiled disdainfully and rose from his chair. "Surely I will

go and at once when my hospitable uncle bids me. The entertainment in

this damned hole is not so good as to keep me long. As for you, Cousin

John," and he eyed me malignantly, "you and I will meet some day, where

there are no dotards and wenches to come between us. Then I promise you

some sport. Till then, farewell. I will down to Peebles to-night and

trouble you no more." With a wave of his hand he was gone, and five

minutes later we heard his horse's hooves clatter over the stones of the

yard.

When he was gone his conduct came back to my father with a rush, and he

fell to upbraiding himself for his breach of hospitality and family

honour. He would have me call Gilbert back, and when I showed him how

futile it was, fell into low spirits and repented in great bitterness.

Now the worst of this day's business remains to be told. For when I

looked at my father some time after I found him sunk in his chair with

his face as pale as death. With the help of Jean Morran and Tam Todd I

got him to bed, from which he never rose, but passed peacefully away in

the fear of God two days later. The heat into which he had been thrown

was the direct cause, and though I could not very well lay the thing to

my cousin's charge when the man was already so far down the vale of

years, yet in my heart I set it against him. Indeed from this day I

date my antagonism to the man, which before had been a mere boyish

rivalry.

I stayed with my father to the end. Just before he died he bade me come

near and gave me his blessing, bidding me be a better gentleman than he

had been. We did not bury him in the Kirk of Lyne, for he had always

said he never could abide to lie within walls. but on a green flat above

Tweed, where the echo of the river and the crying of moorbirds are never

absent from his grave.

CHAPTER VII

THE PEGASUS INN AT PEEBLES AND HOW A STRANGER RETURNED FROM THE WARS

Of my doings for some months after my father's death I must tell

hastily. I fell heir to the lands of Barns, and being of age entered at

once into my possession. The place remained the same as in my father's

time, the same servants and the same ways about the house. I lived

simply as I had always lived, spending my days in seeing to the land, in

field sports, and some little study, for I had not altogether forsaken

the Muses. But all the time I felt as one who is kept at home against

his will, being conscious of a restlessness and an inclination to travel

which was new to me, but which I doubt not is common to all young men at

this time of life. I talked much with Tam Todd of the lands which he

had visited, and heard of the Dutch towns with their strange shipping,

their canals and orderly houses, and of the rough Norlanders, clad in

the skins of wild animals, who came down to the Swedish markets to

trade; of the soldiery of Germany and France and the Scots who had gone

over there to push their fortunes with their swords; and what I loved

best, of the salt sea with its boundless waste of waters and wild tales

of shipwreck. Formerly I had been wont often to bid Tam sharply to hold

his peace when he entered on one of his interminable narrations; but now

I sat and drank in every word like a thirsty man. It was the

winter-time, when the roads were often snowed up and all the folk of the

place gathered in the great kitchen at nights round the fire; so it was

the time for stories and we had our fill of them.

One blustering day, the first Monday, I think, after the New Year, when

the ice was beginning to melt from the burns and a wet, cold wind from

the north-west was blowing, I rode down to Peebles to settle some

matters about money with Saunders Blackett, who had managed my father's

affairs and was now intrusted with mine. All things were done to my

satisfaction; so bethinking myself that the way to Barns was cold and

long and that it was yet early in the afternoon, being scarce four

o'clock, I found myself thinking pleasantly of the warm inn-parlour of

the _Pegasus_, so thither I went.

The _Pegasus_ or "Peg" Inn stands at the corner of the Northgate and the

High Street, a black-gabled building, once the town-house of the Govans

of Cardrona, and still retaining marks of its gentility in the arms

carved above the door. A great sign flapped in the wind, bearing on a

white ground a gorgeous representation of a winged horse soaring through

clouds. The landlord at this time was one Horsbrock, a portly,

well-looking man, who claimed to be kin to the Horsbrocks of that ilk

and held his chin two inches higher in consequence. The place was famed

in all the country round for good wine and comfort.

I stabled my horse and, bidding the host bring me a bottle of Rhenish

(so fine a thing it is to have succeeded to lands and money), I went

into the low-ceilinged room where the company sat. It was panelled in a

darkish wood, and hung round with old weapons, halberds and falchions

and what not, which glimmered brightly in the firelight. A narrow

window gave it light, but now it sufficed only to show the grey winter

dusk coming swiftly on. Around the fire sat some few of the men of

Peebles, warming themselves and discussing the landlord's ale and the

characters of their neighbours.

They rose to give me welcome when I entered, for my name and family were

well known in the countryside.

"It's awfu' weather for man and beast, Laird," said an old man with a

bent back, but still hale and hearty in the face. "A snawy winter I can

abide, and a wet yin, but drizzlin', dreepin', seepin' weather wi' a

wind that taks the heart out o' ye is mair than my patience can stand."

"You have little need to speak, you folk," I said, "living in a

well-paved town with stones beneath your feet and nothing more to do

than go round a street corner all day. Up at Barns, with Tweed swirling

in at the yard gate, and the stables flowing like a linn, and the wind

playing cantrips day and night in and out of the windows, you might

talk."

"Ay, but, good sir," put in a thin voice which came from a little man I

had seen at the bowling-green, "ye may thank the Lord for a roof abune

your heids and dry claes to put on, when sae many godly folks are hiding

like pelicans in the wilderness among the high hills and deep mosses. I

bless the Lord that my faither, that sant o' the Kirk, is not living in

thae evil times. He was a man o' a truly great spirit, and had he been

alive, I'se warrant he wad hae been awa to join them. He was aye strong

on his conscience. 'John Look-up' so the godless called him. 'John

Look-up,' said my mother, 'ye'll never be pleased till we're a' joltin'

in a cairt to the Grassmarket o' Edinburgh. And a braw sicht ye'll be,

hanging there like a hoodie-craw wi' a' your bairns aside ye.' Ay,

these were often her words, for she had a sarcastic tongue."

"Jock Look-up, my man," said another, "I kenned your faither a' his

days, and he was na the man to hang. He lookit up and he lookit a'

ways. He was yin whae could baith watch and pray. Gin ye were mair

like him, ye wad be a mair thrivin' man."

"Aboot the hill-folk," said the old man who had first spoken, drinking

his ale and turning up the measure to see that no more was left, "did ye

ever hear o' my son Francie and what happened to him when he gaed awa to

Moffat wi' 'oo'? He gaed ower by Traquair and keepit the road till he

got to Moffat, for he had a horse that wasna ower sure o' its feet on

the hills. But when he had it a' sellt, whae does he meet in wi' but

Wull Hislop the travelling packman, whae's sair needing a beast. So

Francie sells him his horse and comes aff hame walking ower the muirs.

He gaed up Moffat Water and ower the muckle hill they ca'

Corriefragauns, and got on nane sae bad till he cam to the awfu' craigs

abune Loch Skene. He was walking briskly, thinking o' hame and the

siller in his pouch and how he wad win to Peebles that nicht, when he

saw afore him the awfu'est sicht that ever he had seen. It was a man o'

maybe the same heicht as himsel, wi' a heid of red hair, and nae claes

to speak o', but just a kind o' clout about his middle. He began to

speak in an outlandish voice and Francie kenned at yince that he maun be

yin o' thae Hieland deevils brocht doun to hunt up the Whigs. He was

for Francie's money, and he oot wi' a big knife and flashed it up and

doun. But this was no to Francie's liking. 'Put that doun, ye

ill-looking deevil,' says he, 'ye'll find I'm nane o' your hill-folk,

but an honest man frae Peebles wi' a nieve as hard as your heid's saft,

and if ye dinna let me by, I'll put ye in the loch as sure as my name's

Francie Trummle.' The body understood him brawly, and wi' a grunt slunk

aff among the heather, and Francie had nae mair bother wi' him. But O!

it's an awfu' thing to think o' men o' your ain blood hunted and killed

wi' thae foreign craturs. It maks me half-mindit to turn Whig mysel."

"Dinna fash yoursel, Maister Trummle," said a younger man, a farmer by

his looks, "ye're better bidin' in peace and quiet at hame. The Lord

never meant folk to gang among hills and peat-bogs, unless after sheep.

It's clean against the order o' things. But there's yae thing that

reconciles me to this Whig-hunting. They're maistly wast-country folk,

and wast-country folk are an ill lot, aye shoving their nebs where

they're no want it. There's no mony Whigs in Tweeddale. Na, na,

they're ower canny."

Master Turnbull made as if he would have answered, when a clatter of

feet was heard in the passage, and the door opened. Two men entered,

one a great swarthy fellow well known for his poaching escapades when

the salmon came up the water, and the other, Peter Crustcrackit the

tailor. They did not enter in company, for Peter swaggered in with as

gallant an air as two bent legs and a small body could permit, while the

other slunk in with a half-apologetic look, glancing keenly round to see

who were the other occupants of the room.

"The 'Peg' is honoured with your company tonight, I see," said Peter,

making a bow to me. "'Tis the finest gathering that I remember: the

Laird o' Barns, worthy Maister Trumbull, myself, and my honoured freend,

Maister Simon Doolittle."

The black fisher lifted his face from the ale which the landlord had

brought. "Your guid health, gentlemen. I'm prood o' your company,

though I'm no just fit for't, since I'm no half an 'oor oot o' the

Dookit Pool."

All eyes were turned to the speaker, and we saw that his clothes hung

limp and wet.

"And pray, how did you get there, Maister Doolittle? Was't by the

working o' Providence, or the wiles o' sinfu' man?"

"A mixture o' baith. I took a bit daunder up Tweed to the Castle Rock

to see how the water was rinnin'. It's been raither grimily for fishin'

o' late. Ye a' ken the rocks that they're no exactly the sort o' place

that a man wad choose for dancin' a reel in tackety boots. Weel, I was

admiring the works o' God as manifested in a big, deep, swirlin' hole,

when afore ever I kenned I was admirin' the hole frae the middle o't. I

was gey near chokit wi' Tweed water, but I wabbled a bit, and syne

grippit a birk and held on."

There was a pause and he took a draught of ale.

"Weel, I roared as loud as I could, and the auld runt whae bides i' the

Castle heard me. He cam doun and askit me what was wrang. 'Wrang,'

says I. 'If ye dinna ca' ten feet o' water and you no able to soom,

wrang, I just wis ye were here yoursel.' So he gangs cannily back and

brings anither man to look at me; and the twae thocht for a while, and

then each grippit an airm and after a gey wammlin' I got oot. I was

angry at their delay, for I couldna hae held on muckle langer, so I

kickit them baith an' cam aff here. I've muckle need o' yill, fur I feel

as if I had eaten ten pund o' snaw."

"Come nearer the fire, Simon," said one. "Ye're a muckle tried man."

"I'm a' that," said the brown-faced poacher, and relapsed into silence.

The lights were now lit in the streets of Peebles, as we could see by

the glimmer through the windows; but in our room no lamp was needed, for

the bright firelight was sufficient for a man to read a little book by.

The great shadows danced on the wall, bent and crooked into a thousand

phantasies; and the men by the fire nodded and spoke little. Then the

old man Turnbull began an argument with the tailor about some clothes in

which he said he had been cheated; and Peter Crustcrackit, never a

quiet-tempered man, was rejoining with vigour. I heard only fragments

of their talk, being taken up in dreaming of my future course, and when

I should go to see the world.

The mild-mannered man, him they called John Look-up, was sleeping in his

chair, and his jug of ale which he had emptied hung limply in his hand.

In a little it fell to the floor and rolled beneath his chair; but the

sleeper never stirred. The poacher sat shrouded in vapour, which the

heat of the fire had brought out of his wet garments, and a mingled

smell of damp cloth and burning wood filled the room. The discordant

voices of the tailor and his antagonist rose and fell, now sinking to a

mumbled whisper, and now rising to sharp recrimination. By and by they

came to an end of their dispute, and silence reigned undisturbed; and I

verily believe that in five minutes we should all have been sound

asleep, had not something occurred to rouse us.

This was no less than the entrance of another guest. The door was flung

open and a man entered, swaggering with a great air and bearing into the

slumbrous place a breath of the outer world. He was the finest man I

had ever seen, two inches and more taller than myself, who am not short,

and clean made as a greyhound. His face was tanned a deep brown, and

bare save for a yellow moustachio on his upper lip. His hair hung long

and fine over his shoulders, setting off the erect poise of his head.

He had removed his cloak and hat, and showed a dress of the height of

fashion; his cravat was of delicate foreign lace and the sash around his

middle of the finest silk. But what I marked especially were his

features, the thin, straight nose, the well-bred chin, and the clear

eyes; but for a certain weakness in the jaw I should have called it the

handsomest face I had ever seen. More, it was a face that wis familiar

to me. I had seen the like of it before; but where I could not tell, and

I cudgelled my brains to think of it.

"Ah, my faith," said the stranger, speaking with a foreign accent, "what

have we here? A room-full of sleepy citizens. Or drunk, egad, drunk, I

believe."

And he walked over to where Peter Crustcrackit sat nodding, and stared

in his face. Now the noise wakened the rest; and Peter also, who

sitting up with a stupid air thought that he was still in the shop, and

cried hurriedly, "What d'ye lack, sir? Silks or satins or plain

kersey," and ran into a recital of his wares.

The newcomer looked at him with an amused smile. "It is not difficult

to tell your profession, my friend. The ninth of a man."

Then he surveyed the rest of us in turn with his restless eyes, until

his look fell upon me. He must have marked something about my

appearance distinct from the others, for he bowed and addressed me

politely.

"You are not one of these fellows, I think. May I ask the favour of

your name? I have been long absent from this country and have forgot

faces."

"You are welcome to it," said I. "They call me John Burnet--of Barns,"

I added, for the first time using my new-found title.

He crossed to my side in an instant and held out his hand. "Your hand,

Master Burnet. You and I should be well known to each other, for we

shall be near neighbours. You may have heard of Michael Veitch of

Dawyck, him that was soldiering abroad. I am that same, returned like

the prodigal from far countries."

Now I knew where I had seen the face before. It was but a coarse and

manly counterpart of Marjory's, though I fancied that hers was still the

braver and stronger, if all were told.

"I have often heard of you," I said, "and I am glad to be the first to

bid you welcome to your own countryside. These are some men of the

town, honest fellows, who come here for their evening ale."

"Your health, gentlemen," he cried, bowing to the company. "Landlord,

bring ale and a bottle of your best Burgundy till I pledge these honest

fellows."

"Eh, sirs," I heard Peter Crustcrackit mutter under his breath, "sic an

invasion o' gentles. The Northgate o' Peebles micht be the High Street

o' Embro', for a' the braw folk that are coming tae't. I maun think

aboot shifting my shop."

It would be well on for eight o'clock ere Master Veitch and I left the

_Pegasus_ to ride homeward. The night was quieter and milder, and

overhead a patch of clear sky showed the stars. He had with him two

serving-men who carried his belongings, but they rode some little

distance behind. He was full of questions about Dawyck and his kinsfolk

there and the countryside around; so I must needs tell him something of

what had passed between Marjory and myself. He seemed not ill-pleased.

"What," he cried, "little Marjory, who was scarce higher than my knee

when I left! To think that she should have grown into a woman already!

And you say she is pretty?"

Which question gave me much opportunity for such talk as one must use

when he feels the littleness of words.

Then he must ask me about myself, of my father, of whose death he was

ignorant, and what I purposed to do. "For I doubt," said he, "that you

will have but a dull time of it at Barns in that great desolate house.

It little befits an active man to pine at home like a mouse in a cell."

So from one thing to another, he had me to tell him of all my desires,

of how I longed above all things to travel and see the world; and he

spoke to me in such a fashion that ere we had come to the ford of Tweed

my intention was fixed to ride out like the Spanish Don to see what

might befall me.

CHAPTER VIII

I TAKE LEAVE OF MY FRIENDS

The next month was, I think, the busiest in my life. For from the

evening of my meeting with Michael Veitch my mind was firmly made up to

go to travel abroad, and with this determination came all the countless

troubles which a man must meet before he can leave his home. I was busy

night and day, now down at Peebles, now riding up Manor and all over the

Barns lands, seeing that all things were in right order ere my

departure. I got together all the money I desired, and with drafts on

the Dutch bankers, which the lawyer folk in Edinburgh got for me, I was

in no danger of falling into poverty abroad.

On Tam Todd I laid the management of all things in my absence; and Tam,

much impressed by his responsibility, though it was a task which he had

really undertaken long before in the later years of my father's life,

went about his work with a serious, preoccupied air, as of Atlas with

the world on his shoulders. I had much ado in getting ready my baggage

for the journey, for I wished to take little, being confident that I

could buy all things needful abroad. Jean Morran, on the other hand,

would have had me take half the plenishing of the house of Barns, from

linen sheets to fresh-kirned butter, for I could not persuade her to

think otherwise than that I was going into a desolate land among heathen

savages.

Then I had to visit many folk up and down Tweed to take farewell; and I

had so many letters given me to men of standing abroad, that, if I had

delivered them all, I should have had to spend more time than I cared.

One I valued more than any other--a letter written by Master Gilbert

Burnet, of London, to a professor in the university of Leyden--which I

hoped would bring me into the company of scholars. For I had changed my

original intention of going to the wars, first, because I found on

examination that, in my inmost heart, I had that hankering after

learning which would never be sated save by a life with some facilities

for study; second, because, now that I was the sole member of the house,

it behooved me to bide on the land and see to it, and any such thing as

soldiering would keep me away for too great a time. I sent, too, to the

College Library at Glasgow, for all the books on the Low Countries to be

had, and spent much profitable time reading of the history of the place,

and how the land lay.

During these days I was much in the company of the new master of Dawyck,

and a most delectable comrade I found him. He had a vast stock of tales

and jests, collected in his travels, with which he would amuse his

friends; he was something of a scholar, and could talk learnedly when he

chose; and he was expert at all outdoor sports, pressing me hard at the

sword-play, in which I prided myself on my skill. He was of a free,

generous nature, and singularly courteous to all, high and low, rich and

poor alike. Yet, with all these excellencies, there was much that I

liked ill about him, for he was over-fond of resorting to the taverns at

Peebles, where he would muddle his wits in the company of his inferiors.

His life at Dawyck was none of the most regular, though, indeed, I have

little cause to blame him, being none so good myself; though the vice of

over-indulging in wine was one that Providence always mercifully kept me

from.

He came perhaps every third day to Barns to ride with me in the haugh,

and he would abide to supper-time, or even over night, making me fear

for Marjory's peace of mind. To his sister he was most dutiful and

kind, and I was glad to think that now the days might be more pleasant

for her with her brother in the house. And it pleased me to think that

when I went abroad, my lady would be left in no bad keeping.

The days, the short January days, passed quickly over my head, and,

almost ere I knew, the time had come for my departure. And now, when

the hour came so nigh, I felt some pain at the thought of leaving home

and my beloved countryside for unknown places; though, to tell the

truth, such thoughts were not ill to dispel by the contemplation of the

pleasures in prospect. Yet it was with mingled feelings that I rode

over to Dawyck on a sharp Monday afternoon to bid Marjory farewell.

I found her in the low, dim room, looking to the west, where she was

wont to sit in winter. A great fire crackled cheerily on the hearth,

and many little devices about the place showed a woman's hand. Holly,

with scarlet berries, put colour into the sombre walls, and Marjory

herself, brighter than any flower, made the firelight dull in the

contrast; so fair she looked, as she greeted me, with her bright hair

and unfathomable eyes.

"I have come to see you for the last time, Marjory," I said; "to-morrow

I set out on my travels."

"I am vexed that you are going away," and she looked at me sadly; "it

will be lonely in Tweeddale without you."

"My dear lass, I will not be long. Two years at the longest, and then I

will be home to you, and travel no more. What say you, Marjory?"

"Your will be done, John. Yet I would I could have gone with you."

"I would you could, my dear," I said. "But that might scarce be. You

would not like, I think, to sail on rough seas, or bide among towns and

colleges. You love the woods too well."

"Wherever you were," said she, with her eyes drooped, "I would be

content to be."

"But Marjory, lass," I spoke up cheerfully, for I feared to make her

sad, "you would not like me to stay at home, when the world is so wide,

and so many brave things to be seen."

"No, no. I have no love for folks who bide in the house like children.

I would have you go and do gallantly, and come home full of fine tales.

But where do you mean to go, and how will you pass your time?"

"Oh," said I, "I go first to Rotterdam, where I may reside for a while.

Then I purpose to visit the college at Leyden, to study; for I would

fain spend some portion of my time profitably. After that I know not

what I will do, but be sure that I will be home within the two years.

For, though I am blithe to set out, I doubt not that I will be blither

to come back again."

"I trust you may not learn in those far-away places to look down on

Tweeddale and the simple folks here. I doubt you may, John; for you are

not a steadfast man," and, at this, she laughed and I blushed, for I

thought of my conduct at Glasgow.

"Nay, nay," I answered; "I love you all too well for that. Though the

Emperor of Cathay were to offer me all his treasure to bide away, I

would come back. I would rather be a shepherd in Tweeddale than a noble

in Spain."

"Brave words, John," she cried, "brave words! See you hold to them."

Then after that we fell to discussing Michael, and his ways of amusing

himself; and I bade Marjory tell her brother to look in now and then at

Barns to see how Tam Todd fared. Also I bade her tell him that it was

my wish that he should hunt and fish over my lands as much as he

pleased. "And see you keep him in order," I added, laughing, "lest he

slip off to the wars again."

"Oh, John," she said, with a frightened look, "do not speak so. That is

what I fear above all things, for he is restless, even here, and must

ever be wandering from one place to another."

"Tut, my dear," I said; "Michael, be sure, is too honest a man to leave

you again, when I am off, once I have left you in his care. Have no

fear for him. But we are getting as dull as owls, and it is many days

since I heard your voice. I pray you sing me a song, as you used to do

in the old days. 'Twill be long ere I hear another."

She rose and went without a word to her harpsichord and struck a few

notes. Now Marjory had a most wonderful voice, more like a linnet's

than aught else, and she sang the old ballads very sweetly. But to-day

she took none of them, but a brisk martial song, which pleased me

marvellously well. I will set down the words as she sang them, for I

have hummed them many a time to myself:

"Oh, if my love were sailor-bred

And fared afar from home,

In perilous lands, by shoal and sands,

If he were sworn to roam,

Then, O, I'd hie me to a ship,

And sail upon the sea,

And keep his side in wind and tide

To bear him company.

"And if he were a soldier gay,

And tarried from the town,

And sought in wars, through death and scars,

To win for him renown,

I'd place his colours in my breast,

And ride by moor and lea,

And win his side, there to abide,

And bear him company.

"For sooth a maid, all unafraid,

Should by her lover be,

With wile and art to cheer his heart,

And bear him company."

"A fine promise, Marjory," I cried, "and some day I may claim its

fulfilment. But who taught you the song?"

"Who but the Travelling Packman, or, maybe, the Wandering Jew?" she

said, laughingly; and I knew this was the way of answer she used when

she would not tell me anything. So, to this day, I know not whence she

got the catch.

Then we parted, not without tears on her part, and blank misgivings on

my own. For the vexed question came to disturb me, whether it was not

mere self-gratification on my part thus to travel, and whether my more

honourable place was not at home. But I banished the thoughts, for I

knew how futile they were, and comforted my brave lass as best I could.

"Fare thee well, my love," I cried, as I mounted my horse, "and God

defend you till I come again"; and, whenever I looked back, till I had

passed the great avenue, I saw the glimmer of Marjory's dress, and felt

pricked in the conscience for leaving her.

CHAPTER IX

I RIDE OUT ON MY TRAVELS AND FIND A COMPANION

It was on a fine sharp morning, early in February, that I finally bade

good-bye to the folk at Barns and forded Tweed and rode out into the

world. There was a snell feel in the air which fired my blood, and made

me fit for anything which Providence might send. I was to ride Maisie

as far as Leith, where I was to leave her with a man at the

Harbour-Walk, who would send her back to Tweeddale; for I knew it would

be a hard thing to get passage for a horse in the small ships which

sailed between our land and the Low Countries at that time of year.

At the Lyne Water ford, Michael Veitch was waiting for me. He waved his

hat cheerfully, and cried, "Good luck to you, John, and see that you

bide not too long away." I told him of a few things which I wished him

to see to, and then left him, riding up the little burn which comes down

between the Meldon hills, and whither lies the road to Eddleston Water.

When I was out of sight of him, I seemed to have left all my home behind

me, and I grew almost sorrowful. At the top of the ridge I halted and

looked back. There was Barns among its bare trees and frosted meadows,

with Tweed winding past, and beyond, a silvery glint of the Manor coming

down from its blue, cold hills. There was Scrape, with its long slopes

clad in firs, and the grey house of Dawyck nestling at its foot. I saw

the thin smoke curling up from the little village of Lyne, and Lyne Kirk

standing on its whin-covered brae, and the bonny holms of Lyne Water,

where I had often taken great baskets of trout. I must have stayed

there, gazing, for half an hour; and, whenever I looked on the brown

moors and woods, where I had wandered from boyhood, I felt sorrowful,

whether I would or no.

"But away with such thoughts," I said, steeling my heart. "There's many

a fine thing awaiting me, and, after all, I will be back in a year or

two to the place and the folk that I love." So I went down to the

village of Eddleston whistling the "Cavalier's Rant," and firmly

shutting my mind against thoughts of home. I scarce delayed in

Eddleston, but pushed on up the valley, expecting to get dinner at the

inn at Leadburn, which stands at the watershed, just where the county of

Edinburgh touches our shire of Tweeddale. The way, which is a paradise

in summer, was rugged and cold at this season. The banks of the stream

were crusted with ice, and every now and then, as I passed, I raised a

string of wild duck, who fled noisily to the high wildernesses.

I came to Leadburn about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, somewhat cold

in body, but brisk and comforted in spirit. I had Maisie stabled, and

myself went into the hostel and bade them get ready dinner. The inn is

the most villainous, bleak place that I have ever seen, and I who write

this have seen many. The rooms are damp and mouldy, and the

chimney-stacks threaten hourly to come down about the heads of the

inmates. It stands in the middle of a black peat-bog, which stretches

nigh to the Pentland Hills; and if there be a more forsaken countryside

on earth, I do not know it. The landlord, nevertheless, was an active,

civil man, not spoiled by his surroundings; and he fetched me an

excellent dinner--a brace of wild-fowl and a piece of salted beef,

washed down with very tolerable wine.

I had just finished, and was resting a little before ordering my horse,

when the most discordant noise arose in the inn-yard; and, going to the

window, I beheld two great, strong serving-men pulling a collie by a

rope tied around the animal's neck. It was a fine, shaggy

black-and-white dog, and I know not what it could have done to merit

such treatment. But its captors had not an easy task, for it struggled

and thrawed at the rope, and snarled savagely, and every now and then

made desperate sallies upon the hinder-parts of its leaders. They

cursed it, not unnaturally, for an ill-conditioned whelp, and some of

the idlers, who are usually found about an inn, flung stones or beat it

with sticks from behind. Now I hate, above all things, to see a beast

suffer, no matter how it may have deserved it; so I had it in my mind to

go down and put a stop to the cruelty, when some one else came before

me.

This was a very long, thin man, with a shock of black hair, and a

sunburnt face, attired in a disorder of different clothes--a fine,

though tarnished coat, stout, serviceable small-clothes, and the

coarsest of shoes and stockings. He darted forward like a hawk from a

corner of the yard, and, ere I could guess his intentions, had caught

the rope and let the dog go free. The beast ran howling to seek

shelter, and its preserver stood up to face the disappointed rascals.

They glared at him fiercely, and were on the point of rushing on him,

had not something in his demeanour deterred them.

"Oh," said he, in a scornful voice, "ye're fine folk, you Leidburn folk.

Braw and kindly folk. Graund at hangin' dowgs and tormentin' dumb

beasts, but like a wheen skelpit puppies when ye see a man."

"Ye meddlin' deevil," said one, "whae askit ye to come here? The dowg

was an ill, useless beast, and it was time it was hangit."

"And what d'ye ca' yoursel?" said the stranger. "I ken ye fine, Tam

Tiddup, for a thievin', idle vaigabond, and if every useless beast was

hangit, there wadna be yin o' ye here."

This made them grumble, and a stone was thrown, but still something in

the easy, dauntless air of their enemy kept them back.

"But I'm no the man to let a dowg gang free wi'oot giein' some kind o'

return. Ye're a' brave men, dour warlike men, and I've nae doot unco

keen o' a fecht. Is there no some kind o' green bit hereaways whaur I

could hae a fling wi' yin o' ye? I'll try ye a' in turn, but no to mak

ill-feelin', I'll tak the biggest yin first. Will ye come, ye muckle

hash?" he said suddenly, addressing the tallest of the number.

Now the man addressed had clearly no stomach for fight, but he was tall

and stout, and stood in fear of the ridicule of his companions, and

further, he doubtless thought that he would have an easy victory over

the lean stranger, so he accepted with as good a show of readiness as he

could muster.

"Come on, ye flee-up-i'-the-air, and I'll see if I canna pit thae

fushionless airms o' yours oot o' joint."

I heard them appoint a flat place beside the burn, just on the edge of

the bog, and watched them trooping out of the yard. The rabble went

first, with a great semblance of valour, and the brown-faced stranger,

with a sardonic grin on his countenance, stepped jauntily behind. Now I

dearly love a fight, but yet I scarce thought fit to go and look on with

the rest; so I had Maisie saddled, and rode after them, that I might

look like some chance passer-by stopping to witness the encounter.

When I came up to the place, there were already some thirty men

collected. It was a green spot by the side of the Hawes burn, with the

frost not lifted from the grass; and in the burn itself the ice lay

thick, for it flows sluggishly like all bogland waters, The place was

beaten down as if folk were used to go there, and here the men made a

ring about their champion, some helping him to unbuckle his belt, some

giving advice about how to close with his adversary. The adversary

himself stood waiting their pleasure with the most unconcerned air,

whistling "The Green Holms o' Linton," and stamping his feet on the

ground to keep himself warm.

In a little the two were ready, and stood facing each other on the cold

moor. A whistling wind came in short blasts from the hills, and made

their ears tingle, and mine also, till I wished that I were one of the

two to have some chance of warming my blood. But when once the fight

began, I thought little more of the cold.

The countryman gripped the stranger round the middle and tugged

desperately to throw him. Up and down, backwards and forwards they

went, kicking up in their struggle pieces of turf and little stones.

Once they were all but in the water, but the stranger, seeing his peril,

made a bold leap back and dragged the other with him. And now I feared

that it was going to go hard with the succourer of distressed dogs; for

his unwieldy opponent was pressing so heavily upon him that I expected

every moment to see him go down. Once I caught sight of his face, and,

to my surprise, it was calm as ever; the very straw he had been chewing

before being still between his teeth.

Now the fight took another turn; for my friend, by an adroit movement,

slipped below the other's arms, flung himself backwards, just as I have

seen a tumbler do at a fair at Peebles, and before the other knew his

design, stood smiling before him. The man's astonishment was so great

that he stood staring, and if the stranger had used his advantage, he

might have thrown him there and then. By and by he recovered and came

on, swearing and wrathful. "Ye've slippit awa' yince, ye ether, but

I'll see that ye'll no dae't again;" and with his sluggish blood roused

to some heat, he flung himself on his foe, who received him much as a

complacent maid receives the caresses of a traveller. The fellow

thought his victory certain, and put out all his strength; but now, of a

sudden, my friend woke up. He twisted his long arms round his

adversary, and a mighty struggle began. The great, fat-bellied man was

swaying to and fro like a basket on a pack-horse; his face grew purple

and pale at the lips, and his body grew limper and weaker. I expected

to see a good fight, but I was disappointed; for before I knew, they

were on the edge of the pool, tottered a second, and then, with a mighty

crunching and splashing, bounded through the thin ice into the frosty

water.

A great brown face, with draggled, black hair, followed closely by a red

and round one, appeared above the surface, and two dripping human beings

dragged themselves to the bank. The teeth of both chattered like a

smith's shop, but in the mouth of one I espied a yellowish thing, sorely

bitten and crumbled. It was the piece of straw. A loud shout greeted

their appearance, and much laughter. The one slunk away with his

comrades, in no very high fettle, leaving the other shaking himself like

a water-dog on the grass.

I found the stranger looking up at me, as I sat my horse, with a glance

half-quizzical and half-deprecatory. The water ran down his odd clothes

and formed in pools in the bare places of the ground. He shivered in

the cold wind, and removed little fragments of ice from his coat. Then

he spoke.

"Ye'll be the Laird o' Barns settin' oot on your traivels?"

"Good Lord! What do you know of my business?" I asked, and, as I looked

at him, I knew that I had seen the face before. Of a sudden he lifted

his arm to rub his eyebrows, and the motion brought back to me at once a

vision of excited players and a dry, parched land, and a man perplexedly

seeking to convince them of something; and I remembered him for the man

who had brought the news to Peebles of the rising of Tweed.

"I know you," I said. "You are the man who came down with news of the

great flood. But what do you here?"

"Bide a wee and I'll tell ye. Ye'll mind that ye tellt me if ever I was

in need o' onything, to come your way. Weel, I've been up Tweed, and

doun Tweed, and ower the hills, and up the hills, till there's nae mair

places left for me to gang. So I heard o' your gaun ower the seas, and

I took it into my heid that I wad like to gang tae. So here I am, at

your service."

The fellow's boldness all but took my breath away. "What, in Heaven's

name, would I take you with me for?" I asked. "I doubt we would suit

each other ill."

"Na, na, you and me wad gree fine. I've heard tell o' ye, Laird, though

ye've heard little o' me, and by a' accoonts we're just made for each

ither."

Now if any other one had spoken to me in this tone I should have made

short work of him; but I was pleased with this man's conduct in the

affair just past, and, besides, I felt I owed something to my promise.

"But," said I, "going to Holland is not like going to Peebles fair, and

who is to pay your passage, man?"

"Oh," said he, "I maun e'en be your body-servant, so to speak."

"I have little need of a body-servant. I am used to shifting for

myself. But to speak to the purpose, what use could you be to me?"

"What use?" the man repeated. "Eh, sir, ye ken little o' Nicol

Plenderleith to talk that gait. A' the folk o' Brochtoun and Tweedsmuir,

and awa' ower by Clyde Water ken that there's no his match for rinnin'

and speelin' and shootin' wi' the musket; I'll find my way oot o' a hole

when a' body else 'ill bide in't. But fie on me to be blawin' my ain

trumpet at siccan a speed. But tak me wi' ye, and if I'm no a' I say,

ye can cry me for a gowk at the Cross o' Peebles."

Now I know not what possessed me, who am usually of a sober, prudent

nature, to listen to this man; but something in his brown, eager face

held me captive, and his powerful make filled me with admiration. He was

honest and kindly; I had had good evidence of both; and his bravery was

beyond doubting. I thought how such a man might be of use to me in a

foreign land, both as company and protection. I had taken a liking to

the fellow, and, with our family, such likings go for much.

Nevertheless, I was almost surprised at myself when I said:

"I like the look of you, Nicol Plenderleith, and am half-minded to take

you with me as my servant."

"I thank ye kindly, Laird. I kenned ye wad dae't. I cam to meet ye

here wi' my best claes for that very reason."

"You rascal," I cried, half laughing at his confidence, and half angry

at his audacity. "I've a good mind to leave you behind after all. You

talk as if you were master of all the countryside. But come along; we

will see if the landlord has not a more decent suit of clothes for your

back if you are going into my service. I will have no coughing,

catarrhy fellows about me."

"Hech," muttered my attendant, following, "ye micht as weel expect a

heron to get the cauld frae wadin' in the water, as Nicol Plenderleith.

Howbeit, your will be done, sir."

From the landlord at the inn I bought a suit of homespun clothes which,

by good fortune, fitted Nicol; and left his soaked garments as part

payment. Clad decently, he looked a great, stalwart man, though somewhat

bent in the back, and with a strange craning forward of the neck,

acquired, I think, from much wandering among hills. I hired a horse to

take him to Edinburgh, and the two of us rode out of the yard, followed

by the parting courtesies of the host.

Of our journey to Edinburgh, I have little else to tell. We came to the

town in the afternoon, and went through the streets to the port of

Leith, after leaving our horses at the place arranged for. I was

grieved to part from Maisie, for I had ridden her from boyhood, and she

had come to know my ways wondrous well. We found a vessel to sail the

next morn for Rotterdam, and bargained with the captain for our passage.

When all had been settled, and we had looked our fill upon the harbour

and the craft, and felt the salt of the sea on our lips, we betook

ourselves to an inn, _The Three Herrings_, which fronted the quay, and

there abode for the night.

BOOK II--THE LOW COUNTRIES

CHAPTER I

OF MY VOYAGE TO THE LOW COUNTRIES

We were aboard on the next morning by a little after daybreak, for the

captain had forewarned me, the night before, that he purposed to catch

the morning tide. To one inland-bred, the harbour of Leith was a sight

to whet the curiosity, There were vessels of all kinds and sizes,

little fishing smacks with brown, home-made sails, from Fife or the

Lothian coast towns, great sea-going ships, many with strange, foreign

names on their sides, and full of a great bustle of lading and unlading.

There was such a concourse of men, too, as made the place like a

continuous horse-fair. Half a dozen different tongues jabbered in my

ear, of which I knew not one word, save of the French, which I could

make a fair shape to speak, having learned it from Tam Todd, along with

much else of good and bad. There were men in red cowls like Ayrshire

weavers, and men in fur hats from the North, and dark-skinned fellows,

too, from the Indies, and all this motley crew would be running up and

down jabbering and shrilling like a pack of hounds. And every now and

then across the uproar would come the deep voice of a Scots skipper,

swearing and hectoring as if the world and all that is in it were his

peculiar possession.

But when we had cleared the Roads of Leith and were making fair way down

the firth, with a good north-westerly breeze behind us, then there was a

sight worth the seeing. For behind lay Leith, with its black masts and

tall houses, and at the back again, Edinburgh, with its castle looming

up grim and solemn, and further still, the Pentlands, ridged like a saw,

running far to the westward. In front I marked the low shore of Fife,

with the twin Lomonds, which you can see by climbing Caerdon, or Dollar

Law, or any one of the high Tweedside hills. The channel was as blue as

a summer sky, with a wintry clearness and a swell which was scarce great

enough to break into billows. The Kern, for so the vessel was called,

had all her sail set, and bounded gallantly on her way. It was a

cheerful sight, what with the sails filling to the wind, and men passing

hither and thither at work with the cordage, and the running seas

keeping pace with the vessel. The morning fires were being lit in the

little villages of Fife, and I could see the smoke curling upwards in a

haze from every bay and neuk.

But soon the firth was behind us, and we passed between the Bass rock

and the May, out into the open sea. This I scarcely found so much to my

liking. I was inland-bred, and somewhat delicate in my senses, so, soon

I came to loathe the odour of fish and cookery and sea-water, which was

everywhere in the vessel. Then the breeze increased to a stiff wind,

and the Kern leaped and rocked among great rolling billows. At first

the movement was almost pleasing, being like the motion of a horse's

gallop in a smooth field. And this leads me to think that if a boat

were but small enough, so as to be more proportionate to the body of

man, the rocking of it would be as pleasing as the rise and fall of a

horse's stride. But in a great, cumbrous ship, where man is but a

little creature, it soon grows wearisome. We stood well out to sea, so

I could but mark the bolder features of the land. Even these I soon

lost sight of, for the whole earth and air began to dance wofully before

my eyes. I felt a dreadful sinking, and a cold sweat began to break on

my brow. I had heard of the sea-sickness, but I could not believe that

it was this. This was something ten times worse, some deadly plague

which Heaven had sent to stay me on my wanderings.

I leaned over the side of the ship in a very disconsolate frame of mind.

If this was all I was to get on my journey, I had better have stayed at

home. I was landward-bred, and knew naught of boats, save one which Tam

Todd had made as a ferry across the Tweed, and which was indeed more

like a meal-chest than aught else. In it we were wont to paddle across

when we were fearful of wetting our shoon. But this rolling, boisterous

ship and turgid seas were strange to me, and I fear I fell monstrous

sick.

Nicol Plenderleith had disappeared almost as soon as he came aboard, and

I saw him deep in converse with the sailors. When we had cleared the

Forth he came back to me, as I leaned disconsolately against the

bulwarks, and asked me how I did. His lean, brown face was not a whit

changed by the rocking of the ship; indeed, if he had been astraddle the

Saddleback in a gale he would not have been perturbed. When he saw my

plight he ran below and brought brandy.

"Here, sir, tak some o' this. It's tasty at a' times, but it's mair

than tasty the noo, it's halesome."

"Nicol," I groaned, "if I never gee home again, I look to you to tell

the folk in Tweeddale. It's terrible to die here of this villainous

sickness, for I shall certainly die if it continues. Will it never

cease?"

"I've been speirin' at the captain and by a' accounts we're no at the

warst o't. He says it's juist like the backs o' Leith. If ye win by

the Fisherraw ye'll meet your death i' the Kettle Wynd, and, if by any

chance ye're no killed there, ye'll be dune for i' the Walk. He was

speaking o' the stinks o' the place and no the folk, for they're

peaceable eneuch, puir bodies. 'Weel,' says he, 'it's the same here.

It's ill for some folk to win by the Forth, but it's waur i' the open

sea, and when it comes to the Dutch waters, it's fair awfu'.' I wis,

Laird, ye maunna dee."

This was poor consolation, and had I not formed some guess of my

servant's manners, I should have been downhearted enough; but there was

a roguish twinkle in his eye, and, even as he spoke, his mouth broadened

to a grin. I heard him humming the lines of an old ditty which I

supposed to have some reference to my state:

Tam o' the Linn and a' his bairns

Fell into the fire in ilk ither's airms.

"Eh," quoth the binmost, "I have a het skin."

"It's hetter below," quo' Tam o' the Linn.

But, sure enough, the captain's prophecy did not come true. For in a

little the waves grew calmer, and my sickness left me. 'Tis true that

soon we entered troubled waters once more, but I was fortified with

experience, and some measure of brandy, and so could laugh defiance at

the powers of the sea.

The wind throughout our course was fair in our favour, so we made the

journey in shorter time than I had dared to hope for. On the morning of

the third day a dense mist shut us in so that the captain was much

confused and angered. But on the wind's rising, the fog rolled back,

and we went on our way once more. Early in the afternoon we sighted the

mouth of the Maas, and the tall lines of shipping which told of the

entrance to Rotterdam. You may imagine that all this was very strange

to me, I who had lived only among hills and rough woods, and had seen

the sea but once, and that afar off. 'Twas a perpetual wonder to me to

see the great sails moved up and down according to the airt of the wind,

and the little helm guiding the great ship. As I have said, I soon got

over all sickness, and was as hale as ever, so that on the last two days

of the voyage I ever look back as upon a time of great pleasure.

But if my wonder was great in the open seas, 'twas still greater once we

had entered the Dutch river. It was all so unlike my own land that the

home-sickness which travellers tell of had almost taken hold of me.

There were all manner of ships--some little coasting vessels, others,

huge merchantmen which brought home the wares of the Indies and the

Americas. There was such a jabbering, too, in Dutch, of which tongue I

knew naught, that I longed to hear one good, intelligible word of Scots,

for which cause I kept my servant near me. By and by we neared the

quay, and saw the merchants' great red storehouses standing in long

line, and the streets of the city running back from the river. Here we

came to an anchor. Our journey was over, and I had to bid farewell to

captain and vessel and go ashore.

It is not to be expected that I should seek to describe what is known to

nigh everyone in these days when a man thinks nothing of crossing to

France or Holland on any pretext or in any weather. From such,

therefore, by word of mouth let he who desires it seek information; for

myself, I have enough to do to write down the main acts of my life.

One thing I noted--that the air was somewhat soft and damp, lacking, to

my mind, the acrid strength of the air of Tweeddale, or even of the

Lothians. But all the streets were clean swept and orderly; the folk

well-groomed and well-looking; and the trees by the riverside gave a

pleasant surprise to one accustomed to the grim, grey, narrow streets of

the North. I made my way by the help of an inquisitive Scots tongue and

the French language to a decent hostelry in the Grooce Markt just

opposite the statue (but lately erected) of the great Erasmus. This

pleased me much, for to be near even the poor bronze figure of so great

a man seemed to lend to the place an air of learning. I employed myself

profitably in reading the Latin inscriptions; the others I could make no

more of than the rudest ploughboy in Scotland.

Both Nicol and I were up betimes in the morning, that we might get the

coach for Leyden, which started almost from the door of our inn. I

solemnly set down my testimony that the ale in that same house is the

most villainous in the world, for it made us both dismal and oppressed,

a trouble which did not leave us till we had taken our seats in the

diligence and the horses were starting.

Of the events of that day's journey how shall I tell? Leyden is a day's

length from Rotterdam to the north, through a land flat as a

girdle-cake. The horses were lumbering, sleepy brutes, and the driver

scarce any better, for every now and again he would let them come to the

walk for long distances, and then, suddenly awaking to the fact that he

must get to his destination before night, get up and shout wildly, and

feebly flick their backs with his whip. I had much ado to keep Nicol

from trying to take the reins from his hands, and, certainly, if that

firebrand had once taken them, we should have awakened the quiet

countryside, and, God helping us, might even have awakened the driver.

I knew nothing of the country, and heard but vaguely the names shouted

out by the guard of the coach; yet, somehow or other, the name of

Ryswick clung to my memory, and I remembered it well when, long after,

at that place the treaty was signed which closed the war. But at that

time the great duke was plain Master Churchill, and there was no thought

of war between our land and France. The place was so new to my eyes

that I rebelled against its persistent flatness and dull, dead

water-courses; but soon I came to acknowledge a kind of prettiness in

it, though 'twas of a kind far removed from the wild loveliness of

Tweedside. The well-ordered strips of trees, the poplars like sentinels

around the homesteads, the red-roofed homesteads themselves, with their

ricks and stables, had a homely and habitable look, and such of the folk

as we saw by the roadside were as sleek and stolid as their land. I

could not think of the place as a nursery of high and heroical virtues,

but rather of the minor moralities of good-sense and good-nature.

It was late in the afternoon when we came to Leyden, and rattled down

the rough street to the market-place, which was the stopping-place of

the coach. This was a town more comely and conformable to my eye than

the greater city of Rotterdam. For here the streets were not so even,

the houses not so trim, and the whole showing a greater semblance of

age. There were many streams and canals crossed by broad, low bridges.

It was a time of great mildness, for the season of the year. The place

had all that air of battered age and historic worth which I have

observed in our own city of Edinburgh. Even as I looked on it my mind

was full of memories of that terrible siege, when the folk of Leyden

held out so stoutly against the black Spaniards, till their king

overthrew the dykes and saved the town by flooding the land.

It was my first concern to secure lodgings, since I purposed to spend no

little portion of my time here for the next two years; and, as I had

been directed by my kinsman, Dr. Gilbert Burnet, I sought the house of

one Cornelius Vanderdecker, who abode in a little alley off the

Breedestraat. Arrived there, I found that the said Cornelius had been

in a better world for some fifteen months, but that his widow, a

tranquil Dutchwoman, with a temper as long as a Dutch canal, was most

willing to lodge me and treat me to the best which the house could

afford. We speedily made a bargain in bad French, and Nicol and I were

installed in rooms in the back part of the house, overlooking a long

garden, which ended in one of the streams of water which I have spoken

of. It was somewhat desolate at that time, but I could see that in

summer, when the straight trees were in leaf, the trim flower-beds and

the close-cropped lawn would make the place exceeding pretty. I was

glad of it, for I am country-bred and dearly do I love greenery and the

sight of flowers.

I delayed till the next morning, when I had got the soil of travel from

my clothes and myself once more into some semblance of sprightliness,

ere I went to the college to present my letters and begin my schooling.

So after the morning meal, I attired myself in befitting dress and put

Nicol into raiment suiting his rank and company; and set out with a

light heart to that great and imposing institution, which has been the

star of Europe in philosophy and all other matters of learning. I own

that it was with feelings of some trepidation that I approached the

place. Here had dwelt Grotius and Salmasius and the incomparable

Scaliger. Here they had studied and written their immortal books; the

very place was still redolent of their memories. Here, too, unless my

memory deceived me, had dwelt the Frenchman, Renatus Descartes, who had

first opened a way for me from the chaos of the schoolmen to the

rectitude of true philosophy. I scarcely dared to enroll my unworthy

name in the halls of such illustrious spirits. But I thought on my name

and race, and plucked up heart thereupon to knock stoutly at the gates.

A short, stout man opened to me, clad in a porter's gown, not unlike the

bedellus in the far-away college of Glasgow, but carrying in his hand a

black staff, and at his belt a large bunch of keys. It came upon me to

address him in French, but remembering that this was a place of

learning, I concluded that Latin was the more fitting tongue, so in

Latin I spoke.

"I am a stranger," I said, "from Scotland, bearing letters for Master

Sandvoort and Master Quellinus of this place. I pray you to see if they

can grant me an audience."

He faced round sharply, as if this were the most ordinary errand in his

life, and went limping across the inner courtyard till he disappeared

from view behind a massive column. He returned shortly and delivered

his message in a very tolerable imitation of the language of Caesar.

"Their worships, Master Sandvoort and Master Quellinus, are free from

business for the present, and will see you in their chambers." So

bidding Nicol stay in the courtyard, lest he should shame me before

these grave seniors (though 'twas unlikely enough, seeing they knew no

Scots), I followed the hobbling porter through the broad quadrangle, up

a long staircase adorned with many statues set in niches in the wall, to

a landing whence opened many doors. At one of them my guide knocked

softly, and a harsh voice bade us enter. "This is Master Sandvoort," he

whispered in my ear, "and I trust he be not in one of his tantrums. See

ye speak him fair, sir."

I found myself in a high-panelled room, filled with books, and with a

table in front of a fireplace, whereat a man sat writing. He wore a

skullcap of purple velvet, and the ordinary black gown of the doctor.

His face was thin and hard, with lines across the brow and the heaviness

below the eye which all have who study overmuch. His hair was turning

to grey, but his short, pointed beard was still black. He had very

shaggy eyebrows, under which his sharp eyes shone like the points of a

needle. Such was Master Herman Sandvoort, professor of the Latin

language in the ancient college of Leyden.

His first question to me was in the Latin.

"What tongue do you speak?"

I answered that I was conversant with the English, the French, and the

Latin.

"Your letters, pray," he asked in French, and I took them from my pocket

and gave them to him.

"Ah," he cried, reading aloud, "you desire to study in this university,

and improve your acquaintance with certain branches of letters and

philosophy. So be it. My fee is five crowns for attendance at my

lectures. I will not abate one tittle of it. I will have no more poor

students come cringing and begging to be let off with two. So

understand my terms, Master Burnette."

I was both angry and surprised. Who was this man to address me thus?

"I pray you to finish the letter," I said curtly.

He read on for a little while, then he lifted his head and looked at me

with so comical an expression that I had almost laughed. Before, his

face had been greedy and cold; now it was worse, for the greed was still

there, but the coldness had vanished and left in its place a sickly look

of servility.

"Pardon me, pardon me, good Master Burnette; I was in a great mistake.

I had thought that you were some commoner from the North, and, God

knows, we have plenty of them. I pray you forget my words. The college

is most honoured by your presence, the nephew, or is it the son, of the

famous Doctor Burnette. Ah, where were my eyes--the lord of much land,

so says the letter, in the valley of the Tweed. Be sure, sir, that you

can command all the poor learning that I have at my disposal. And if

you have not already found lodging, why if you will come to my house, my

wife and daughters will welcome you."

I thanked him coldly for his invitation, but refused it on the ground

that I had already found an abode. Indeed, I had no wish to form the

acquaintance of Vrow Sandvoort and her estimable daughters. He gave me

much information about the hours of the lectures, the subjects which he

proposed to treat of, and the method of treatment; nor would he let me

depart before I had promised to dine at his house.

Outside the door I found the porter waiting for me. He led me across

the hall to another door, the room of Master Quellinus, the professor of

Greek.

Here I found a different reception. A rosy-cheeked little man, with a

paunch as great as a well-fed ox, was sitting on a high chair, so that

his feet barely touched the ground. He was whistling some ditty, and

busily mending his finger-nails with a little knife.

"Why, whom have we here?" he cries out, when he saw me; "another

scholar, and a great one. Why, man, what do you at the trade, when you

might be carrying a musket or leading a troop of pikemen?"

I was tempted to answer him in his own way.

"And what do you," I asked, "at the trade, when you might be the chief

cook to the French king, with power to poison the whole nobility?"

He laughed long and loudly. "Ah, you have me there, more's the pity.

But what though I love my dinner? Did not Jacob the patriarch, and

Esau, the mighty Esau, though I have little credit by the ensample? But

come, tell me your name, for I begin to love thee. You have a shrewd

wit, and a pleasing presence. You may go far."

I gave him my letters, and when he had read them, he came down from his

perch and shook me by the hand.

"You are a Scot," he said. "I never knew any Scot but one, and he was

hanged on a tree for robbing the Burgomaster's coach. I was a lad at

school, and I mind me 'twas rare sport. So I have a kindly feeling for

your nation, though may God send you a better fate than that one. But

what do you seek to learn? Greek? Faugh, there is no Greek worth a

straw, save Anacreon, and he is not a patch upon our moderns, on

Francois Villon of Paris, whose soul God rest, and our brave Desportes.

Philosophy? Bah! 'Tis all a monstrous fraud. I have sounded all the

depths of it, and found them but shallows. Theology? Tush! You will

learn more theology in an inn in the Morschstraat than in all the

schools. Such are my beliefs. But God has compelled me for my sins to

teach the Hellenic tongue to a perverse generation at the small sum of

five crowns. We study the Republic of Plato, and I trust you may find

some profit. You will dine with me. Nay, I will take no denial.

To-night, in my house, I will show you how a quail should be dressed. I

have the very devil of a cook, a man who could dress a dry goatskin to

your taste. And wine! I have the best that ever came from the

Rhineside and escaped the maw of a swinish Teuton. You will come?"

I could only escape by promising, which I did with a good grace, for if

there was little profit in Master Quellinus's company, there was much

pleasure.

CHAPTER II

I VISIT MASTER PETER WISHART

The life at the college of Leyden was the most curious that one could

well conceive; yet ere I had been there a week, I had begun heartily to

like it. The students were drawn from the four corners of Europe:

Swedes, great men with shaggy beards and invincible courage; neat-coated

Germans, Dutchmen by the score, and not a few Frenchmen, who were the

dandies of the place. We all gathered of a morning in the dusky

lecture-hall, where hung the portraits of the great scholars of the

past, and where in the cobwebbed rafters there abode such a weight of

dust that a breeze coming through the high windows would stir it and

make the place all but dark. Nor had I fault to find with the worthy

professors, for I found soon that Master Sandvoort, though a miserly

churl, had vast store of Latin, and would expound the works of Cornelius

Tacitus in a fashion which I could not sufficiently admire. His

colleague, too, who was the best of good fellows in the seclusion of his

house, in his lecture-room was dignified and severe in deportment. You

never saw such a change in a man. I went on the first morning expecting

to find little but buffoonery; and lo! to my surprise, in walks my

gentleman in a stately gown, holding his head like an archduke's; and

when he began to speak, it was with the gravest accents of precision.

And I roundly affirm that no man ever made more good matter come out of

Plato. He would show wherein he erred and wherein he was wiser than

those who sought to refute him; he would weigh with the nicest judgment

the _variae lectiones_ on each passage; and he would illustrate all

things with the choicest citations. In truth, I got a great wealth of

good scholarship and sound philosophy from my squire of bottle and

pasty.

I was not the only Scot in Leyden, as I soon discovered; for forbye that

I had letters to Master Peter Wishart, who taught philosophy in the

college, there abode in the town Sir James Dalrymple, afterwards my Lord

Stair, the great lawyer, and sometime a professor in my old college,

whose nephew I had so cruelly beaten before I bade farewell to Glasgow.

He was a man of a grave deportment, somewhat bent with study, and with

the look of exceeding weight on his face which comes to one who has

shared the counsel of princes. There were also not a few Scots lords of

lesser fame and lesser fortune, pensioners, many of them, on a foreign

king, exiles from home for good and evil causes. As one went down the

Breedestraat of a morning he could hear much broad Scots spoke on the

causeway, and find many fellow-countrymen in a state ill-befitting their

rank. For poverty was ever the curse of our nation, and I found it

bitter to see ignoble Flemings and Dutch burghers flaunting in their

finery, while our poor gentlemen were threadbare. And these folk, too,

were the noblest in the land, bearing the proudest names, descendants of

warriors and statesmen--Halketts of Pitfirran, Prestons of Gorton,

Stewarts, Hays, Sinclairs, Douglases, Hamiltons, and Grahams. It was

their fathers and grandfathers who had won the day at Rijnemants, under

Sir Robert Stuart, when, says Strada, "Nudi pugnant Scoti multi." They

had fought to the death on the Kowenstyn dyke when Parma beleaguered

Antwerp. And in all the later wars they took their share--Scotts of

Buccleuch, Haigs of Bemersyde, Erskines, Grants, and Kilpatricks. In

the Scots brigade in Holland had served John Graham of Claverhouse, as

some will have it, the greatest soldier of our age. I saw nothing of

him, for while I was in the Low Lands he was already riding in the

western hills, shooting and hanging and dealing martial law to herds and

weavers. But I saw often the gallant figure of that Colonel Hugh Mackay

who met Claverhouse in that last and awful fight in the Highland pass

when the mountaineers swept on the lowlanders like a winter storm, and

who marched to his death long after on the field of Steinkirk, and fell

with the words on his lips, "The will of the Lord be done." This

valiant soldier had made the Scots brigade into some semblance of that

doughty regiment which Lord Reay commanded under the great Gustavus. He

had driven out all the foreign admixture, and, by keeping it to Scotsmen

of gentle blood, rendered it well-nigh invincible. But the pay was

poor, and they who entered it did so for the sake of honour and for no

notions of gain.

But though it cheers me yet to tell of such fellows, and though it

pleased me vastly to meet them in that distant land, it is not of such

that I must write. As I have said, forbye attending the two classes of

Greek and Latin, I resorted to the lectures of Master Wishart, who

hailed from Fife, and had taught philosophy with much success among the

Hollanders for some twenty years. He was well acquainted with my

family, so what does he do but bid me to his house at Alphen one

Saturday in the front of March. For he did not abide in Leyden, never

having loved the ways of a town, but in the little village of Alphen,

some seven miles to the northeast.

I accepted his bidding, for I had come there for no other cause than to

meet and converse with men of learning and wisdom; so I bade Nicol have

ready the two horses, which I had bought, at eleven o'clock in the

forenoon. One of the twain was a bay mare, delicately stepping, with

white pasterns and a patch of white on her forehead. The other was the

heavier, reserved for Nicol and what baggage I might seek to carry,

black and deep-chested, and more sedate than his comrade.

It was a clear, mild day when we set out, with no trace of frost, and

but little cold. The roads were dry underfoot, and the horses stepped

merrily, for they were fresh from long living indoors. The fields on

either side were still bleak, but the sowers were abroad, scattering the

seeds of the future harvest. The waters that we passed were alive with

wild-fowl, which had wintered in the sea-marshes, and were now coming up

to breed among the flags and rushes of the inland lakes. The tender

green was sprouting on the trees, the early lark sang above the furrows,

and the whole earth was full of the earnest of spring.

Alphen is a straggling line of houses by a canal. They are all well

sized, and even with some pretension to gentility, with long gardens

sloping to the water, and shady coverts of trees. Master Wishart's

stood in the extreme end, apart from the rest, low-built, with a doorway

with stuccoed pilasters. It was a place very pleasant to look upon, and

save for its flatness, I could have found it in my heart to choose it

for a habitation. But I am hill-bred, and must have rough, craggy land

near me, else I weary of the finest dwelling. Master Wishart dwelt

here, since he had ever a passion for the growing of rare flowers, and

could indulge it better here than in the town of Leyden. He was used to

drive in every second day in his great coach, for he lectured but three

times a week.

A serving-man took my horse from me, and, along with Nicol, led them to

the stable, having directed me where, in the garden, I should find my

host. I opened a gate in a quickset hedge, and entered upon the most

beautiful pleasure-ground that I had ever beheld. A wide, well-ordered

lawn stretched straitly down to the very brink of the canal, and though,

as was natural at that season of the year, the grass had not come to its

proper greenness, yet it gave promise of great smoothness and verdure.

To the side of this, again, there ran a belt of low wood, between which

and the house was a green all laid out into flower beds, bright even at

that early time with hyacinths and jonquils. Below this the low wood

began again, and continued to the borders of the garden, full of the

most delightsome alleys and shady walks. From one of these I heard

voices, and going in that direction, I came of a sudden to a handsome

arbour, at the side of which flowered the winter-jasmine, and around the

door of which, so mild was the day, some half-dozen men were sitting.

My host, Master Wishart, was a short, spare man, with a long face

adorned with a well-trimmed beard. He had the most monstrous heavy brows

that I have ever seen, greater even than those of our Master Sandeman,

of whom the students were wont to say that his eyebrows were

heather-besoms. His eyes twinkled merrily when he spoke, and but for

his great forehead no one might have guessed that he stood in the

presence of one of the most noted of our schoolmen.

He rose and greeted me heartily, bidding me all welcome to Alphen,

saying that he loved to see the sight of a Scots face, for was he not an

exile here like the Jews by the waters of Babylon? "This is Master John

Burnet of Barns," said he, presenting me to a very grave and comely man

some ten years my senior, "who has come all the way from Tweedside to

drink at our Pierian Spring." The other greeted me, looked kindly at me

for a second, and then asked me some question of my family; and finding

that a second cousin of his own on his mother's side had once married

one of my race, immediately became very gracious, and condescended to

tell me his opinions of the land, which were none so good. He was, as I

did not know till later, Sir William Crichtoun of Bourhope; that Sir

William who in after times was slain in the rout at Cromdale when the

forces of Buchan and Cannon were caught unawares on the hillside.

I had leisure now to look around me at the others, and a motley group

they were. There was Quentin Markelboch, the famous physician of

Leyden, who had been pointed out to me in the street some days before, a

little, round-bellied man with an eye of wondrous shrewdness. There was

likewise Master Jardinius, who had lectured on philosophy at one time in

the college, but had now grown too old for aught save sitting in the sun

and drinking Schiedam--which, as some said, was no great pity. But the

one I most marked was a little, fiery-eyed, nervous man, Pieter van

Mieris by name, own cousin to the painter, and one who lived for nothing

else than to fight abstruse metaphysical quarrels in defence of

religion, which he believed to be in great peril from men of learning,

and, but for his exertions on its behalf, to be unable to exist. It was

he who first addressed me.

"I have heard that the true religion is wondrous pure in your land,

Master Burnet, and that men yet worship God in simple fashion, and

believe in Him without subtleties. Is that so, may I beg of you to tell

me?"

"Ay," I answered, "doubtless they do, when they worship Him at all."

"Then the most pernicious heresy of the pervert Arminius has not yet

penetrated to your shores, I trust, nor Pelagianism, which, of old, was

the devil's wile for simple souls?"

"I have never heard of their names," I answered bluntly. "We folk in

Scotland keep to our own ways, and like little to import aught foreign,

be it heresy or strong ale."

"Then," said my inquisitor triumphantly, "you are not yet tainted with

that most vile and pernicious heresy of all, with which one Baruch

Spinoza, of accursed memory, has tainted this land?"

I roused myself at the name, for this was one I had heard often within

the past few weeks, and I had a great desire to find out for myself the

truth of his philosophy.

"I am ashamed to confess," I said, "that I have read none of his

writings, that I scarcely know his name. But I would be enlightened in

the matter."

"Far be it from me," said the little man earnestly, "to corrupt the

heart of any man with so pernicious a doctrine. Rather close thy cars,

young man, when you hear anyone speak his name, and pray to God to keep

you from danger. 'Tis the falsest admixture of the Jewish heresy with

the scum of ancient philosophy, the vain imaginings of man stirred up by

the Evil One. The man who made it is dead, and gone to his account, but

I would that the worthy magistrates had seen fit to gibbet him for a

warning to all the fickle and light-minded. Faugh, I cannot bear to

pollute my mouth with his name."

And here a new voice spoke.

"The man of whom you speak was so great that little minds are unable to

comprehend him. He is dead, and has doubtless long since learned the

truth which he sought so earnestly in life. I am a stranger, and I

little thought to hear any Hollander speak ill of Baruch Spinoza, for

though God, in his mercy, has given many good gifts to this land, He has

never given a greater than him. I am no follower of his, as they who

know me will bear witness, but I firmly believe that when men have grown

wiser and see more clearly, his name will shine as one of the lights of

our time, brighter, may be, even than the great Cartesius."

The speaker was but newly come, and had been talking with my host when

he heard the declamation of Master van Mieris. I turned to look at him

and found a tall, comely man, delicately featured, but with a chin as

grim as a marshal's. He stood amid the crowd of us with such an easy

carriage of dignity and breeding that one and all looked at him in

admiration. His broad, high brow was marked with many lines, as if he

had schemed and meditated much. He was dressed in the pink of the

fashion, and in his gestures and tones I fancied I discerned something

courtier-like, as of a man who had travelled and seen much of courts and

kingships. He spoke so modestly, and withal so wisely, that the unhappy

Pieter looked wofully crestfallen, and would not utter another word.

A minute later, finding Master Wishart at hand, I plucked him by the

sleeve.

"Tell me, who is that man there, the one who spoke?"

"Ah," said he, "you do not know him, perhaps you do not know his name;

but be sure that when you are old you will look back upon this day with

pleasure, and thank Providence for bringing you within sight of such a

man. That is the great Gottfried Leibnitz, who has been dwelling for a

short space in London, and now goes to Hanover as Duke Frederick's

councillor."

But just at this moment all thoughts of philosophy and philosophers were

banished from my mind by the sudden arrival of a new guest. This was no

other than the worthy professor of Greek, Master Quellinus, who came in

arrayed in the coarsest clothes, with a gigantic basket suspended over

his shoulders by a strap, and a rod like a weaver's beam in his hand. In

truth the little man presented a curious sight. For the great rod would

not stay balanced on his shoulders, but must ever slip upward and

seriously endanger the equipoise of its owner. His boots were very wide

and splashed with mud, and round the broad-brimmed hat which he wore I

discerned many lengths of horsehair. My heart warmed to the man, for I

perceived he was a fellow-fisherman, and, in that strange place, it was

the next best thing to being a fellow Scot.

He greeted us with great joviality. "A good day to you, my masters," he

cried; "and God send you the ease which you love. Here have I been

bearing the heat and burden of the day, all in order that lazy folk

should have carp to eat when they wish it. Gad, I am tired and wet and

dirty, this last beyond expression. For Heaven's sake, Master Wishart,

take me where I may clean myself."

The host led the fisherman away, and soon he returned, spruce and

smiling once more. He sat down heavily on a seat beside me. "Now,

Master Burnet," says he, "you must not think it unworthy of a learned

Grecian to follow the sport of the angle, for did not the most famous of

their writers praise it, not to speak of the example of the Apostles?"

I tried hard to think if this were true.

"Homer, at any rate," I urged, "had no great opinion of fish and their

catchers, though that was the worse for Homer, for I am an angler

myself, and can understand your likings."

"Then I will have your hand on it," said he, "and may Homer go to the

devil. But Theocritus and Oppian, ay, even Plato, mention it without

disrespect, and does not Horace himself say 'Piscemur'? Surely we have

authority."

But this was all the taste I had of my preceptor's conversation, for he

had been walking all day in miry ways, and his limbs were tired: nor was

I surprised to see his head soon sink forward on his breast; and in a

trice he was sleeping the sleep of the just and labouring man.

And now we were joined by a newcomer, no less than Mistress Kate

Wishart, as pretty a lass as you will see in a day's journey. She had

been nurtured by her father amid an aroma of learning, and, truly, for a

maid, she was wondrous learned, and would dispute and cite instances

with a fine grace and a skill which astonished all. To me, who am

country-bred and a trifle over-fastidious, she seemed a thought pedantic

and proud of her knowledge; but what is hateful in a hard-featured woman

is to be pardoned in a fresh lass. Her father brought me to her and

presented me, which she acknowledged with a courtsey which became her

mightily; but I spoke not two words to her, for the old man led me away

down one of the alleys among the trees.

"Kate'll look after thae auld dotterels," said he, speaking in the

broadest Scots; "I brocht her out that I micht get a word wi' ye my

lane, for I'm fair deein' for news frae the auld country. First of a',

how is Saunders Blackett at Peebles? Him and me were aince weel

acquant." And when I had told him, he ran off into a string of

inquiries about many folk whom I knew, and whom he once had known, which

I answered according to my ability.

"And now," he says, "I've bidden twa-three o' the officers o' the Scots

brigade to supper the nicht, so ye'll see some guid Scots physiogs after

thae fosy Dutchmen. Ye'll maybe ken some o' them."

I thanked him for his consideration, and after I had answered his many

questions, we returned to the others, whom I found busily arguing some

point in divinity, with Mistress Kate very disgusted in their midst.

"Gang intil the house wi' my dochter, John," said Master Wishart, and,

giving her my arm, I did as I was bid, while the others straggled after

in twos and threes.

CHAPTER III

THE STORY OF A SUPPER PARTY

My first thought on entering the supper-room was one of amazement. The

owner of the house, whom I had taken to be a man of simple tastes, here

proved himself to be a very Caliph for magnificence. Many choice

paintings looked down at us from the sides, richly framed, and fitting

into recesses in the panelled walls. The floor was laid with

bright-dyed rugs and carpets of Venetian stuff, and the chairs and

couches were of finely carven wood. The whole was lit with a long line

of waxen candles in silver sconces, which disputed the sovereignty with

the departing daylight. But the choicest sight was the table which was

laden, nay heaped, with rich dishes and rare meats, while in the glass

and metal flagons the wine danced and flamed. I was of country-bred

habits, and the display at first all but took the breath from me; indeed

it was not a little time ere I could take my eyes from it and turn them

on the assembled guests.

Those who had not been present in the garden were gathered at the lower

end of the room, whither the master of the place betook himself to greet

them. I marked two or three of the burgher folk by their dress and

well-filled bellies, contrasting strangely with the lean figure of a

minister who stood among them clothed in some decent, dark stuff, and

wearing white bands ostentatiously. There were also some of the

officers in the Scots regiment, at least of that portion of it which was

then lying at Leyden. Their dress was sober compared with the richness

of such soldiery as I had seen in my own land, but against the attire of

the citizens, it was gaudiness itself.

I found myself sitting close to the head of the table, on the right hand

of my host, betwixt a portly doctor of laws and my worthy Master

Quellinus. This latter was now all but recovered from his fatigue,

having slept soundly in the arbour. He was in a high good humour at the

sight of the many varied dishes before him, and cried out their merits

to me in a loud, excited tone, which made my cheeks burn. "There," he

cried, "there is the dish I love above all others. 'Tis hashed venison

with young herbs, and sour wine for a relish. Ah, I have already

enjoyed it in anticipation. In a few seconds I shall have enjoyed it in

reality. Therefore I argue I have gained two pleasures from it, whereas

men of no imagination have but one. And, God bless my eyes! do I see a

plate of stewed eels over there before that thick man in the brown coat?

Gad! I fear he will devour them all himself, for he looks to have

capacity and judgment. Plague take him, I am in a very torment of

anxiety. Prithee, my good John, seek out a servant and bid him bring it

over here." I know not how far he might have gone, had not all talking

been put an end to by the minister arising and saying a lengthy Latin

grace. In the midst of it I stole a glance at my neighbour, and his

face wore so comical an expression of mingled disgust and eagerness that

I could scarcely refrain from laughing. But all did not conduct

themselves so well, for there was a great disputation going on among

some of the regiment which much hindered the effect of the minister's

Latin. Indeed, I believe had he spoken another dozen words, the patience

of some would have gone altogether.

"Now," said Master Wishart from the head of the table, "I trust,

gentlemen, that ye may find the entertainment to your liking. Fall to

heartily, for this weather gives a keen edge to the appetite. _Occupet

extremum scabies_, as Horatius hath it; which being translated into the

vulgar idiom is 'Deil tak the hin-most.' Know you that proverb, John?

Come, Master Quellinus, set to, man, ye've had a serious day's work, and

our fleshly tabernacles will not subsist on nothing," adding in an

undertone to me, "though it's little pressing ye need, for to press ye

to eat is like giving a shog to a cairt that's fa'in ower the Castle

Rock."

I paid little heed to Master Quellinus's conversation, which ran chiefly

on viands, or to that of my left-hand neighbour, whose mouth was too

full for words. But I found great entertainment in watching the faces

and listening to the speech of some of the other guests. The table was

wide and the light dim, so that I had much ado to make out clearly those

opposite me. I marked Mistress Kate, very daintily dressed, talking

gaily to some one at her side.

"Well, to tell you the truth, my dear Mistress Kate, this land of yours

is not very much to my liking. To be sure a soldier is contented

wherever his duty calls him, but there is no fighting to be done, and

the sport is not what I have found it elsewhere. I am in such a

devilish strict place that, Gad, I cannot have a game with a fat citizen

without having to listen to a rigmarole of half an hour's duration on

the next morning. There is so much psalm-singing in the place that an

honest gentleman can scarcely raise a merry song without having his

voice stopped by half a dozen sour-faced knaves. 'Faith, I wish I were

back in my own land, where there is some work for a cavalier. There is

but one thing that I should except," and he bowed low to his neighbour,

"the women, who are as beautiful as the men-folk are hideous. Though,

in truth, I believe that the most lovely of them all is a countrywoman

of my own"; and again he made her a fine bow.

The voice and the tone were strangely familiar, but for the life of me,

I could not give them a name. I could only note that the man was a big,

squarely-made fellow, and that he seemed to be in a mind to make love to

his host's daughter. She made some blushing reply to his compliments,

and then, as luck would have it, a servant set a light between us, and

the faces of both were revealed clearly to me.

I sat bolt upright in my chair with sheer astonishment. For there,

dressed in the habiliments of the Scots regiment, and bearing himself

with all his old braggadocio, sat my cousin Gilbert.

Then I remembered how I had heard that he had gone abroad to some

foreign service, partly to escape the consequences of some scrapes into

which he had fallen, partly to get rid of his many debts. And here he

was, coming to the one place in Europe to which I had chosen to go, and

meeting me at the one table which I had chosen to frequent. In that

moment I felt as if the man before me were bound up in some sinister way

with my own life.

Almost at the same instant he turned his eyes upon me, and we stared in

each other's face. I saw him start, bend his head toward his companion

and ask some question. I judged it to be some query about my name and

doings, for the next moment he looked over to me and accosted me with a

great semblance of hilarity.

"What," he cries. "Do I see my cousin John? I had not dared to hope for

such a welcome meeting. How came you here?" And he asked me a string of

questions.

I answered shortly and with no great cordiality, for I still remembered

the doings in Tweeddale, and my heart was still sore in the matter of my

father's death. Forbye this, Gilbert spoke with not a little covert

scorn in his tone, which I, who knew his ways well, was not slow to

detect. It nettled me to think that I was once more to be made to

endure the pleasantries of my cousin.

"And how goes all in Tweeddale, my dear cousin?" said he. "I condole

with you on your father's death. Ah, he was a good man indeed, and

there are few like him nowadays. And how does Tam Todd, my friend, who

has such a thick skull and merciless arm? And ah, I forgot! Pray

forgive my neglect. How is fair Mistress Marjory, the coy maid who would

have none of my courtesies?"

The amazing impudence of the fellow staggered me. It almost passed

belief that he should speak thus of my father whose death had lain so

heavily at his door. This I might have pardoned; but that at a public

table he should talk thus of my love irritated me beyond measure. I

acted as I do always when thus angered: I gave him a short answer and

fell into a state of moody disquietude.

Meanwhile my cousin, with all the gallantry in the world, kept

whispering his flatteries into the pretty ears of Mistress Kate. This

was ever Gilbert's way. He would make love to every tavern wench and

kiss every village lass on his course. 'Twas a thing I never could do.

I take no credit for the omission, for it is but the way God makes a

man. Whenever I felt in the way to trying it, there was always

Marjory's face to come before my eyes and make me think shame of myself.

As I sat and watched these twain I had no eyes for any other. The very

sight of Gilbert brought back to me all my boyhood in Tweedside, and a

crowd of memories came surging in upon me. I fancied, too, that there

was something of Marjory in the little graceful head at my cousin's

elbow, and the musical, quick speech. I felt wretchedly jealous of him,

God knows why; for the sight of him revived any old fragments which had

long lain lurking in the corners of my mind; and as he chatted gaily to

the woman at his side, I had mind of that evening at Barns when I, just

returned from Glasgow college, first felt the lust of possession. I sat

and moodily sipped my wine. Why had I ever left my own land and

suffered my lady to be exposed to manifold perils? for with the first

dawnings of jealousy and anger came a gnawing anxiety. I had never felt

such a sickness for home before, and I cursed the man who had come to

ruin my peace of mind. Yet my feeling toward my cousin was not that of

hatred; indeed I could not refrain from a certain pity for the man, for

I discerned in him much noble quality, and was he not of my own blood?

"Come now," I heard Mistress Kate simper, "I do not believe that tale of

anyone, and above all, of him; for a soberer does not live. Fie, fie,

Master Gilbert, I took you for a more generous man."

"On my faith, my dear, it is true," replied my cousin. "For all his

docile looks, he is as fond of a game as the rest of us."

Now I guessed that my frolicsome cousin had been traducing me to the

fair Kate, and I grew not a little hot. But his next word changed my

heat into fierce anger. For my cousin continued:

"What saith the Latin poet?" and he quoted a couplet from Martial--a

jest at the usual amusements of the seemingly decent man.

I know not where he had got hold of it, for he was no scholar; but it

was full of the exceeding grossness which is scarcely to be found

outside that poet. He thought, I could guess, that the girl understood

no Latin, but, as I knew, she had a special proficiency in that tongue.

She understood the jest only too well. A deep blush grew over her face

from her delicate throat to the very borders of her hair. 'Twas just in

such a way that Marjory had looked when I first told her my love; 'twas

in such a fashion she had bade me farewell. The thought of her raised a

great storm of passion in my heart against anyone who would dare thus to

put a woman to shame. I strove hard to curb it, but I felt with each

second that it would overmaster me.

"Well, John, what think you of my Latinity?" asked my cousin from over

the table.

"I think, I think," I cried, "that you are a damned scurrilous fellow, a

paillard, a hound; 'fore God, Gilbert, I will make you smart for this,"

and, ere I well knew what I did, I had seized my glass and hurled it at

his head.

It struck him on the cheek, scratching the skin, but doing little hurt.

In a trice he was on his feet with his hand at his sword. One half the

table rose and stared at the two of us, while Master Wishart left the

head and came rushing to the back of my chair. As for myself, I felt

such desperate shame at my conduct that I knew not what to do. I had

now made a fool of myself in downright earnest. I felt my cheek

tingling and flaming, but I could do naught but look before me.

Then my cousin did a thing which gave him great honour, and completed my

shame; for bridling his anger, as I saw with a mighty effort, he said

calmly, though his arms were quivering with rage:

"I would ask you to be more careful in your use of glasses. See, yours

has flown right over to me and played havoc with my cheek. 'Faith, it

is no light duty to sup opposite you, _mon ami_. But, indeed,

gentlemen," and he bowed to the company, "'twas but an unfortunate

mischance."

At this all sat down again, and scarce five minutes after, Gilbert rose

to leave, and with him the other gentlemen of his regiment. Master

Wishart bade him sit down again, for the night was yet young, but my

cousin would not be persuaded. He nodded carelessly to me, kissed his

hand to pretty Mistress Kate, and swaggered out.

I sat dazed and meditative. I was raw to many things, but I knew well

that Gilbert was not the man to sit down under such an affront. He had

shielded me for his own reasons, of which I guessed that family pride

was not the least; but he would seek a meeting with all dispatch. And,

in truth, I was not averse to it, for I had many accounts to settle with

my dear cousin. I fell to thinking about the details of the matter. In

all likelihood he would come on the Monday, for the Sabbath was a day of

too strict propriety in this land as in my own, to allow of the settling

of any such business. Well, come when he might, I should be ready; and

I rose from the table, for the sooner I was back in Leyden, the better.

I took farewell of my host, and he could not refrain from whispering in

my ear at parting: "Jock, Jock, my man, ye've made a bonny mess o't.

Ye'll hae to fecht for it, and see ye dae't weel."

Nicol was waiting at the gate with the horses, and, together, we turned

on our homeward way.

CHAPTER IV

OUR ADVENTURE ON THE ALPHEN ROAD

We rode in silence for maybe half a mile, while I turned over the events

of the evening in my mind and tried to find some way out of the

difficulties in which, by my own folly, I found myself placed. Nicol

looked steadfastly before him and said never a word. By and by I found

the desire for some one to speak with so overpowering that I up and

asked him if he had heard aught of the events of the evening.

"Ay, sir," said he, "I heard ye had some kind o' stramash, but that was

a'. I trust ye're weel oot o't."

"Have you heard of my cousin Gilbert?" I asked.

"The wastland lad wha used to come aboot the Barns? Oh, aye! I've

heard o' him."

"I flung a glass at his face to-night," said I.

"I hope, sir, that he flung anither at yoursel'?" he asked anxiously.

"No. He swallowed the insult and left soon after. He is not the man to

let me off so easily."

"Whew," said Nicol, "but that's bad. Wad ye mind, Laird, if I rode on

afore ye?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Cousins and sodger-folk are kittle cattle," said he. "I wadna wonder

noo but that Maister Gilbert were ahint a dyke. I've heard tell o' some

o' his pliskies in his ain land, and he's no the lad to let a midge

stick in his throat."

I drew up my horse angrily.

"Nicol," I cried, "you are intolerable. My cousin is a gentleman of

birth, and do you think he is the man to kill from a dyke-side? Fie on

you, you have the notions of a common roost-robber."

"Weel, away then, my lord," cries he. "So be it; but I've little faith

in your Gilberts for a' their gentrice. I ken their breed ower weel.

But I maun ride afore ye, for there are some gey rough bits on the road,

and I'm a wee bit mair sure in the saddle than yoursel, wi' a' respect

to your lairdship."

So the wilful fellow must needs ride before me, looking sharply to the

right and left as though we were in far Muscovy instead of peaceful

Holland.

As for me, I felt in no humour to listen to my servant's tales or do

aught than think dolefully on my own matters. The sight of my cousin

and of Mistress Kate had made me sore sick for home, and I could have

found it in my heart once and again to take ship at the next sailing for

Leith. But these thoughts I choked down, for I felt that they were

unbecoming to any man. Yet I longed for Marjory as never lover longed

for his mistress. Her bright hair was ever before my sight, and her

last words on that February evening rang always in my head. I prayed to

God to watch over her as I rode through the stiff poplars on the way to

Leyden.

As for my quarrel, I cared not a straw for Gilbert and his ill-will, it

having never been my nature to be timorous toward men. Nay, I looked

forward to meeting him with no little pleasure, for it had long been an

open question which of the twain was best at the sword-play.

"Maister John," said Nicol, suddenly turning round, "I saw twae men

creeping roond thae scrunts o' trees. I wis they maunna be after ony

ill." We were by this time nearing a black, inhospitable part of the

land, where the road ran across a moor all covered with ferns and rushes

and old trunks of trees.

"Ride on," said I; "if we turned for every man that crosses the path, we

should never leave our own threshold."

He did as he was ordered, and our horses being put to the canter,

covered the ground gallantly, and our stirrup-chains clinked in the

silent night.

Suddenly, to my amazement, I saw Nicol fling himself back in the saddle

while his horse stumbled violently forward. It was one of the most

ingenious feats of horsemanship that I have ever witnessed. The beast

stood quivering, his ears erect with fright, while I rode alongside.

"For God's sake, sir, take care," Nicol cried. "There's some damned

thing ower the road, and if I hadna been on the watch it wad hae been a'

ower wif yae guid man. Watch, for ye may get a shot in your belly any

meenute."

Now, as it chanced, it was that lively canter which saved us, for the

rogues who had set the trap had retired a good way, not expecting us so

early. At the sound of the stumble they came rushing up from among the

fern, and, ere I knew, a pistol shot cracked past my ears, and another

and another.

Two went wide; one hit my horse on the ear and made him unmanageable, so

that I sat there with my beast plunging and kicking, at the mercy of

whosoever had a fourth pistol.

Nicol spoke not a word, but turning his horse, dashed forward in the

direction whence the shots had come. As it fell out, it was the best

thing that anyone could have done, for the robbers, not expecting any

such assault, were preparing to fire again. As it was, the forefeet of

the horse took one villain on the chest, knocking him senseless and

well-nigh trampling the life out of him. A second gripped Nicol by the

sleeve, and attempted to drag him from the saddle; which plan would

doubtless have succeeded had not my servant, pulling the pistol (which

was not loaded) from his holsters, presented it at the man's head with

such effect that the fellow in fear of his life let go and fled across

the moor.

By this time I had reduced my own animal to something like submission.

I rode after Nicol and came up just in time to see the third man of the

band (there were but three; for doubtless they trusted to their trap for

unhorsing if not stunning us) engaged in a desperate struggle. Nicol

had him by the throat with one hand and was endeavouring to squeeze the

breath out of him, while he in turn had his opponent by the other arm,

which he was twisting cruelly. Had my servant been on foot the matter

would soon have ended, for the throat fared badly which those long wiry

hands once encircled; but being on horseback he dared not lean forward

lest he should lose his seat. My appearance settled it; for the robber,

freeing himself at one desperate leap, made off at the top of his speed,

leaving his pistols behind him. There remained but the one whom Nicol's

horse had deprived of his senses.

Unfortunately the blow had not been a very severe one, for he was not

long in coming to himself. There was some water in a little stagnant

pool near at hand which Nicol dashed in his face, and in a little the

man opened his eyes and looked up.

At the sight of us he started, and the events of the past half hour came

back to his memory. Then a look of sullen, obstinate anger came into

his face, and he lay still, waiting for events to take their course.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He made no answer.

I repeated the question several times, and still the man kept his

silence.

"Ye donnert scoondrel," cried Nicol, "tell us whae ye are, or ye'll hang

the morn on the gallows-hill at Leyden."

Still the fellow would not speak.

"Let's tie him up," said Nicol, "and I'll ride wi' him on the horse

afore me. He'll get justice when we win to the toun."

But this was not my policy. I had other things to think of than

bringing marauders to trial. A sudden thought struck me.

"I will try him another way," said I to Nicol. "Do you stand aside."

The man lay on the ground where my servant's horse had thrown him, with

a belt round his legs, and his arms knotted together. I went up to him,

and stood over.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked sternly, in as tragic a voice as I could

assume.

The man stared sulkily, but did not speak.

"You fool," I cried, "do you think that thus you will circumvent me?

Know that I am the great doctor, Joannes Burnetus of Lugdunum, skilled

in all arts of earth and heaven, able to tell divinations and

prophecies, learned in all magic and witchery. I know all that thou

hast done since thy birth, and thy father and grandsire before thee, all

the wickedness which shall entitle thee to eternal damnation in that

place which the Devil is even now preparing for thee. Yea, I can tell

thee the very death which thou shalt die----"

"Stop, stop," cried the fellow, "O most learned sir, spare me. I know

thou knowest all things. I confess my sins, and oh, I promise you I

shall mend my ways. Stop, I pray."

"There is still one ray of hope for thee," said I, "but I cannot give my

word that thou shalt ever gain it, for thou hast advanced too far in sin

already. But yet thou mayest escape, and there is but one way to set

about it--namely, to tell me of all thy wickedness. I adjure thee, by

the sacred sign _Tekel_, which the Chaldaeans used of old; by _Men_,

which was the sign of the Egyptians; by the _Eikon_ of the Greeks; by

the _Lar_ of the Romans. I summon thee by the holy names of God,

_Tetragrammaton, Adonay, Algramay, Saday, Sabaoth, Planaboth, Pantbon,

Craton, Neupmaton, Deus, Homo, Omnipotens_; by _Asmath_, the name of the

Evil One, who is lord over thee and my slave--I summon thee to tell me

all thy deeds."

The man was frightened past all telling. He tried to crawl to my knees,

and began a recital of all manner of crimes and peccadilloes, from his

boyhood till the present hour. I listened without interest.

"Had any Scot a part with thee in this night's work?" I asked.

"No, there was none. There were but Bol and Delvaux beside myself, both

Dutch born and bred."

My mind was lightened. I never really believed my cousin to have had

any part in such a matter, but I was glad to know it for truth.

"You may go now," I said, "go and repent, and may God blast thee with

all his fire if thou turnest thy hand to evil again. By the bye, thy

name? I must have it from thy own lips."

"Jan Hamman, your lordship," said he.

"Well, God pity thee, Jan Hamman, if ever I lay my hand on thee again.

Be off now."

He was off in a twinkling, running for his very life. Nicol and I

remounted, and rode onward, coming to Leyden at the hour of one on the

Sabbath morning--a thing which I much regretted.

CHAPTER V

THE FIRST SUNDAY OF MARCH

I slept late on the next morning, so that it was near nine o'clock ere I

was up and dressed. By the time that I broke my fast I had had some

leisure to reflect upon the events of the preceding night and the

consequences which should ensue. Nicol came to me as soon as the meal

was over, and together we sat down to consult.

"This is the Sabbath, your honour," said Nicol, "so ye may consider

yoursel' free for the day at ony rate."

"Not so free," said I, for I knew my cousin Gilbert. "The men I've to

deal with have no more respect for the Lord's day than you have for a

Popish fast, so we must put that out of account."

"Weel, weel," said Nicol, "if that's sae it maun be sae. Will ye gang

oot wi' him the day?"

"No," said I, "not that I am caring for the day, for you mind the

proverb, 'the better the day the better the work,' but, being in a

foreign land, I am loth to break with the customs of my country. So

we'll keep the Sabbath, Nicol my lad, and let Gilbert whistle."

Now I would not have him who may read this narrative think, from my

conduct on this occasion, that I was whiggishly inclined, for, indeed, I

cared naught about such little matters. I would have a man use the

Sabbath like any other day, saving that, as it seems to me, it is a day

which may profitably be used for serious reading and meditation. But I

was ever of a curious disposition, liking to be always in mind of

Tweeddale and the folk there, so that I kept the Sabbath during my life

abroad as strictly as a covenanting minister on the moors of Ayr.

"Weel, Laird, that means ye'll no see the body though he comes," said

Nicol, "and, God help me, if ye dae that there'll be a terrible stramash

at the street door. I'se warrant auld Mistress Vanderdecker 'll get her

ribs knockit in if she tries to keep them oot."

"They can make all the noise they please," said I hotly, "but if it

comes to that the two of us are as good as their bit officers. I ask

for nothing better than to take some of the pride out of Gilbert's

friends with the flat of my sword. Then if they come to-day and are

refused entrance, they will come back to-morrow, and all will be well."

"Then what am I to dae? When the bodies come to the door, I'm to say,

'His lordship's compliments, but his lordship's busy keeping the Sabbath

in his upper chamber, and if ye will come back the morn he'll look into

your claims.' 'Faith, it's awfu' like auld Sanders Blackett, the lawyer

at Peebles, when I gaed to him seeking the law o' the miller o' Rachan.

It was about nine o'clock yae winter's nicht when I got there, and

Sanders was at supper. He stappit his heid oot o' the window and, says

he, 'Gang awa', my man, and come back the morn. I'm busy takin' the

books.' But I saw by the een o' him that he was daein' nae siccan

thing. 'Oh,' says I, 'if ye ca' kippered saumon and schnapps the books,

I'm content. I'll just come in and help ye to tak them tae.' But he

says verra angry, 'Go away, ye impious man, lest the judgment of Heaven

light upon you. I've godly Maister Clovenclaws assisting me in the

solemn ordinance.' 'Awa' wi' your Clovenclaws,' says I, 'I've come ten

mile to speak wi' ye, and I'll no gang hame wi'oot it.' But I was just

thinkin' I would have to gang back after a', when a voice comes frae the

inside, 'Sanders, ye limb o' the deil, whaur's the sugar?' I kenned

Maister Clovenclaws' voice ower weel, so Sanders begins to think that it

wadna dae to let it be telled a' ower the toun that him and the minister

had been birling at the wine thegither. So 'Come in, Maister

Plenderleith,' says he verra cannily, and in I gaed, and sic a nicht's

drinking I never saw. I put Sanders in his bed, honest man, about twae

o'clock i' the morning, and syne Clovenclaws and me gaed at it till

daylicht. I wantit to see the body below the table afore I gaed, and he

wantit to see me, so we sat at it till I was fain to drap for very

decency's sake. So what does the man dae but lift me on his shouther

and walk as straucht ower to the manse as if he were new oot o' his bed;

and there he gied me some guid advice about no presumin' to contend wi'

my superiors, and let me oot at a back door. 'Faith, it was an awfu'

time."

"You will say to them that I am busy with other work, and that I will be

glad to see them to-morrow about the matter they know of. Most like

they will go away quietly, and if they do not it will be the worse for

their own skins. You take my meaning?"

"I'll dae your orders, sir, to the letter," said Nicol, and I was well

aware that he would.

I got my books out and set to work to read the gospel of John in Greek

for my spiritual benefit, but I made little speed. This was mainly the

fault of Nicol, who every few minutes came into the little room where I

sat, on some feigned errand. I soon divined the reason, for the same

chamber contained a great window, whence one might view the whole length

of the narrow street wherein the house was situate, and even some little

portion of the great Breedestraat at the head. It was plain that my

servant was not a little concerned on my account.

"Are ye sure that your honour's guid wi' the small-swird?" he asked

mournfully. "If this room were a wee bit braider and the day no what it

is I micht gie ye a lesson."

I did not know whether to laugh or to be angry. "Why, you rascal," I

cried, "do you know anything of these matters? There are many better

swordsmen than I in the world, but I think I am more than a match for

you."

"Weel," said Nicol modestly, "I've gien some folk a gey fricht wi' the

swird, but let that be. I'll be blithe if ye get the better o' him and

a waefu' man I'll be if he kills ye. Lord, what 'll I dae? I'll hae to

become a sodger in this heathen land, or soom hame, whilk is a thing I

am no capable o'." And he began to sing with a great affectation of

grief:

The craw killed the pussie O,

The craw killed the pussie O,

The wee bit kittlin' sat and grat

In Jennie's wee bit hoosie O.

--in which elegant rhyme the reader will observe that my cousin stood

for the crow, I for the pussie, and my servant for the kittlin'.

I laughed; but it is not seemly to stand by while your own servant sings

a song which compares you to a cat, so I straightway flung a Greek

lexicon at his head, and bade him leave the room. I much regretted the

act, for it was my only copy of the book, Master Struybroek's, and the

best obtainable, and by the fall some leaves came out, and one, [Greek:

_polypenthes_] to [Greek: _polypous_], has not been renewed to this day.

After Nicol had gone I amused myself by looking out of the window and

watching the passers-by. Some, sober Dutch citizens with Bibles beneath

their arms and their goodly persons habited in decent black, were

striding solemnly to church, while their wives and children came more

slowly behind. Others of the lighter sort were wandering aimlessly on

no purpose but their own pleasure, but all I marked were dressed out in

their finest clothes. What I noted most of all was the greater colour

in the streets than we have in our own land. For there, you will see

little but blacks and drabs and browns, while here the women were often

gaily arrayed in bright tints which gave a pleasing look to the

causeway.

I had not sat long when I noted two gentlemen coming down the alley from

the Breedestraat, very finely clad, and with a great air of distinction

in their faces. They kept the causeway in such a fashion that all whom

they met had to get into the middle of the road to let them pass. I

half guessed their errand, the more as the face of one of them seemed to

me familiar, and I fancied that he had been one of the guests at the

supper at Alphen. My guess was confirmed by their coming to a halt

outside the door of my lodging and attentively considering the house.

Meantime all their actions were plain to my view from the upper window.

One of them stepped forward and knocked loudly. Now I had bidden Nicol

be ready to open to them and give my message. So I was not surprised

when I heard the street door opened and the voice of my servant

accosting the men.

I know not what he said to them, but soon words grew high and I could

see the other come forward to his comrade's side. By and by the door

was slammed violently, and my servant came tearing upstairs. His face

was flushed in wrath.

"O' a' the insolent scoondrels I ever met, thae twae are the foremost.

They wadna believe me when I telled them ye were busy. 'Busy at what?'

says the yin. 'What's your concern?' says I. 'If ye dinna let us up to

see your maister in half a twinkling,' says the ither, 'by God we'll

make ye.' 'Make me!' says I; 'come on and try it. If it wasna for your

mither's sake I wal tie your necks thegither.'"

"Nicol," I said, "bring these men up. It will be better to see them."

My intention changed of a sudden, for I did not seek to carry my

finicking too far.

"I was thinkin' sae, your honour," said Nicol, "but I didna like to say

it."

So in a little the two gentlemen came up the stairs and into my room,

where I waited to receive them.

"Gentlemen," said I, "I believe you have some matter to speak of with

me."

"Why do you keep such scoundrelly servants, Master Burnet?" said one,

whom I knew for Sir James Erskine of Tullo.

"Your business, gentlemen," I said, seeking to have done with them.

They were slight men, whom I could have dropped out of the window; most

unlike the kind of friends I should have thought my cousin Gilbert would

have chosen.

"Well, if you will have our business," said the elder, speaking sulkily,

"you are already aware of the unparalleled insult to which a gentlemen

of our regiment was subjected at your hands?"

"Oh, yes," I said gaily, "I had forgotten. I broke Gilbert's head with

a wine-glass. Does he want to ask my pardon?"

"You seem to take the matter easily, sir," said one severely. "Let me

tell you that Master Gilbert Burnet demands that you meet him at once

and give satisfaction with your sword."

"Right," I cried, "I am willing. At what hour shall it be? Shall we

say seven o'clock to-morrow's morning? That is settled then? I have no

second and desire none. There is the length of my sword. Carry my

compliments to my cousin, and tell him I shall be most pleased to

chastise him at the hour we have named. And now, gentlemen, I have the

honour to wish you a very good day," and I bowed them out of the room.

They were obviously surprised and angered by my careless reception of

their message and themselves. With faces as flushed as a cock's comb

they went down stairs and into the street, and I marked that they never

once looked back, but marched straight on with their heads in the air.

"Ye've gien thae lads a flee in their lug," said Nicol. "I wish ye may

gie your cousin twae inches o' steel in his vitals the morn."

"Ah," said I, "that is a different matter. These folk were but

dandified fools. My cousin is a man and a soldier."

The rest of the day I spent in walking by myself in the meadows beyond

the college gardens, turning over many things in my mind. I had come to

this land for study, and lo! ere I well knew how, I was involved in

quarrels. I felt something of a feeling of shame in the matter, for the

thing had been brought on mainly by my over-fiery temper. Yet when I

pondered deeply I would not have the act undone, for a display of

foolish passion was better in my eyes than the suffering of an insult to

a lady to pass unregarded.

As for the fight on the morrow I did not know whether to await it with

joy or shrinking. As I have said already, I longed to bring matters

between the two of us to a head. There was much about him that I liked;

he had many commendable virtues; and especially he belonged to my own

house. But it seemed decreed that he should ever come across my path,

and already there was more than one score laid up against him in my

heart. I felt a strange foreboding of the man, as if he were my

_antithesis_, which certain monkish philosophers believed to accompany

everyone in the world. He was so utterly different from me in all

things; my vices he lacked and my virtues; his excellencies I wanted,

and also, I trust, his faults. I felt as if the same place could not

contain us.

If I conquered him, the upshot would be clear enough. He could not

remain longer in Leyden. His reputation, which was a great one, would be

gone, and he would doubtless change into some other regiment and retire

from the land. If, again, he had the vantage of me, I had no reputation

to lose, so I might remain where I pleased. So he fought with something

of a disadvantage. It was possible that one or other might be killed;

but I much doubted it, for we were both too practised swordsmen to

butcher like common cutthroats. Nevertheless, I felt not a little

uneasy, with a sort of restlessness to see the issue of it all--not

fear, for though I have been afraid many times in my life it was never

because of meeting a man in fair combat.

Toward evening I returned to my lodging and devoted the remainder of the

day to the study of the books of Joshua and Judges for the comforting of

my soul.

CHAPTER VI

THE FIRST MONDAY OF MARCH

Nicol wakened me before dawn and I made haste to get ready. I looked to

see that my sword was in fit condition, for it was a stout

cut-and-thrust blade of the kind which speedily takes the rust. Then

having taken a draught of strong ale to brace my nerves for the

encounter, I left the house and set off with my servant for the college

gardens.

The morning was clear and fresh. The sun had not yet fully arisen, but

it was light enough to see two hundred yards before me. A sharp wind

fluttered my cloak, and sent a thrill of strength through me, for it

minded me of the hill breezes which were wont to blow on the heights of

Scrape. There was scarce anyone stirring save a few drowsy burghers

whom it behoved to be attending to their business in the early morn. I

kept my cloak well over my face, for I did not relish the notion of

being recognised by anyone on my errand.

Now, from the college gardens there stretches down to the great canal a

most beautiful pleasaunce, all set with flower beds and fountains.

Beyond this, again, is a more rugged land--a grove with great patches of

grass in it, and here it was that gentlemen of the Scots regiment were

wont to settle their differences. The morning had been chosen as the

time when it was less likely that some interloping busybody might

interrupt us.

I cannot tell how I felt as I walked through the cool morning air among

the young herbs and trees which still bore the dew upon them. It minded

me so keenly of the mornings at home in Tweeddale, when I was used to

rise before daylight and go far up Tweed with my rod, and bring back, if

my luck were good, great baskets of trout. Now I was bound on a

different errand. It was even possible that I might see my own land no

more. But this thought I dismissed as unworthy of one who would be

thought a cavalier.

In time we came to the spot which the others had fixed on. There I

found my men already waiting me; my cousin stripped to his sark and

small-clothes, with his blade glimmering as he felt its edge; his

companions muffled up in heavy cloaks and keeping guard over Gilbert's

stripped garments. They greeted me shortly as I came up, so without

more ado I took off my coat and vest, and gave them into my servant's

keeping. Then going up co my opponent I took his hand.

"Let there be no malice between us, Gilbert," said I. "I was rash

maybe, but I am here to give account of my rashness."

"So be it, cousin," he said, as he took my hand coldly.

We both stepped back a pace and crossed swords, and in a trice we had

fallen to.

My first thought, and I am not ashamed to confess it, when I felt my

steel meet the steel of my foe, was one of arrant and tumultuous fear.

I had never before crossed swords with anyone in deadly hatred; and in

my case the thing was the harder, for the feeling against my cousin was

not so violent a passion as to make me heedless of aught else. Before

me, behind the back of my antagonist, the thick underwood was already

filled with the twittering of birds, and a great feeling of longing came

upon me to get well through with the affair and escape death. For now a

feeling which I had not reckoned with came to oppress me--the fear of

death. Had my wits been more about me, I might have reflected that my

cousin was too good a swordsman to kill me and lay himself open to many

penalties. But my mind was in such a confusion that I could think of

naught but an overwhelming danger.

Howbeit, in a little this fit passed, and once more I was myself.

Gilbert, for what reason I know not, fenced swiftly and violently. Blow

came upon blow till I scarce could keep my breath. I fell at once upon

the defensive, and hazarded never a cut, but set all my powers to

preserving my skin. And in truth this was no easy task, for he had

acquired a villainous trick of passing suddenly from the leg-cut to the

head-stroke, so that more than once I came not up to guard in time and

had his sword almost among my hair. I could not guess what he meant by

this strategy, for I had ever believed that a man who began in a hot-fit

ended in a languor. He sought, I doubt not, to speedily put an end to

the encounter by putting forth his greater strength, hoping to beat down

my guard or bewilder me with the multiplicity of his flourishes.

Now this conduct of my opponent had an effect the very counter of what

he proposed. I became completely at my ease; indeed, I swear I never

felt more cool in my life. This has ever been the way with me, for I

have always been at my best in the extremest perils. Oftentimes when

things went very sore with me, I was at a loss and saw no way of escape;

but let them get a little worse and I was ready to meet them. So now I

was on the watch to frustrate every moment, and since no man can fight

rapidly and fight well, I kept him at bay till he deemed it prudent to

give up this method.

But now when he came down to slow, skilful fence I found my real danger.

We were well matched, as had been proved in many a harmless encounter on

the turf by the Tweed. I was something lighter, he somewhat stronger in

the arm and firmer in the body; but taking us all in all we were as

equal a pair as ever crossed swords. And now there was an utter

silence; even the birds on the trees seemed to have ceased. The others

no longer talked. The sharp clatter and ring of the swords had gone,

and in its place was a deadly _swish--swish_, which every man who has

heard it dreads, for it means that each stroke grazes the vitals. I

would have given much in that hour for another inch to my arm. I put

forth all my skill of fence. All that I had learned from Tam Todd, all

that I had found out by my own wits was present to me; but try as I

would, and I warrant you I tried my utmost, I could not overreach my

opponent. Yet I fenced steadily, and if I made no progress, I did not

yield my ground.

With Gilbert the case was otherwise. His play was the most brilliant I

had ever seen, full of fantastic feints and flourishes such as is the

French fashion. But I could not think that a man could last for ever in

this style, since for one stroke of my arm there were two of his and

much leaping from place to place. But beyond doubt he pressed me close.

Again and again I felt his steel slipping under my guard, and it was

only by a violent parry that I escaped. One stroke had cut open my

sleeve and grazed my arm, but beyond this no one of us had suffered

hurt.

But soon a thing which I had scarcely foreseen began to daunt me. I was

placed facing the east, and the rising sun began to catch my eyes. The

ground was my own choosing, so my ill-luck was my own and no fault of

Gilbert's. But it soon began to interfere heavily with my play. I

could only stand on guard. I dared not risk a bold stroke, lest, my

eyes being dazzled by the light, I should miscalculate the distance. I

own I began to feel a spasm of fear. More than one of my opponent's

strokes came within perilous nearness. The ground too was not firm, and

my foot slid once and again when I tried to advance. To add to it all

there was Gilbert's face above the point of the swords, cold, scornful,

and triumphant. I began to feel incredibly weak about the small of the

back, and I suppose my arm must have wavered, for in guarding a

shoulder-cut I dropped my point, and my enemy's blade scratched my left

arm just above the elbow. I staggered back with the shock of the blow,

and my cousin had a moment's breathing-space. I was so obviously the

loser in the game, that Gilbert grew merry at my expense.

"Well, John," he cried, "does't hurt thee? My arm is somewhat rougher

than Marjory's."

There seems little enough in the words, yet I cannot tell how that taunt

angered me. In the mouth of another I had not minded it, but I had a

way of growing hot whenever I thought of my cousin and my lady in the

same minute of time. It called to my mind a flood of bitter memories.

In this encounter, at any rate, it was the saving of me. Once more I

was myself, and now I had that overmastering passionate hate which I

lacked before. When I crossed swords again I felt no doubt of the issue

and desired only to hasten it. He on his part must have seen something

in my eyes which he did not like, for he ceased his flourishes and fell

on defence.

Then it was that the real combat of the day commenced. Before it had

been little more than a trial of skill, now it was a deadly and

determined battle. In my state of mind I would have killed my foe with

a light heart, however much I might have sorrowed for it after. And now

he began to see the folly of his conduct in the fore-part of the fight.

I was still fresh and stout of arm; he was a little weary and his

self-confidence a little gone.

"By God, Gilbert, you will eat your words," I cried, and had at him with

might and main.

I fenced as I had never fenced before, not rashly, but persistently,

fiercely, cunningly. Every attempt of his I met and foiled. Again and

again I was within an ace of putting an end to the thing, but for some

trifling obstacle which hindered me. He now fought sullenly, with fear

in his eyes, for he knew not what I purposed concerning him. I warrant

he rued his taunt a hundred times in those brief minutes.

At last my opportunity came. He made a desperate lunge forward, swung

half round and exposed his right arm. I thrust skilfully and true.

Straight through cloth and skin went my blade, and almost ere I knew I

had spitted him clean through the arm just above the elbow. The sword

dropped from his helpless hand.

I had put forth too much strength, for as he stumbled back with the

shock of the wound I could not check my course, but staggered heavily

against him and together we rolled on the ground.

In a second I was on my feet and had drawn out my weapon. With lowered

point I awaited his rising, for he was now powerless to continue.

"Well," said I, "have you had satisfaction?"

He rose to his feet with an ugly smile. "Sufficient for the present,

cousin John," said he. "I own you have got the better of me this time.

Hi, Stephen, will you lend me a kerchief to bind this cursed wound?"

One of his companions came up and saw to his wants. I made to go away,

for there was no further need of my presence, but my cousin called me

back.

"Farewell, John," he said. "Let us not part in anger, as before.

Parting in anger, they say, means meeting in friendship. And, 'faith, I

would rather part from you in all love and meet you next in wrath."

"Farewell," I said carelessly as I departed, though I was amazed to hear

a man with a pierced arm speak so lightly. Courage was not a quality

which my cousin had to seek. So I left him in high good humour with

myself, much pleased at my own prowess, and sensible that all immediate

annoyance from that quarter was at an end.

Little man knows what God hath prepared for him. Had it not been for his

defeat, Gilbert had not left Holland, and my greater misfortunes had

never happened. And yet at that hour I rejoiced that I had rid myself

of a torment.

Nicol was awaiting me, and soon I was arrayed in my coat once more, for

the air was shrewdly cold. My servant was pale as I had never seen him

before, and it was clear that he had watched the combat with much

foreboding.

"Eh, Maister John," he cried, "ye're a braw fechter. I never likit ye

half as weel. I thocht a' was up whiles, but ye aye cam to yoursel' as

sprig as a wull-cat. Ye're maybe a wee thing weak i' the heid-cuts,

though," he added. "I'll hae to see to ye. It's no what ye micht ca'

profitable to be aye proddin' a man in the wame, for ye may prick him a'

ower and him no muckle the waur. But a guid cleavin' slash on the harns

is maist judeecious. It wad kill a stirk."

It was still early and we had breakfasted sparely, so we sought a tavern

of good repute, _The Three Crows_, and made a hearty meal, washing it

down with the best Rhenish. I was so mightily pleased with my victory,

like a child with its toy, that I held my head a full inch higher, and

would yield the causeway to no man. I do believe if M. Balagny or the

great Lord Herbert had challenged me I would not have refused.

Some three days later I had sure tidings that my cousin had sailed for

Leith and was thought to have no design of returning.

CHAPTER VII

I SPEND MY DAYS IN IDLENESS

Summer came on the heels of spring, and the little strip of garden below

my windows grew gay as the frock of a burgher's wife on a Sunday. There

were great lines of tulips, purple and red and yellow, stately as kings,

erect as a line of soldiers, which extended down the long border nigh to

the edge of the water. The lawn was green and well trimmed and shaded

by the orderly trees. It was pleasant to sit here in the evenings, when

Nicol would bring out the supper-table to the grass, and we would drink

our evening ale while the sun was making all the canal a strip of beaten

gold. Many folk used to come of an evening, some of them come to the

university on the same errand as myself, others, Scots gentlemen out of

place and out of pocket, who sought to remedy both evils by paying court

to the Stadtholder. Then we would talk of our own land and tell tales

and crack jests till the garden rang with laughter. I could well wish

those times back, if I could bring with them the _forte latus, nigros

angusta fronte capillos, dulce loqui, ridere decorum_. But fie on me

for such discontent! Hath not God given good gifts for age as well as

youth--aye, perhaps in greater abundance?

I pursued my studies in the ancient literatures and philosophy with much

diligence and profit. Nevertheless, there was much to turn my

attention, and I doubt if I did not find the folk around me the more

diverting objects of study. I lived in an air of theology and

philosophy and statecraft, hearing discussions on these and kindred

matters all the day long. There were many of my own countrymen in the

place, who are notoriously the most contentious of mankind: so that I

could scarcely walk down any street without hearing some violent

disputation in my own tongue. As for the other people of the place, I

found them both civil and hospitable.

The routine of my days was as regular as clockwork, for it was always

part of my method to apportion my day equally among my duties. In the

morning, immediately upon rising, I went to Master Sandvoort's lecture

on the Latin tongue. Then I broke my fast in the little tavern, _The

Gray Goose_, just at the south entrance to the college. It was a clean,

well-fitted place, where was found the fattest landlord and the best ale

in Holland. Then at the hour of ten in the forenoon I went to listen to

the eloquence of Master Quellinus. Having returned thence to my lodging

I was wont to spend the time till dinner in study. Thereafter I walked

in the town, or resorted to the houses of my friends, or read in the

garden till maybe four o'clock, when it was my custom to go to the

dwelling of Sir William Crichtoun (him whom I have spoken of before),

and there, in the company of such Scots gentlemen as pleaded to come, to

pass the time very pleasantly. From these meetings I had vast profit,

for I learned something of the conduct of affairs and the ways of the

world, in the knowledge of which I had still much to seek. Then home

once more to study, and then to bed with a clear conscience and great

drowsiness.

But there were several incidents which befell during this time, and

which served to break the monotony of my life, which merit the telling.

Firstly, towards the end of September who should come to visit me but my

kinsman, Gilbert Burnet of Salisbury, a scholar shrewd and profound, a

gentleman of excellent parts, and the devoutest Christian it has ever

been my lot to fall in with. He was just returning from his journey to

Italy, whereof he has written in his work, "Some Letters to T.H.R.B.

Concerning his Travels in Italy and Holland." It was one afternoon as I

sat in the arbour that Nicol came across the green followed by an

elderly man of grave and comely appearance. It was to my great joy that

I recognised my kinsman. He had alighted in Leyden that morning and

proposed to abide there some days. I would have it that he should put

up at my lodgings, and thither he came after many entreaties. During

his stay in the city he visited many of the greater folk, for his fame

had already gone abroad, and he was welcome everywhere. He was a man of

delightful converse, for had he not travelled in many lands and mixed

with the most famous? He questioned me as to my progress in letters and

declared himself more than satisfied. "For, John," said he, "I have met

many who had greater knowledge, but none of a more refined taste and

excellent judgment. Did you decide on the profession of a scholar I

think I could promise you a singular success. But indeed it is absurd to

think of it, for you, as I take it, are a Burnet and a man of action and

one never to be satisfied with a life of study. I counsel you not to

tarry too long in this foreign land, for your country hath sore need of

men like you in her present distress." Then he fell to questioning me

as to my opinions on matters political and religious. I told him that I

was for the church and the king to the death, but that I held that the

one would be the better of a little moderation in its course, and that

the other had fallen into indifferent hands. I told him that it grieved

my heart to hear of my own countrymen pursued like partridges on the

mountains by some blackguard soldiers, and that when I did return, while

deeming it my duty to take the part of the king in all things, I would

also think it right to hinder to the best of my power the persecution.

In this matter he applauded me. It pained him more than he could tell,

said he, to think that the church of his own land was in such an ill

condition that it did not trust its friends. "What in Heaven's name is

all this pother?" he cried. "Is a man to suffer because he thinks one

way of worshipping his God better than another? Rather let us rejoice

when he worships Him at all, whether it be at a dyke-side or in the

King's Chapel." And indeed in this matter he was of my own way of

thinking. When finally he took his leave it was to my great regret, for

I found him a man of kindly and sober counsels.

Yet his visit had one result which I had little dreamed of, for it led

me to show greater friendliness to such of the Scots covenanters as were

refugees in the town. I learned something of their real godliness and

courage, and was enabled to do them many little services. In

particular, such letters as they wished to write to their friends at

home I transmitted under my own name and seal, since all communication

with Holland was highly suspected unless from a man of approved loyalty.

The other matter which I think worth noting was the acquaintance I

formed with a Frenchman, one M. de Rohaine, a gentleman of birth, who

was in great poverty and abode in a mean street off the Garen Markt.

The way in which I first met him was curious. I was coming home late

one evening from Master Swinton's house, and in passing through a little

alley which leads from near the college to the Garen Markt, I was

apprised of some disturbance by a loud noise of tumult. Pushing forward

amid a crowd of apprentices and fellows of the baser sort, I saw a

little man, maybe a tailor or cobbler from his appearance, with his back

against a door and sore pressed by three ruffians, who kept crying out

that now they would pay him for his miserly ways. The mob was clearly

on their side, for it kept applauding whenever they struck or jostled

him. I was just in the act of going forward to put an end to so unequal

a combat, when a tall grave man thrust himself out of the throng and

cried out in Dutch for them to let go. They answered with some taunt,

and almost before I knew he had taken two of the three, one in either

hand, and made their heads meet with a sounding crack. I was hugely

delighted with the feat, and broke forward to offer my help, for it soon

became clear that this champion would have to use all his wits to get

out of the place. The three came at him swearing vehemently, and with

evil looks in their eyes. He nodded to me as I took my stand at his

side.

"Look after the red-beard, friend," he cried. "I will take the other

two."

And then I found my hands full indeed, for my opponent was tough and

active, and cared nothing for the rules of honourable warfare. In the

end, however, my training got the mastery, and I pinked him very

prettily in the right leg, and so put him out of the fight. Then I had

time to turn to the others, and here I found my new-found comrade sore

bested. He had an ugly cut in his forehead, whence a trickle of blood

crawled over his face. But his foes were in a worse case still, and

when word came at the moment that a body of the guard was coming they

made off with all speed.

The man turned and offered me his hand,

"Let me thank you, sir, whoever you may be," said he. "I am the Sieur

de Rohaine at your service."

"And I am Master John Burnet of Barns in Scotland," said I.

"What," he cried, "a Scot!" And nothing would serve him but that I must

come with him to his lodging and join him at supper. For, as it seemed,

he himself had just come from Scotland, and was full of memories of the

land.

I found him a man according to my heart. When I spoke of his gallantry

he but shrugged his shoulders. "Ah," said he, "it was ever my way to get

into scrapes of that kind. Were I less ready to mix in others' business

I had been a richer and happier man to-day," and he sighed.

From him I learned something more of the condition of my own land, and

it was worse even than I had feared. M. de Rohaine had had many strange

adventures in it, but he seemed to shrink from speaking of himself and

his own affairs. There was in his eyes a look of fixed melancholy as of

one who had encountered much sorrow in his time and had little hope for

more happiness in the world. Yet withal he was so gracious and noble in

presence that I felt I was in the company of a man indeed.

If I were to tell all the benefit I derived from this man I should fill

a volume and never reach the end of my tale. Suffice it to say that

from him I learned many of the tricks of sword play, so that soon I

became as nigh perfect in the art as it was ever in my power to be. I

learned too of other lands where he had been and wars which he had

fought; and many tales which I have often told at home in Tweeddale I

first heard from his lips. I was scarce ever out of his company, until

one day he received a letter from a kinsman bidding him return on urgent

necessity. He made his farewells to me with great regret, and on

parting bade me count on his aid if I should ever need it. From that

day to this I have never cast eyes on his face or heard tidings of him,

but I herewith charge all folk of my family who may read this tale, if

ever it be their fortune to meet with one of his name or race, that they

befriend him to the best of their power, seeing that he did much

kindness to me.

So the summer passed with one thing and another, till, ere I knew,

winter was upon us. And I would have you know that winter in the Low

Countries is very different from winter with us among the hills of

Tweed. For here we have much mist and rain and a very great deal of

snow; also the cold is of a kind hard to endure, since it is not of the

masterful, overbearing kind, but raw and invidious. But there the frost

begins in late autumn and keeps on well till early spring. Nor was

there in my experience much haze or rain, but the weather throughout the

months was dry and piercing. Little snow fell, beyond a sprinkling in

the fore-end of January. Every stream and pond, every loch and canal

was hard and fast with ice, and that of the purest blue colour and the

keenest temper I have ever seen. All the townsfolk turned out to

disport themselves on the frozen water, having their feet shod with

runners of steel wherewith they performed the most wondrous feats of

activity. The peasant-girls going to market with their farm produce

were equipped with these same runners, and on them proceeded more

quickly than if they had ridden on the highroad.

Often, too, during the winter, there were festivals on the ice, when the

men arrayed in thick clothes and the women in their bravest furs came to

amuse themselves at this pastime. I went once or twice as a spectator,

and when I saw the ease and grace of the motion was straightway smitten

with a monstrous desire to do likewise. So I bought a pair of runners

and fitted them on my feet. I shall not dwell upon my immediate

experiences, of which indeed I have no clear remembrance, having spent

the better part of that afternoon on the back of my head in great bodily

discomfort. But in time I made myself master of the art and soon was

covering the ice as gaily as the best of them. I still remember the

trick of the thing, and five years ago, when the floods in Tweed made a

sea of the lower part of Manor valley, and the subsequent great frost

made this sea as hard as the high-road, I buckled on my runners and had

great diversion, to the country folks' amazement.

In all this time I had had many letters from Marjory, letters writ in a

cheerful, pleasant tone, praying indeed for my return, but in no wise

complaining of my absence. They were full of news of the folk of

Tweedside, how Tam Todd was faring at Barns, and what sport her brother

Michael was having in the haughlands among the wild-duck. I looked

eagerly for the coming of those letters, for my heart was ever at

Dawyck, and though I much enjoyed my sojourning in Holland, I was yet

glad and willing for the time of departure to arrive. In January of the

next year I received a bundle of news written in the gayest of spirits;

but after that for three months and more I heard nothing. From this

long silence I had much food for anxiety, for though I wrote, I am sure,

some half-dozen times, no reply ever came. The uneasiness into which

this put me cast something of a gloom over the latter part of the

winter. I invented a hundred reasons to explain it. Marjory might be

ill; the letters might have gone astray; perhaps she had naught to tell

me. But I could not satisfy myself with these excuses, so I had e'en to

wait the issue of events.

It was not till the month of April that I had news from my love, and

what this was I shall hasten to tell.

CHAPTER VIII

THE COMING OF THE BRIG SEAMAW

It was the third day of April, a day so cool and mild that every one who

could was in the open air, that I sat in the little strip of garden

behind my lodging, reading the Symposium of Plato in the light of

certain digests of Master Quellinus. The beds of hyacinth, yellow and

blue and red, were flaunting before my eyes, and down by the water's

edge the swallows were twittering and skimming. The soft spring wind

fluttered the leaves of my book and stirred my hair, so that I found it

hard indeed to keep my attention fixed. Some yards behind me Nicol sat

cleaning a fishing-rod, for in the idle days he amused himself with

trying his skill among the sleepy streams. He was whistling some bars

of "Leezie Lindsay," and the tune, which I had often heard in Tweeddale,

put me much in mind of home and inclined my heart violently to the place

I had left. So soon I found my Plato lying listlessly on my lap, and my

thoughts far away over sea.

Just now, I knew, would be the lambing-time in the Tweed hills, and all

the valleys would be filled with the noise of sheep. The shepherds,

too, would be burning the bent, and the moors sending up wreaths of

pungent smoke. I minded the smell so well that I almost fancied it was

in my nostrils in place of the moist perfume of hyacinth and violet. At

Barns, Tam Todd would be seeing to the young trees and fishing in the

full streams. At Dawyck, Marjory would be early abroad, plucking the

spring flowers and bringing in armfuls of apple-blossom to deck the

rooms. The thought of Marjory gave me sudden discomfort. I reflected

for the thousandth time that I had heard nothing of her for months, and

I fell to wondering greatly at her silence. By and by, what with

thinking of home and of her and chafing at her neglect, I found myself

in a very pretty state of discontentment.

It was just then that I heard a voice behind me, and turning round saw

Nicol approaching in company with another. The stranger was a man of

remarkable appearance. He was scarcely the middle height, but his

breadth across the shoulders was so great that he seemed almost

dwarfish. He had arms of extraordinary length, so long that they

reached almost to his knees, like the Tartars in Muscovy that I have

read of. His square, weather-beaten face was filled with much good

humour, and the two eyes which looked out from beneath his shaggy brows

were clear and shrewd.

"This is Maister Silas Steen o' the brig Seamaw," said Nicol, making an

introduction, "whae has come from Scotland this morning, and says he has

letters wi' him for you." Having delivered himself, my servant

retreated, and left the newcomer alone with me.

"You'll be Master John Burnet of Barns?" said he, looking at me sharply.

"The same, at your service," said I.

"It's just a bit letter for you," and he dived into his pocket and

produced a packet.

I took it hastily, for I had some guess who was the writer. Nor was I

wrong, for one glance at the superscription told me the truth. And this

is how it ran:

"_For Master John Burnet in the house of Mistress Vanderdecker near the

Breedestraat, at Leyden_.

"DEAR JOHN: I have not written thee for long, and I trust that thereby I

have not given thee trouble. I am well and happy, when this leaves me,

though desiring thy return. I trust your studies are to your

satisfaction. Tam Todd, from the Barns, was over yestreen, and gave a

good account of all things there."

Then came a pause, and the writing was resumed in a hurried, irregular

hand.

"I am not free to write my will. O John, dear John, come back to me. I

am so unhappy. I cannot survive without thee another day" (this latter

word had been scored out and _month_ put in its place). "I am in

dreadful perplexity. Come quick.

"MARJORY."

You may imagine into what state of mind the reading of this letter threw

me. My lady was in trouble, that was enough for me, and she desired my

aid. I guessed that the letter had been written stealthily and that

some trouble had been found in its conveyance, for it bore the marks of

much crumpling and haste. I could make no conjecture as to its meaning,

and this doubt only the more increased my impatience.

"From whom did you get this?" I asked.

"From a great, thin, swart man, who brought it to me at Leith, and bade

me deliver it. I came post haste from Rotterdam this day."

I ran over in my mind the serving-folk at Dawyck, and could think of

none such. Then, like a flash, I remembered Tam Todd. This doubly

increased my fears. If Marjory could get no porter for her message save

one of my own servants, then the trouble must be at Dawyck itself.

I can find no words for the depths of my anxiety. To think of Marjory in

sorrow and myself separated by leagues of land and sea well-nigh drove

me distracted. There and then I resolved on my course.

"Your ship is at Rotterdam?" I asked.

"Yes," said the captain.

"When does she sail?"

"To-morrow night, when the cargo is on board."

"I'll give you twenty pieces of gold if you'll sail to-night."

The captain shook his head. "It canna be done," he cried; "my freight

is lace and schiedam, worth four times twenty pieces, and I canna have a

voyage for naething."

"Listen," said I, "I am in terrible perplexity. I would give you a

hundred, if I had them; but I promise you, if you bring me safely to the

port of Leith, they shall be paid. Ride back to your vessel and ship

all the stuff you can, and I will be with you at eleven o'clock this

night, ready to sail."

The fellow shook his head, but said nothing.

"Man, man," I cried, "for God's sake, I implore you. It's a matter to

me of desperate import. See, there are your twenty pieces, and I'll

give you my bond for eighty, to be paid when we win to Leith."

"Tut, Master Burnet," said he, "I will not be taking your money. But

I'm wae to see you in trouble. I'll take you over the nicht for the

twenty pieces, and if I lose on the venture, you can make it up to me.

It's safer carrying you and running straight for the pier, than carrying

schiedam and dodging about the Bass. And I'm not a man that need count

his pennies. Forbye, I see there's a lady in the case, and I deem it my

duty to assist you."

I was at first astonished by the man's ready compliance, but when I saw

that he was sincere, I thanked him to the best of my power. "Be sure I

shall not forget this service, Captain Steen," said I; "and if it is

ever in my power to serve you in return, you may count on me. You will

take some refreshment before you go;" and, calling Nicol, I bade him see

to the stranger's wants.

Meantime it behooved me to be up and doing if I was to sail that night.

I knew not what to think of the news I had heard, for, as I thought upon

the matter, it seemed so incredible that aught could have gone wrong

that I began to set it all down to mere loneliness and a girl's humours.

The strangeness of the letter I explained with all the sophistry of

care. She did not wish to disturb me and bring me home before my time.

This was what she meant when she said she was not free to write her

will. But at the end her desolateness had overmastered her, and she had

finished with a piteous appeal. Even so I began to reason, and this

casuistry put me in a more hopeful frame of mind. It was right that I

should go home, but when I got there I should find no cause for fear.

But there was much to be done in the town and the college ere I could

take my departure. So when I had paid all the monies that I owed, and

bidden farewell to all my friends (among whom Sir William Crichtoun and

Master Quellinus were greatly affected), I returned to my lodgings.

There I found Nicol in great glee, preparing my baggage. He was

whistling the "Lawlands of Holland," and every now and then he would

stop to address himself. "Ye're gaun hame," I heard him saying, "ye're

gaun hame to the hills and the bonny water o' Tweed, and guid kindly

Scots folk, after thae frostit Hollanders, and fine tasty parritsh and

honest yill after the abominable meats and drinks o' this stawsome hole.

And ye'd better watch your steps, Nicol Plenderleith, my man, I'm

tellin' ye, and keep a calm sough, for there's a heap o' wark to be

dune, and some o' it geyan wanchancy."

"Good advice, Nicol," said I, breaking in upon him; "see that you keep

to it."

"Is that you, Maister John? Ye'll be clean high aboot gaun back. Ye'll

hae seen a' that's to be seen here, for after a' it's no a great place.

And ye maun mind and put a bottle o' French brandy in your valise, or

you'll be awfu' oot on the sea. I think it's likely to be coorse on the

water."

I took my servant's advice, and when all was done to my liking, I walked

down to the college gate for one last look at the place. I was in a

strange temper--partly glad, partly sad--and wholly excited. When I

looked on the grey, peaceful walls, breathing learning and repose, and

thought of the wise men who had lived there, and the great books that

had been written, and the high thoughts that had been born, I felt a

keen pang of regret. For there was at all times in me much of the

scholar's spirit, and I doubted whether it had not been better for me,

better for all, had I chosen the life of study. I reflected how little

my life would lie now in cloisters and lecture halls, in what

difficulties I would soon be plunged and what troublous waters I might

be cast upon. My own land was in a ferment, with every man's hand

against his brother; my love might be in danger; of a surety it looked

as if henceforward quiet and gentleness might be to seek in my life. I

own that I looked forward to it without shrinking--nay, with a certain

hopeful anticipation; but I confess also that I looked at the past and

all that I was leaving with a certain regret. Indeed, I was born

between two stools; for, while I could never be content to stay at home

and spend my days among books, on the other hand, the life of unlettered

action was repugnant. Had it been possible, I should have gladly dwelt

among wars and tumults with men who cared not for these things alone,

and could return, when all violence was at an end, to books and study

with a cheerful heart. But no man has the making of the world, and he

must even fit himself to it as he finds it. Nor do I think it

altogether evil to have many desires and even many regrets, for it keeps

a man's spirit active, and urges him on to valiant effort. Of this I am

sure, that contentment is the meanest of the virtues.

As I left the place there was a cool, grey haze over all the gardens and

towers--mellow and soft and lucid. But to the north, where lay the sea,

there was a broken sky, blue, with fitful clouds passing athwart. It

seemed, as it were, the emblem of my life--the tranquil and the

unsettled. Yet in the broken sky there was a promise of sunshine and

brilliance, which was not in the even grey; and this heartened me.

So at four that evening we mounted horse and rode forth by the way we

had come, and ere the hour of eleven were on the wharf at Rotterdam,

sniffing the distant smell of the sea.

CHAPTER IX

AN ACCOUNT OF MY HOME-COMING

Captain Steen met me on deck and greeted me heartily. "There's a brisk

wind from the sou'-east," said he, "which should speed us well;" and

soon, amid creaking of cordage and flapping of sails, we dropped down

the estuary and set our face sea-wards. There was something of a squall

of rain which beat on us till we were fairly beyond the Dutch coast; but

after that it drew down to the west, and when I awoke the next morn, the

sky was blue and sunshiny, and the soft south wind whistled gaily in the

rigging.

Of my voyage home I do not purpose to tell at length. On it I met with

none of the mishaps which I had encountered before, so the brandy was

wholly needless. Indeed, I found the greatest pleasure in the journey;

the motion of the ship gave me delight; and it was fine to watch the

great, heaving deserts before and behind, when the sun beat on them at

mid-day, or lay along them in lines of gold and crimson at the

darkening. The captain I found a friendly, talkative man, and from him

I had much news of the state of the land whither I was returning. Nor

was it of such a sort as to elate me, for it seemed as if, in the short

time I had been away, things had taken many steps to the devil. The

truth of the matter, I fancy, was that when I left Tweeddale I was

little more than a boy, with a boy's interests, but that now I had grown

to some measure of manhood and serious reflection.

But my time during the days of our sailing was in the main taken up with

thoughts of Marjory. The word I had got still rankled in my mind, and I

puzzled my brain with a thousand guesses as to its purport. But as the

hours passed this thought grew less vexatious, for was not I on my way

home, to see my love once more, to help her in perplexity, and, by God's

help, to leave her side never again? So anxiety was changed by degrees

to delight at the expectation of meeting her, and, as I leaned over the

vessel's edge and looked at the foam curling back from the prow, I had

many pleasing images in my fancy. I would soon be in Tweeddale again,

and have Scrape and Dollar Law and Caerdon before my eyes, and hear the

sing-song of Tweed running through the meadows. I thought of golden

afternoons in the woods of Dawyck, or the holms of Lyne, of how the

yellow light used to make the pools glow, and the humming of bees was

mingled with the cry of snipe and the song of linnet. As I walked the

deck there were many pictures of like nature before me. I thought of

the winter expeditions at Barns, when I went out in the early morning to

the snow-clad hills with my gun, with Jean Morran's dinner of cakes and

beef tightly packed in my pocket; and how I was wont to come in at the

evening, numb and frozen, with maybe a dozen white hares and duck over

my shoulder, to the great fire-lit hall and supper. Every thought of

home made it doubly dear to me. And more than all else, there was my

lady awaiting me, looking for the sight of my horse's head at the long

avenue of Dawyck. An old catch, which wandering packmen used to sing,

and which they called "The North Countree," ran in my head; and, as I

looked over the vessel's bowsprit, I found myself humming:

"There's an eye that ever weeps, and a fair face will be fain

When I ride through Annan Water wi' my bonny bands again."

Then I fell to thinking of the house of Barns, and of the many things

which I should do were I home. There was much need of change in the

rooms, which had scarce been touched for years. Also I figured to

myself the study I should make, and the books which were to fill it.

Then out of doors there was need of planting on the hillsides and

thinning in the haughlands; and I swore I should have a new cauld made

in Tweed, above the island, for the sake of the fishing. All this and

more should I do "when I rode through Annan Water wi' my bonny bands

again."

We left Rotterdam on the evening of one day, and sailed throughout the

day following; and since we had a fair wind and a stout ship, about noon

on the next we rounded the Bass and entered the Forth. I was filled

with great gladness to see my native land once more, and as for my

servant, I could scarce prevail upon him to keep from flinging his hat

into the sea or climbing to the masthead in the excess of his delight.

The blue Lomonds of Fife, the long ridge of the Lammermoors, and the

great battlements of the Pentlands were to me like honey in the mouth,

so long had I been used to flat lands. And beyond them I saw the line

of the Moorfoots, ending in Dundreich, which is a hill not five miles

from the town of Peebles.

About three of the clock we entered Leith Roads and awaited the signals

for admission. "The Seamaw lies at the wast harbour for usual," said

the captain, "but there's something wrong thereaways the day, so we maun

e'en run into the east." So, soon amid a throng of barques at anchor

and small boats moving to and fro among them, we steered our course, and

in a very little lay against the grey, sea-washed walls of the east

quay. There we landed, after bidding farewell to the captain; and as my

feet touched the well-worn cobblestones, and I smelt the smell of tar

and herrings, I knew my own land. The broad twang of the fishermen, the

shrill yatter of the fishwives, the look of the black, red-tiled houses,

and the spires of the kirks--all was so Scots that it went straight to

my heart, and it was with a cheerful spirit that, followed by my

servant, I made for the inn of _The Three Herrings_, where I purposed to

sleep the night ere I rode to Tweeddale on the morrow. So much for

man's devices: this was to be to me the last day of quiet life for many

months. But as I briskly strode along the Harbour Walk, little I

foresaw of the dangers and troubles which awaited my coming.

BOOK III--THE HILLMEN

CHAPTER I

THE PIER O' LEITH

When I came to the door of _The Three Herrings_, I presented an imposing

sight, with Nicol at my side and two sailors at my back with my baggage.

The landlord, who was taking the afternoon air against the wall, made me

a civil greeting, and placed his hostel at my service, opining that I

was a stranger of consequence just come from abroad. So bidding my

servant settle with the men, I followed my host upstairs to a room where

a fire was burning and some refreshment laid on the table. From below

came the clink of glasses and the snatch of a song. The sun poured in

at the open window; a girl in the street was singing the "Fishwives'

Rant"; and all the world seemed in gay spirits.

An excellent supper was brought, on which I fell like a hawk, for the

sea air had sharpened my hunger, and landward dishes are better than the

meat of a ship. I bade the landlord let no one enter save my servant,

for that I desired to be alone. Then I fell to summing up my monies,

and various calculations of a like nature, which it was proper to make

on my return; and, finally, I pushed away my chair from the table, and,

filling my glass, gave myself up to pleasing fancies.

It was near the darkening, as I saw from the window which opened on the

back yard, and which at that hour was filled with the red glow of

sunset. The chimneys on the tall houses rose like spikes into the still

air, and somewhere in the place a bell was ringing for I know not what.

Below in the room I heard many mingled voices, and a high imperious tone

as of one accustomed to authority. I guessed that some body of soldiers

was filling the tap-room. I was in a fine, contented frame of mind,

well pleased with the present, and looking cheerfully forward to the

morrow. By and by I began to wish for Nicol's presence and to wonder at

his long absence.

I was just approaching a state of irritation with my servant when the

door was softly opened and the defaulter appeared. His face struck me

with surprise, for, whereas for usual it was merry and careless, it was

now filled with grave concernment. He closed the latch quietly behind

him, and then slipped the bolt, locked the door, and pocketed the key.

I stared in silent amazement.

"If it comes to the warst," he said, "we can fecht for 't."

"What fooling is this?" said I. "Tell me at once, and have done with

it.

"It's nae fooling, Laird, as ye'll be finding oot. Sit still, for I've a

long story to tell ye." And, having first listened for a noise from

below, he began his news, while I listened in much trepidation.

"I paid the men as ye tellt me, and syne I gaed doun to my cousin's shop

i' the Rope-Walk, just to speir if they were a' weel; and then I cam'

back to the inn, thinking to get a bit quiet gless a' by mysel' i' the

chimley corner. But when I gaed into the room I fand it filled wi'

muckle sodger folk, drinking and sweering like deevils. And the first

man I clappit eyes on was yin Jock Cadder, whae was yince a freend o'

mine, so sitting doun aside Jock, I fell into crack.

"Weel, I hadna been there mony meenutes when I hears a loud voice frae

the ither end calling for a song. And anither voice answered, no sae

loud, but weak and thin. I jumpit up in my seat, for the voices were

weel kenned to me. And there I saw at the ither end o' the table your

wanchancy cousin the Captain, sitting glowrin' wi' his muckle een and

playing wi' his gless. And aside him was nae ither than Maister Michael

Veitch, him o' Dawyck, but no like what he used to be, but a' red aboot

the een, and fosy aboot the face, like a man that's ower fond o' the

bottle."

My heart leaped with a sudden terror at the news. What on earth was

Marjory's brother doing on the Pier o' Leith in the company of my most

bitter foe? A great sense of coming ill hung over me as Nicol went on.

"Weel, I was astonished; and speaking quiet in Jock Cadder's ear, I asks

him what it meant, and what the twae were daein' here. And this is what

I heard from him, for Jock never jaloused I had aught to dae wi' ye, but

thocht I was aye the same auld hide-i'-the-heather I had been afore.

'When our Captain cam back frae furrin pairts,' says he, 'he gangs off

to Tweeddale, your ain countryside, for it seems there's a lassie there

he's awfu' fond o'. She's the dochter o' auld Veitch o' Dawyck, rich,

and, by a' accoont, terrible bonny. But she's trysted to the Captain's

cousin, Burnet o' Barns, whae has been in Holland for mair nor a year.

It's weel kenned that Maister Gilbert Burnet, when he gets a ploy intil

his heid, never stops till he wins his purpose; so he sets himsel' to

mak love to the lass. And he couldna dae this unless he were weel in

favour wi' her brother Michael, so he begins by winnin' him ower to his

side. Noo Michael Veitch (that's him up there) was aye uncommon fond o'

wine and yill o' a' description, so the Captain leads him on and on by

drinkin' wi' him at a' times, till noo the man is fair helpless. But

this wasna a', for if John Burnet cam hame and fund this gaun on, he wad

mak a rare camsteery, and, by a' accoont, he's a stieve dour chiel. So

Maister Gilbert, whae's high in favour wi' the Privy Council, gangs and

tells them o' some daeings o' his cousin's abroad, o' some hobnobbing

and plotting wi' rebels and outlawed folk, and sending treasonable

letters to this land under his name; so he gets a warrant for the lad's

arrest as sune as he sets foot on Scots earth--and a'body kens what that

means, that he'll no be troubled muckle mair wi' his cousin in this

warld. That's the reason we're doun here the day. We've had word that

he's coming ower i' the Seamaw, whilk lies at the wast harbour. We've

been sending doun word thae last 'oors, but she's no in there yet, and

'ill no be noo till the morn.'

"That was what Jock Cadder tellt me, and I warrant I was in a fine

fricht. It was clear the Captain had nae mind o' me, for he lookit twae

or three times my way, and never changed his face. I slips oot the door

wi'oot being noticed, and cam up here wi' a' speed to tell ye the tale.

So, Laird, ye're in a close hole, and there's just some auld wooden

planking atween you and the Tolbooth."

I cared little for the Tolbooth or anything else. One thing, and one

alone, claimed all my attention. My whole soul was filled with a terror

of anxiety, of mad jealousy, and desperate fear for my lady's sake. This

was the cause of the letter, this the cause of her silence. I ground my

teeth in helpless fury, and could have found it in my heart to rush down

to Gilbert and choke the life in his throat. I was so appalled by the

monstrousness of the thing that I could scarce think. My own danger was

nothing, but that Marjory should be the sport of ruffians--the thing

overpowered me. It was too fearsome, too monstrous.

One thing was clear--that I must go to her at once. If Gilbert Burnet

was on the Pier o' Leith, Marjory Veitch at Dawyck would be quit of his

company. Were I once there I could see her, and, perchance, save her.

I cannot write down my full trepidation. My fingers clutched at my

coat, and I could scarce keep my teeth from chattering. It was no

fright that did it, but an awful sickening anxiety preying on my vitals.

But with an effort I choked down my unrest, and centred all my thoughts

on the present. Were I only in Tweeddale I might yet find a way out of

the trouble. But woe's me for the change in my prospects! I had come

home thinking in the pride of my heart to be welcomed by all and to cut

a great figure in my own countryside; and lo, I found myself an outlawed

man, whose love was in peril, and whose own craig was none so sure. The

sudden reversion all but turned my wits.

I walked to the window and looked down. The night was now dark, but

below a glimmer from the taproom window lit the ground. It was a court

paved with cobblestones from the beach, where stood one or two waggons,

and at one end of which were the doors of a stable. Beyond that a

sloping roof led to a high wall, at the back of which I guessed was a

little wynd. Once I were there I might find my way through the back

parts of Leith to the country, and borrow a horse and ride to Tweeddale.

But all was hazardous and uncertain, and it seemed as if my chance of

safety was small indeed. I could but try, and if I must perish, why

then so it was fated to be.

"Nicol," said I, "bide here the night to keep off suspicion, and come on

as soon as you can, for the days have come when I shall have much need

of you."

"There's but ae thing to be dune, to tak to the hills, and if ye gang

onywhere from the Cheviots to the Kells, Nicol Plenderleith 'ill be wi'

ye, and ye need hae nae fear. I ken the hills as weel as auld Sawtan

their maister himsel'. I'll e'en bide here, and if ye ever win to

Dawyck, I'll no be lang ahint ye. Oh, if I could only gang wi' ye! But,

by God, if ye suffer aught, there'll be some o' His Majesty's dragoons

that'll dree their wierd." My servant spoke fiercely, and I was much

affected at the tenderness for me which it betokened.

"If I never see you again, Nicol, you'll watch over Marjory? Swear,

man, swear by all that's sacred that you'll do my bidding."

"I swear by the Lord God Almighty that if ye come to ony scaith, I'll

send the man that did it to Muckle Hell, and I'll see that nae ill comes

ower Mistress Marjory. Keep an easy mind, Laird; I'll be as guid as my

word."

Without more ado I opened the window and looked out. My servant's talk

of taking to the hills seemed an over-soon recourse to desperate

remedies. Could I but remove my sweetheart from the clutches of my

rival, I trusted to prove my innocence and clear myself in the sight of

all. So my thoughts were less despairing than Nicol's, and I embarked

on my enterprise with good heart. I saw the ground like a pit of

darkness lie stark beneath me. Very carefully I dropped, and, falling

on my feet on the cobblestones, made such a clangour beneath the very

taproom window that I thought the soldiers would have been out to grip

me. As it was, I heard men rise and come to the window; and, crouching

far into the lee of the sill, I heard them talk with one another. "Tut,

tut, Jock," I heard one say, "it is nothing but a drunken cadger come to

seek his horse. Let be and sit down again." When all was quiet I stole

softly over to the other side, that I might scale the wall and reach the

wynd, for I dare not pass through the open close into the Harbour Walk

lest I should be spied and questioned by the soldiers who were ever

lounging about.

But some fortunate impulse led me to open the stable door. A

feebly-burning lantern hung on a peg, and there came from the stalls the

noise of horses champing corn. They were the raw-boned hacks of the

soldiers, sorry beasts, for the increase of the military in the land had

led to a dearth of horses. But there was one noble animal at the right,

slim of leg and deep of chest, with a head as shapely as a maiden's. I

rushed hotly forward, for at the first glance I had known it for my own

mare Maisie, the best in all Tweeddale. A fine anger took me again to

think that my cousin had taken my steed for his own mount. I had sent

it back to Barns, and, forsooth, he must have taken it thence in spite

of the vigilant Tam Todd. But I was also glad, for I knew that once I

had Maisie forth of the yard, and were on her back, and she on the

highway, no animal ever foaled could come up with her. So I gave up all

my designs on the wall, and fell to thinking how best I could get into

the Harbour Walk.

There was but one way, and it was only a chance. But for me it was neck

or nothing, my love or a tow in the Grassmarket; so I tossed my plumed

hat, my sword, and my embroidered coat on a heap of hay, tore open my

shirt at the neck, put a piece of straw between my lips, and soon was a

very tolerable presentment of an ostler or farrier of some kind. So

taking Maisie's bridle--and at my touch she thrilled so that I saw she

had not forgotten me--I led her boldly across the court, straddling in

my walk to counterfeit some fellow whose work was with horses. My heart

beat wildly as I went below the archway and confronted the knots of

soldiers, who, sitting on a low bench or leaning against the wall, were

engaged in loud talk and wrangling.

"Ho, you, fellow, where are you going with the Captain's horse?" cried

one. I knew by his tone that the man was a Southron, so I had little

fear of detection.

"I'm gaun to tak it to the smiddy," said I, in my broadest speech. "The

Captain sent doun word to my maister, Robin Rattle, in the Flesh Wynd,

that the beast was to be ta'en doun and shod new, for she was gaun far

the neist day. So I cam up to bring it."

The man looked satisfied, but a question suggested itself to him.

"How knew you the one, if you were never here before?"

"It was the best beast i' the place," I said simply; and this so put his

mind at rest that, with a gratuitous curse, he turned round, and I was

suffered to go on unmolested.

Down the Harbour Walk I led her, for I dared not mount lest some stray

trooper recognised the mare and sought to interrogate me. Very quietly

and circumspectly I went, imitating a stableman by my walk and carriage

as I best knew how, till in ten minutes I came to the end, and, turning

up the Fisherrow, came into Leith Walk and the borders of Edinburgh.