*CHAPTER VI.*
*A THORN IN THE FLESH.*
On a dreary October afternoon in the year 1662, David Gray, the ministerof Broomhill, was sitting in the study in his own manse, with his armsleaning on the table, and his face wearing an expression of deepperplexity and care.
That very day had been published the proclamation drawn up by the PrivyCouncil in Glasgow, commanding the ministers to own the power of thenewly-appointed bishops, and to accept anew presentations of theirlivings at the hands of the prelates within four weeks, on pain of beingimmediately, with their families, ejected from their manses, livings,and parishes, beyond even the very bounds of their Presbyteries.
In a sore strait was the minister of Broomhill that day. In his ownmind there was not the slightest hesitation as to the course to bepursued; he had already refused to own the power of the Bishop ofGlasgow, in whose diocese was the parish of Broomhill. The trouble laynot with his own conscience; it was connected with his wife and herkinsfolk, who had already made his life miserable with their reproachesconcerning what they termed his obstinacy and bigoted Presbyterianism.She was not yet aware of this new proclamation, and the ministerbethought himself that he might try to enlist her sympathies on his sidebefore she was influenced by her friends at Haughhead. Accordingly herose from his chair, and went to the living-room in search of his wife.Hearing his foot in the passage, his little daughter, now able to runalone, came toddling to meet him, and stooping, the father raised her inhis arms and passionately clasped her to his heart. Her little arms metfondly round his neck, her rosy cheek was pressed lovingly to his; thegrave disturbed look on her father's face could not awe or frighten thelittle one, for he was her father still. That sweet caress did theheart of the minister good, and he entered the inner room with a lighterstep than that with which he had left his study. Another child, alittle son, just three months old, lay in the wooden cradle which theyoung mother was gently rocking with her foot, while over her sewing shecrooned a lullaby to hush the babe to rest. She looked up at herhusband's entrance, and slightly smiled in recognition.
"Is the child asleep? can we talk here, Lilian?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yes, he is very sound now, and will not awake for an hour," sheanswered. "What is it you have to say?"
For answer he drew from an inner pocket a copy of the proclamation andhanded it for her perusal. She carelessly glanced it over and laid itaside, while a peculiar little smile touched her red lips.
"I am not surprised; my father has always said the Government wouldresort to more extreme measures. Well, would it not have been better tohave owned the bishop's sway of your free will, without being hunted andcompelled to do it like this?" she asked.
The tone of her voice as well as her words went to her husband's heartlike a knife. He wearily passed his hand across his brow, and offeredup a silent prayer for guidance and strength to stand firm in thestruggle he knew was at hand.
"When I refused to own the bishop of my own free will, as you say,Lilian, do you think it a likely thing that such an edict, compiled by afew drunken and infamous men, will compel me to it? Middleton and hisunderlings have mistaken the men with whom they have to deal," he said,quietly, yet with unmistakable firmness.
His wife lifted her light blue eyes to his face, with a look ofincredulous wonder on her own.
"Do you really mean that you would sooner bear the penalty than obey,David Gray?" she asked.
"The penalty I would bear gladly if it did not involve breaking up ourhome. I doubt not the Lord will guide my feet in the right way. If Heshows me that it is my duty to endure hardship for His sake, will mywife not willingly endure with me? On such a vital question, Lilian, wecannot, dare not be divided!" said the minister, hoarsely.
Lilian Gray shrugged her slender shoulders, and an expression of scornsomewhat marred the childish beauty of her face.
"None but a madman, David, would give up a comfortable manse and a goodstipend for such a small thing; but doubtless though your folly shouldrender your wife and children homeless, it would not greatly exerciseyour spirit. But I am glad to think that my father's house will not beclosed against me," she said, pettishly, and turned her face away fromher husband.
The minister groaned in the anguish of his spirit for hisshallow-hearted wife tried him to the utmost limit of endurance. Beforehe had time to frame an answer to her most unfeeling speech, there camea loud knocking to the outer door, and presently he heard the voice ofhis father-in-law, Gilbert Burnet of Haughhead, enquiring whether he waswithin. So he turned upon his heel, and, quitting the room, met hisfather-in-law in the hall. Opening the study door, he motioned him toenter therein, for he saw well enough that it was the proclamation whichhad brought him to the manse. Burnet of Haughhead was a little burlyman, of very self-important and consequential demeanour, for, in truth,he thought himself of no mean importance in the parish, and consideredthat he had greatly honoured the minister of Broomhill in giving him hisdaughter to wife.
"I see by your face, son-in-law, that you have already receivednotification of the august decree concerning the bishops and theministers," he said, in a facetious voice. "Ha! ha! they are to bedealt with like refractory schoolboys now--mastered or expelled."
David Gray turned his head away with a swift gesture, for he was temptedto speak somewhat unbecomingly to the father of his wife. Such jestingand mocking allusion to such a serious matter were more than painful tohim; nay, he could scarcely endure it in patience.
"Would it not have been a much more satisfactory state of things had youquietly acquiesced in the desires of the king, without having to bebrought under this humiliating ban?" said Haughhead presently. "You arestill a young man, and ought to have been guided by the counsels of yourelders."
"Mr. Burnet, do you think that, though still a young man, I have neitheropinions nor conscience of my own?" enquired David Gray, hotly, for hisquick temper was touched by the manner and words addressed to him.
"A conscience is a very good thing within certain bounds, young man,"said Gilbert Burnet, drily. "I suppose now you will be halting stillbetwixt two alternatives. Perhaps the wording of the Act is not yetplain enough for your understanding."
"Sir, I know not why you should address such insulting and extraordinaryremarks to me. I fear I must have fallen far short of my profession asa minister of the Gospel that you should entertain for me so small ameasure of respect," said the minister of Broomhill, with quiet butrebuking dignity. "I am halting betwixt no two alternatives. As I havehitherto refused to acknowledge the bishop as the head of the Church, soI refuse still, at any cost. Come what may, I humbly pray that I may beaccounted worthy to suffer for Him who is the true and only head of theChurch on earth."
A flush of anger overspread the face of Gilbert Burnet.
"So, sir, it was for this I gave my daughter to you," he said slowly."Know this, if you still persist in your mad and bigoted resolve, I willremove her and her children to my own house of Haughhead, and you willsee them no more."
"You have no power to do that, sir, except Lilian go with you of her ownfree will," said the minister, quietly. "I cannot think that she wouldconsent to be entirely separated from me."
"We will see, we will see," fumed the irate Laird of Haughhead. "I willaway home, and see what her mother says to it; no, I'll not wait to seeLilian, so good day to you, David Gray."
So saying, the Laird abruptly quitted the manse, and rode away in angerto his own house of Haughhead. In his deep perplexity and sadness, theheart of the minister turned with a strange, deep yearning to his ownkinsfolk at the manse of Inverburn. So, as the day was not yet farspent, he saddled his sturdy cob, and rode away by the wild hill paths,in the bleak December weather, to his father's house. The way he tookwas much shorter than the public high road, the distance not exceedingfive miles, so that he came within sight of the roofs of Inverburnbefore darkness fell. He carefully guided his steed dow
n a very steepmountain path, and from the valley into which he descended he had a goodview of his brother Andrew's house of Hartrigge on the summit of theopposite height. He could either continue his course along the valley,which would bring him by a somewhat roundabout way to the village, orclimb the hill to Hartrigge, and thence reach the high road, a little tothe south of the entrance to Inverburn. He bethought him that he mightas well look in at Hartrigge, and enquire for the welfare of itsinmates; therefore he urged his horse to make the steep ascent, and in ashort space of time the animal's hoofs made a clatter on the pathoutside the house, and brought Andrew Gray to the door.
"David, is that indeed you in person?" he exclaimed in surprise, andhastened to relieve him of his bridle rein. "No ill news, I hope,brings you so far from home this bleak night."
"No worse news than has come to many another household this day,Andrew," replied the minister, with a sigh. "I am on my way to themanse, so you need not stable Charlie. He will stand quiet enough if hehears my voice, or if you could send one of your lads to hold him till Istep in and ask for Susan and the bairns, that will suffice."
"Gavin is in the house; he has been biding with us these three days; goin and send him out," said Andrew Gray. But there was no need, forpresently the lad Gavin appeared in person at the door, lookingsurprised and pleased to see his uncle.
"Well, Gavin, lad?" said the minister, kindly, and after shaking him bythe hand passed into the house. Mrs Gray rose from her spinning-wheel togreet her brother-in-law, her comely face smiling her hearty welcome."Come away in, David," she said in her own cheery fashion. "Hoo's a'wi' ye? Is Lily and the bairns well?"
"All well, thank you, Susan," said the minister, bending to pat, firstSandy's woolly head, and then wee Nannie's sunny curls; and he had akind word too for douce Jeanie, who was sitting demurely by thespinning-wheel. It was a picture of quiet family happiness andcontentment, soon, alas! to be looked for in vain throughout the lengthand breadth of bonnie Scotland.
"Doubtless you have heard concerning the new proclamation?" said theminister, turning enquiringly to his brother, who had followed him intothe room.
Hartrigge nodded, and a gleam shot through his fearless eye, tellingthat it had roused and stirred his innermost being.
"Have you seen our father to-day?"
"Yes, and I was amazed at his serenity. Jane feels it worse than him,and Betty McBean is the worst of them all. When I was in she wasaudibly wishing she had her hands about Middleton's neck, and her mouthat Sharp's ear. I'll warrant she wouldna spare them," said Andrew Gray,with a grim smile.
"Eh, man, David, they's awful times for folk tae live in," said AuntSusan, in a kind of wail. "I declare it makes a body lie doon i' theirbed at nicht wi' fear an' tremblin', no kenin' what strange and waefu'thing may happen afore the daw'in'."
"You speak truly, Susan, and I fear the worse is not yet," said theminister, gravely. "My father, then, has quite made up his mindconcerning his course of action?" he added to his brother.
"Of course; there is but one way open to every single-hearted servant ofGod," said Andrew Gray with heaving chest and flashing eye. "I wouldthe day were here, and it is surely coming, when the people of Scotland,roused to a sense of their own wrongs will take arms in defence of theirliberties."
"Wheesht, Andrew! Wheesht, wheesht!" said his wife, looking round interror, as if expecting her husband would be laid hands on then andthere for such rebellious words. "Dinna speak that way. We maun bearafore we fecht. Peace is better than war."
"Spoken like a woman, Susan," said her husband, with his grim smile."But there is peace which means degradation and dishonour, as well aswar, which is honourable and richt. Must you go already, David? Iwouldna mind yoking the beast and following ye to the manse."
"Let me go too, father," called out Gavin's shrill eager tones from thedoorstep, where he had been a breathless listener to what was passing.The lad, young as he was, had as deep and heartfelt an interest inpublic affairs as his elders, and he was as intelligent in his interestas any of them all.
His father did not say him nay, but directly the minister rode away,sent him to get out their own horse and cart.
Betty McBean answered the minister's knock at the manse door, and atsight of the younger son of the manse, threw up her hands and burst intoa loud wail.
"Eh, Maister Dauvit, man, come awa'! It's a waefu' hoose ye're comin'intil the nicht; it'll be the last time ye'll cross in safety thedoorstane o' the manse," she exclaimed, incoherently. "Eh, sir, theybluidy and perjured monsters wha hae sold themsels tae Sautan for thepersecution o' the servants o' the Maist High. Tae think they wad tak'the very rooftree frae above focks' heids, the very flure frae undertheir feet, and cast them oot intae the howlin' wilderness, becausethey'll no----"
The old woman's incoherent ramblings were here interrupted by Jane Gray,who, hearing the great commotion of Betty's shrill tongue, came out tosee what was the matter, and at sight of her brother, her tears alsoflowed afresh. Her face was pale and anxious-looking, her eyes alreadyred with weeping. The minister of Broomhill held her hand long in hisfervent grip, and said tremblingly,
"God go with and comfort you, my sister, as He had need to comfort usall in this desolation."
Then the twain entered the study where their father sat, and at sight ofthat aged face, so peaceful and benignant in its expression, David Grayfelt rebuked and ashamed.
"David, my son, my heart was much with you. You are very welcome to yourfather's house this night," said the old man, in significant tones.
For a moment David Gray was unable to speak, but sat him down by thehearthstone in utter silence. It was broken at last by the reverenttones of his father's voice.
"If we must go forth from our heritage, David, it is the Lord's will.Let us see to it that, instead of vain grumbling and looking back, weexamine ourselves, and be glad that we are accounted worthy. They maytake from us our earthly habitations, but, blessed be His name, theycannot rob us of that Heavenly City, whose builder and whose maker isGod. How has the proclamation been received in the parish ofBroomhill?"
For answer David Gray gladly poured forth into his father's sympathisingears the substance of his father-in-law's remarks, as well as thedisposition of his wife's mind respecting the alternatives offered inthe Act.
"Verily, she is a thorn in the flesh, and Gilbert Burnet of Haughheadshowed his little discretion when he so harrowed up your soul, my son,"said the old man, with sorrowful indignation. "But be of good courage.With God all things are possible, and your backsliding wife may yet bethe brightest jewel in your crown. My son, I hope the arguments broughtto bear upon you will not turn your heart away from the Covenant which,in boyish and trembling handwriting, you attested in the kirkyard of theGreyfriars," he added, with anxious solicitude.
David Gray flung up his head, while his eyes beamed with a new andunmistakable resolve.
"Nay, father; not so lightly have your precepts and example taken holdupon my heart. My wife and children are as dear to me as they are tomost men, but the God of the Covenant is dearer still. Therefore,whatever may befall me or mine, I am in the Lord's hands, only desirousthat I be accounted worthy to suffer for His sake."
"God grant that the like spirit may be abroad throughout the Lord'sZion, stimulating her ministers to the glory of self-sacrifice ratherthan to dwell at ease at the expense of conscience," said the minister,in tones of lively satisfaction. "Fear not, my son; the God of Hostswill not desert His covenanted people in their hour of need. Therefore,I say, be of good cheer."