CHAPTER V.
THE CLASH OF WORDS.
A doubtful dawn had grown into a chosen day when I saddled in Earlstouncourtyard, to ride past the house of our kinswoman at Lochinvar on a sadand heavy errand. Sandy has betaken himself to his great oak on theborder of the policies, where with his skill in forest craft he hadbuilt himself a platform among the solidest masses of the leaves. Therehe abode during the day, with a watch set on the Tod Hill and another onthe White Hill above the wood of Barskeoch. Only at the even, when allthings were quiet, would he venture to slip down and mix with us aboutthe fire. But he swung himself swiftly back again to his tree by a rope,if any of the dragoons were to be heard of in the neighbourhood.
During all this time it comes back to me how much we grew to depend onMaisie Lennox. From being but "Anton Lennox's dochter" she came to be"Meysie, lass" to my mother, and indeed almost a daughter to her. Once,going to the chamber-door at night to cry ben some message to my mother,I was startled and afraid to hear the sound of sobbing within--as of onecrying like a young lass or a bairn, exceedingly painful to hear. Ithought that it had been Maisie speaking of her sorrow, and my mothercomforting her. But when I listened, though indeed that was not mycustom, I perceived that it was my mother who grat and refused to becomforted.
"O my William!" she cried, moaning like a child that would sob itself tosleep, "I ken, O I ken, I shall never see him mair. He's lyin' cauld andstill at the dyke back that yince my airms keepit fast. O thae wearyCovenants, thae weary, weary Covenants!"
"Hush thee, my dawtie, say not so!" I heard the voice of my cousinMaisie--I could not help but hear it, "The Lord calls us to do littlefor Him oursels, for we are feckless women, an' what can we do? But Hebids us gie Him our men-folk, the desire o' our hearts. Brithers hae Igie'n, twa and three, and my last is my father that lies noo amang themoss-hags, as ye ken!"
But again I heard my mother's voice breaking through in a querulousanger.
"What ken ye, lassie? Brithers and faither, guids and gear, they arenamuckle to loose. Ye never lost the man for wha's sake ye left faitheran' mither, only just to follow him through the warl'!"
And in the darkness I could hear my mother wail, and Maisie the younglass hushing and clapping her. So, shamed and shaken at heart, I stoleaway a-tiptoe lest any should hear me, for it was like a crime to listento what I had heard. But I am forgetting to tell of our riding away.
It was a morning so buoyant that we seemed verily up-borne by the floodof sunlight, like the small birds that glided and sang in our Earlstounwoods. Yet I had small time to think of the beauty of the summer tide,when our father lay unburied at a dyke back, and some one must ride andlay him reverently in the earth.
Sandy could not go--that was plain. He was now head of the house andname. Besides the pursuit was hot upon him. So at my mother's word, Itook a pair of decent serving men and wended my way over the hill. Andas I went my heart was sore for my mother, who stood at the door to seeus go. She had supplied with her own hands all the decent wrappingswherewith to bury my father. Sandy further judged it not prudent toattempt to bring him home. He had gotten a staw of the red soldiers, hesaid, and wished for that time to see no more of them.
But I that had seen none of them, was hot upon bringing my father to thedoor to lie among his kin.
"The driving is like to be brisk enough without that!" said Sandy.
And my mother never said a word, for now Sandy was the laird, and thehead of the house. She even offered to give up the keys to JeanHamilton, my brother's wife. But for all her peevishness Jean Hamiltonknew her place, and put aside her hand kindly.
"No, mother," she said. "These be yours so long as it pleases God tokeep you in the House of Earlstoun."
For which I shall ever owe Jean Hamilton a good word and kindly thought.
The names of the two men that went with me were Hugh Kerr and JohnMeiklewood. They were both decent men with families of their own, andhad been excused from following my father and brother on that account.
Now as we went up the hill a sound followed us that made us turn andlisten. It was a sweet and charming noise of singing. There, at the doorof Earlstoun were my mother and her maidens, gathered to bid us farewellupon our sad journey. It made a solemn melody on the caller morning air,for it was the sound of the burying psalm, and they sang it sweetly. Soup the Deuch Water we rode, the little birds making a choir about us,and young tailless thrushes of the year's nesting pulling at reluctantworms on the short dewy knowes. All this I saw and more. For the Lordthat made me weak of arm, at least, did not stint me as to glegness ofeye.
When we came to where the burn wimples down from Garryhorn, we found apicket of the King's dragoons drawn across the road, who challenged usand made us to stand. Their commander was one Cornet Inglis, a rough androystering blade. They were in hold at Garryhorn, a hill farm-townbelonging to Grier of Lag, whence they could command all the headend ofthe Kells.
"Where away so briskly?" the Cornet cried, as we came riding up theroad. "Where away, Whigs, without the leave of the King and PeterInglis?"
I told him civilly that I rode to Carsphairn to do my needs.
"And what need may you have in Carsphairn, that you cannot fit in SaintJohn's Clachan of Dalry as well, and a deal nearer to your hand?"
I told him that I went to bury my father.
"Ay," he said, cocking his head quickly aslant like a questing cat thatlistens at a mouse-hole; "and of what quick complaint do fathers dieunder every green tree on the road to Bothwell? Who might the father ofyou be, if ye happen to be so wise as to ken?"
"My father's name was Gordon," I said, with much quietness ofmanner--for, circumstanced as I was, I could none other.
Cornet Inglis laughed a loud vacant laugh when I told him my father'sname, which indeed was no name to laugh at when he that owned it wasalive. Neither Peter Inglis not yet his uncle had laughed in the face ofWilliam Gordon of Earlstoun--ay, though they had been riding forth witha troop behind them.
"Gordon," quoth he, "Gordon--a man canna spit in the Glenkens withoutsploiting on a Gordon--and every Jack o' them a cantin' rebel!"
"You lie, Peter Inglis--lie in your throat!" cried a voice from thehillside, quick as an echo. Inglis, who had been hectoring it hand onhip, turned at the word. His black brows drew together and his hand fellslowly till it rested on his sword-hilt. He who spoke so boldly was alad of twenty, straight as a lance shaft is straight, who rode slowlydown from the Garryhorn to join us on the main road where the picket wasposted.
It was my cousin and kinsman, Wat Gordon of Lochinvar--a spark ofmettle, who in the hour of choosing paths had stood for the King and themother of him (who was a Douglas of Morton) against the sterner way ofhis father and forebears.
The Wildcat of Lochinvar they called him, and the name fitted him likehis laced coat.
For Wullcat Wat of Lochinvar was the gayest, brightest, most recklessblade in the world. And even in days before his father's capture andexecution, he had divided the house with him. He had rallied half theretainers, and ridden to Morton Castle to back his uncle there when theKing's interest was at its slackest, and when it looked as if the daysof little Davie Crookback were coming back again. At Wat Gordon's backthere rode always his man-at-arms, John Scarlet, who had been a soldierin France and also in Brandenburg--and who was said to be the greatestmaster of fence and cunning man of weapons in all broad Scotland. But itwas rumoured that now John Scarlet had so instructed his young masterthat with any weapon, save perhaps the small sword the young cock couldcraw crouser than the old upon the same middenstead.
"I said you lied, Peter Inglis," cried Wullcat Wat, turning back thelace ruffle of his silken cuff, for he was as gay and glancing in hisapparel as a crested jay-piet. "Are ye deaf as well as man-sworn?"
Inglis stood a moment silent; then he understood who his enemy was. Forindeed it was no Maypole dance to quarrel with Wat of Lochinvar withJohn Scarlet swaggering behind him.
"Did you not hear? I said you li
ed, man--lied in your throat. Have youaught to say to it, or shall I tell it to Clavers at the table to-nightthat ye have within you no throat and no man's heart, but only thegullet of a guzzling trencherman?"
"I said that the Gordons of the Glenkens were traitors. 'Tis a kennedthing," answered Inglis, at last mustering up his resolution, "but Ihave no quarrel with you, Wat Gordon, for I know your favour up atGarryhorn--and its cause."
"Cause----" said Wullcat Wat, bending a little forward in his saddle andstriping one long gauntlet glove lightly through the palm of the otherhand, "cause--what knows Peter Inglis of causes? This youth is my cousinof Earlstoun. I answer for him with my life. Let him pass. That isenough of cause for an Inglis to know, when he chances to meet men of anhonester name."
"He is a rebel and a traitor!" cried Inglis, "and I shall hold him tillI get better authority than yours for letting him go. Hear ye that, Watof Lochinvar!"