Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1895-06-29

1
| even better; but since got Philip, my
| son, married to a decent lass, have just
another mouth to feed. and 1t makes no
| difference to his debaucheries.'
Nevertheless" said I. II will come to
New Minis with you. Who knows but that
we may be able to do something?"
| well said. minister" said Sir James;
I'VE were not greatly BAUD on the muir.
| but. let me tell you, we were deal safer
| with a good sheltie under your hip and
| the heather afore we than sleeping in your
naked bed within my house of the New
| Mlns.''
81 have no fear in the path of duty"
| said 1.
CHAPTER 1.-THE MAN ON THE MUIR.
Indeed, 1t is no shame to a man to have
| fear in his nature. 1t is, I well believe,
born in a mans blood; and he hath no
| more to do with 1t than with who was his
| father. Yet mark the great crying that
there has been in all ages about brave men
| and valiant men, and men that have never
known fear. Yet what credit is there in
such like? They cannot help it more than
1 could help having an eye that had a
cast in 1t Of such like I had), or red hair.
| or nose turned up al the end like that of
| wild Eirionach Yet such men come to
| honor, and their sons inherit 1t. For this
| also is the folly of the times.
| We rode out of Edinburgh, passing the
| gates without question, for Sir James was
a man in good odor with the government.
| We had bitter winters day for our jour
| neying, and we had trouble enough to keep
| warm; yet with wrappings of foreign fur
| and a flask of French brandy we managed
! to shut out the cold. Also our hearts were
| somewhat cheered, and our converse grew
more heartsome.
i Thus making merry, to the extent even
| of singing a catch or two which Sir James
| had learned in the old wars and which
| heard for the first time, though not who'll
1y Wi
| came to a place called Cockmuir Wild
| and solitary place, shut In between hills
that have no living thing upon them. NO
| heartsome reek of habited house was to be
| seen. The place was in the midst OF
| great wilderness, and it needed the crow
| ing of the black cock and the nicher of the
| grouse to make the silence endurable. But
even these were wanting that bitter day
| of gray skies and gripping frost.
Just as we had gotten fairly to the midst
| of the moor there rose up before US man,
| or, rather. as it might be, we came sud
| denly upon him. He was standing stock
still, as If he had been meditating looking
| away toward the hills of Lammermuir.
| But at the first sound of our horses feet
| overlapping the brae, he turned and show
! ed us the pallid countenance OF young
lad, bitten blue with the winter winds. and
| with his black clothes hanging about him
| as though his limbs had been so many bar
| rem tree branches. 1 knew him at first
| glance. 1t was James Renwick of Minny-
| hive, whose mother was some kin to mine,
| being also the estate OF 3,
| where the Douglas Is the father of US all.
| 1t so happened. by mischance, that Sir
| James was putting back his flask of strong
/ waters into the breast Of his coat at the
| moment when Mr.. Renwick turned him
| about. I wished that it had not been SO;
| but, nevertheless, l gave him greeting, for
| he had been child when I was young
| lad, and our folk We're, as l have said,
| some manner of kin.
Then 1 asked him how he did, and that
| in pleasant way. But he stood lowering
| at with eyes so sunken and such a
| lest countenance that wished we mad come
| some other way.
Fear not, James," I said, ''for this is
| Sir James Standsfeld of New Milns, a
| good man, and one that. though magis-
| trate. is no ill-wisher to the folk Of the
, hill"
"Ah. John Bell' said young Renwick.
at last, needing my kindly speech no more
than the tune of bird whistling, lis that
| indeed you? Your friends for whom you
| left us have clad and comforted you we'll!
| There are no fine foreign coats on the
muirs and the hays distill not the brew of
| French brandy. Doubtless we have made
| a fine exchange, and the wide throat that
| took the Test at a gulp will soon swallow
| fat benefice. But there are other spirits
abroad that you will yet have to reckon
| with.
| James," said peaceably, mot thus was
| your father wont to speak to me, when
drave home the kye in the even from the
| braes at the town end of Minnyhive.'
| NO" said he, that may be; but since
| then the kye have been in many man s
corn beside my fathers, honest man.
| And 1 knew that he meant to cast up to
| me that had joined the prosecuting party.
For the ordinary cry among the hill folk,
| by which they passed on the word OF
| warning the one to the other when the
horse soldiers were out, was THE kye's in
| the corn!'
| Eye prate of honest men," said Sir James,
| speaking to Mr.. Renwick for the first time;
| but take notice that there are other honest
| hot a1Natc h,if
bide quietly at home wishing i'll to none.
| and who grudge. forbye. an Ora sheep no
more to hill body than can of ale to
| red soldier"
James Renwick bent his eyes on Sir
| James, and for a moment looked through
| him.
"Puir man." he said, gently. "pir man!
| I rede We turn about your bride rein and
ride back the way We came or the bed that
We shall lie on shall be darker than the
| mirk of night that comes fast upon US.
! and colder than the linen sheets that Janet
| Johnstcne has spread for We at the Wauk-
| Min"
| Man" cried Sir James, fercely, shaking
| bis bride reins at the field preacher.
what ken we of Janet tombstone? And
| why speak We the name of my sons con-
cubine, that Is to me as the name of the
enemy of mankind! That evil woman has
not crossed the step of my door for years
ma, nor shall ma while lfve!'
| So cried Sir James at his voices pitch.
| James Renwick shook his head YEARLY.
1.-THE message is not of me nor from me, -
| he said. IT speak as I am hidden. Your
| Hght-o' loves I reck nought Of. 1;ut wish
| you we'll, and I warn you from riding fur
| Their, for the powers of darkness are abroad
| this night and 1t is their hour. Turn your
| horses about, and never draw rein till We
| are safe within the walls Of Edinburgh"
| eye speak as foolish person." said Sir
| James, severely; "shs night bide in mine
| own house and sleep in mine own chamber,
| with this honest man anu law-abiding min
| lister of the gospel to keep me company"
| And with that ne rode off and rode af-
| ter him. Yet often and after l looked back,
| and there in the fading light of that bleak
| and unkindly afternoon ] saw the fanatic
| preacher stand as we had lett him, gazing
| lonesomely up at the hills as though he
| looked and saw vision upon them.
Sir James Stansfield rode bravely away.
| as set on his own intent as man that
| has taken the bit of his fate between his
| teeth and rides whittier he will, against
| his better knowledge.
"The rantirg and fanatical knave" he
| said, over his shoulder, Ito speak to me of
| warnings and concubines. / Will cen ap-
| prehend him and have him sent to the
| sea fold
OF which 1 knew well he had no smallest
| intention.
Blu. as we neared home and the night
| settled about lis, methought that Sir James