FOR a time the pair walked on in silence. They were not ill-matched. Both were strong, active-looking men, though the one was stoutly made, the other lean and wiry. The minister was the elder by perhaps a score of years, but he was still erect and vigorous; and if his companion's hair was not so gray, the pressure of a steel cap had left it far more scanty. What time and thought had done for the one the vicissitudes of a soldier's life had accomplished for the other. Aird was the first to break the silence, which he did, perhaps unconsciously, by the simple, sad exclamation, “Poor Charlie!”
“Spare your pity, reverend sir,” said the captain, not too well pleased. “He is going to fight in a good cause, for a good master, with good pay and providing’s. What more, in Heaven's name, would you have for him?”
“I would fain have for him that which you cannot give, my valiant friend. But I own the truth of much that you propose, and I am free to acknowledge that—broken man as he is, deep in debt, without a friend to turn to save my unworthy self, without a crown in his pocket and almost without a coat to his back—he can scarce do better, as far as it concerns the fleeting and transitory affairs of this miserable life. While as for the rest, God's grace can reach him in Germany as well as in Scotland.”
“Well spoken, sir. Like other men of your cloth I have known, you seem to have a pretty shrewd judgment in matters of the world. And I think the laird—nay, he is not laird, but master, you say?”
“Younger of Denniscraig, we call him in these parts.”
“Then I suppose you old owl's nest of a castle belongs to the bonny little lad?”
“It belongs to his father, Hugh Graham of Denniscraig, if he be alive—or rather, indeed, to his father's creditors.”
“How?” asked the captain, in some surprise. “I thought you told me yourself that the father was dead.”
“I think I said to you, sir, as I laid my hand on the boy's head, ‘His father is not.’ Dead is he in truth to his bairns, his friends, his faith, and his God. Ay, and it all came about from going to these same foreign wars. Is it any marvel, think you, that, albeit my judgment agreeth thereto, I see his brother follow him with a sore, foreboding heart?”
“In what cause, I pray you, and under what leader did the elder brother engage himself?”
“In the best of causes. In the cause of the Protestant religion, and of that most noble, worthy and magnanimous princess, the Queen of Bohemia. Under a gallant leader, too—the brave Sir Horace Vere.”
“Then what strange chance befell him that he should end as you say?”
“I can scarcely tell. Doubtless it was the work of the great enemy.”
“You perplex me somewhat, I confess,” said Captain Stuart musingly. “I am acquainted with Sir Horace Vere, and, now that I think of it, I am sure that I have heard him mention the name of Hugh Graham. Yes, I remember! He spoke of him very handsomely, said he had never had a better officer or a more gallant soldier under him. But he did not give him his designation of Denniscraig, and there be so many Grahams, I thought not of him in connection with our random friend yonder until now. Furthermore, Sir Horace deplored his loss, he having been wounded and taken prisoner in a skirmish, I think, soon after the disastrous battle of Prague. I hope he fell into good hands.”
“Ay did he; over good for his soul's weal,” said the minister bitterly. “Would you credit it, sir, they made a Papist of him? Nursed as he was in the true evangel, brought up by my own self in the intimate knowledge of Holy Writ and of the doctrines of the Reformed Faith, is it to be believed that a few soft words and cunning blandishments should have won him over to the idolatries and abominations of the Mass?”
“Nay,” said the man of the world; “more likely a view to his own interest and a promise of speedy advancement in the Imperialist service.”
The minister shook his head.
“You know not Hugh Graham,” he answered. “Ever since he was a bit bairn you might lead him round the world by setting before his eyes some fine notion of right or goodness or generosity, but never an inch could you stir him either for hope of reward or fear of punishment.”
“He must have been very unlike other folk,” said the captain, a little incredulously.
“That he was! I should ken, who have taught and guided the twa bit laddies frae the day their father died,” returned the minister, lapsing into broader Scotch in proportion as he grew excited. “Their father gave them me in charge on his dying bed. And I did my best for them—God wot I did my best! I spared neither care nor pains, nor yet due and wholesome chastisement, which, as Solomon says, drives foolishness far frae the bairnly heart.”
“I fear that, notwithstanding all your well-meant efforts, there was a little left in that of our friend Charlie.”
“Ou ay! Charles was ever a wild, idle callant, and hated his book right heartily. It was aye games and pranks with him—fencing, riding, boating, golf-playing, and trying every way he could to tine his time and twist his craig. Moreover, evil communications corrupt even good manners, and his were never the best, poor laddie! His neighbors, Jock Shooter and Lang Tam Niddrie and the Laird of Gleik, taught him that deadly lesson, to look upon the wine when it is red and giveth its color in the cup, and moveth itself aright. Wae's me, but it's the sorrowful story! Howbeit, to return to Hugh. He was the making of a braw scholar, and had the best of parts and an excellent understanding. Moreover, he was a gentle, loving-hearted bairn.”
“And yet evidently, from what Sir Horace has told me, bravest of the brave.”
The minister bowed his head in sad, though proud acquiescence. “He never lacked courage,” he said. “Indeed, he lacked not any good gift a man could have, save two only: common sense and the grace of God.”
A silence followed, which Captain Stuart, perhaps not quite comprehending his companion's meaning, did not care to break. At length the minister resumed. “He used to let himself be led into mischief by his scapegrace of a brother, though he had more wit in his little finger than poor Charlie in his whole body. Indeed, I must say of the brothers that they held maist lovingly together first and last. And I think Charlie would give his life this day to win Hugh back again. Weel, sir Hugh grew up, and naught would serve him but to mix and meddle with all sorts of outlandish learning, studying the stars to learn the future, and the earth to win gold for the present. Of which things some may be part true, for aught I ken, but more are just vanity and vexation of spirit, and perchance displeasing to Almighty God.”
“Still, I suppose, reverend sir, you do not intend to condemn altogether the study of astrology, which I take to be a most noble science,” Stuart threw in modestly. “You are aware, no doubt, that it is much favored at present by great personages, and especially by the Duke of Friedland.”
“A name, sir, that sounds but ill in my ears, as you shall hear anon. As those who madden their brains and fever their blood with strong drink lose their relish for good meat and pure water, so Hugh Graham, with his head full of dreams and fancies, had no place left in it for the simple Word of God. He doubted, questioned, fought over everything I said to him, and even tried to put his notions into poor Charlie's empty head. So the love of the two brothers, which should have been a blessing, grew in the end well-nigh a curse to both.”
“And what in the meantime became of their worldly affairs?”
“Their father left them more debts than siller Still, while they were bairns, we who acted for them were careful, vera, and on the whole things were not that bad. But when they came to man's estate they soon changed all. Hugh spent his substance in fool's nonsense, Charlie in riotous living. And neither the one nor the other had a thought to manage or to take care of land or stock. So it goes on to this day. If it were but daylight, sir, I would show you the land, and the state it is left to lie in. It would gar a man greet to see it.”
“I fear, from the nature of my calling, I know more of swords than plowshares, and would be a better judge of a well-fought than of a well-tilled field,” said Captain Stuart. “But I can understand how the laird was tempted to neglect the earth in gazing at the stars.”
“He scorned to win honest bread out of the soil in the sweat of his brow,” resumed the minister, “but he wanted to coax gold out of it by unhallowed means. At last he took the long journey to London town, to see some man of science from foreign parts, who was to teach him the hidden secrets of nature, and specially about the making of gold. Wae's me all the gold he ever brought back with him was on the fair head of a bonny young bride. The philosopher, as he called him, was dying—dying, too, in want and penury, for all his boasted wisdom; and nothing would serve the laird but he must wed his one bairn and bring her home to Denniscraig.”
“Perhaps that was not so much amiss,” the man of war threw in. “Many a man has been mended by a good wife.”
“I have nothing but good to say of the poor gentle young leddy,” the minister continued. “Giovana her true name was, but he aye. called her Jeanie, and her little lass after her the same. I think she tried to be content, and to live happy among us. It was no fault of hers that she could not, but pined away until she died.”
“Was the laird unkind to her?”
“Unkind! Hugh could not be unkind to the meanest thing God made, no' to speak of his own bonny bride. It was our gray northern skies, our frost and ice, our wild, wintry winds that were unkind to her. But in the meantime, the Lord Almighty was doing a strange thing. Which indeed was no strange thing for Him, since He delights in mercy and loving-kindness. The blessed words to which Hugh's folly had sealed his ears went deep into the simple heart of his young wife. I dinna ken what sort of upbringing her father had given her―indeed, he seemed more heathen than Papist,―but she said to me that when she found herself in a far country, sick and sorrowful, and like to leave all she loved, she just thought she was sinking down―down―into the blackness of darkness. And then it pleased her right well to hear of One who could make the darkness light about her.”
“No doubt the consolations of religion are very valuable to the sick and dying, and to those in trouble,” said the soldier, with a respectful air.
“Ay, sir; but where's the right to claim them if the duties of religion have not been fulfilled by the whole and prosperous? Would any king or general whom you know maintain the disabled soldier who had refused to serve him on the field of battle? Not that the Almighty, who is the Sovereign Disposer of all things, may not―and does not―sometimes magnify the riches of His grace by being found, and even at the eleventh hour, of those who sought Him not. He drew very near the poor young Teddy of Denniscraig. After her own simple fashion she took all He has said as if it were said yesterday, and said in the ear of no living being but herself. She just heard Him say, ‘Come unto Me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest,’ and she answered Him back straight, like a wee bit bairn that runs to its mother, ‘Lord, I'm very weary, and I come!’ No doubt nor fear had she for herself, only her heart was sore whiles for the laird, and for the bit lassie. But when wee Hugh was born, and she knew rightly her own end was near, that burden was taken off her. The very last time I saw her, she said to me, with her weak failing breath, ‘He tells me He'll take good care of them, and bring them safe home to me, all three. He doesna tell me how, but I dinna mind that satisfied.’ And satisfied indeed she looked, with that sweet smile on her bonny white face. Hech, sir I but it was the sad day for Denniscraig when the Lord called her.”
“And what of the laird after that?”
“The laird, when she was gone, could not bide the place. He took his sad heart and his broken fortunes to the foreign wars, where, as you have heard, sir, he bore himself right bravely. After the luckless King of Bohemia got his final overthrow at the battle of Prague, he joined the Duke of Brunswick, and with him still held out for the lost cause.”
“Call it not lost, if you please, sir, now that the great King of Sweden hath undertaken to maintain it.”
“Well, sir, I'll no' dispute. But my mind misgives me that unless Gustavus can give Frederick what he never had―the soul of a hero―there's small use in his giving him again what he has had and lost―the empty title of a king. Our poor Hugh was one of the many his fall dragged down into misery. We heard first that he was wounded and made prisoner, and we were sore troubled about his ransom. We even feared he might not be held to ransom at all, but might be brought to the scaffold, like so many of his brave fellow-soldiers, victims to the vengeance of Ferdinand and the persecuting rage of Rome. Worse was in store for him and for us! The next news was that he had been kindly treated, was recovered of his wound, and about to take service on the Imperialist side under the Duke of Friedland.”
“But pray observe, my dear sir,” said Captain Stuart, “that such a course is not in itself considered derogatory to the character of an honorable cavalier. It is quite a common thing in the war for gentlemen to pass from one service to the other upon some disgust, or personal solicitation, or prospect of advantage. Nor, even if taken in battle, would the officer who had so acted be exposed to any pains or penalties, but be held to ransom, like any other prisoner of war, as a person of honor and good repute.”
“I think, captain, ye'd find it no' easy to get such notions of honor into our Scotch heads. Howbeit, the great grief was, not that Hugh changed his colors, but that he changed his faith.”
“It was a pity,” said Captain Stuart. “The rather because his new friend, the Duke of Friedland, would not have cared a straw whether he was Papist or Protestant.”
“Pity!” the minister repeated, in a tone of unutterable sadness, not wholly unmixed with scorn, as if he thought the word miserably below the occasion. “After a time the poor misguided lad wrote again to tell us he was well and prosperous, that he meant to leave the land here to his brother, and that he would send, as soon as he was comfortably established, for his bairns to come to him.”
“Did he do it?”
“No. But if he had ten times over, do you think we would have sent them? We know better what is due to the souls and bodies of two poor innocent bairns. Some eight years or thereabouts have passed since then, and never brought us word, line, or message from him. So we begin to think Hugh Graham must be dead.”
“May be or may not be,” said the soldier. “God knows.”
“It's too sure he's dead to us,” returned the minister sadly. “But here we are, captain,” he added, as they saw in the moonlight a small white house enclosed in a modest garden. “Yon is my humble dwelling. Will it please you to come in with me and take a whiff of smoke?”
The captain excused himself, and walked quickly back to Denniscraig, pondering the story he had heard.