Thyra Varrick; a love story

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. " The Land of Hills and Glens and Heroes," . i

II. " Lovely Thyra Varrick," 33

CHAPTER I " The Land of Hills and Glens and Heroes "

THE house of MacArgall stood on the slope of a mountain overlooking the loneliest valley in the north of Scotland. A labyrinth of gigantic hills surrounded it, shutting out the world more and more at every step, until it seemed an impossibility either to go further or to go back. But the barrier once passed, the vista opened out into a deep valley and wild tracts of moor land; and then the great gray house standing on the side of Ben Argall was startlingly distinct. It was built of the rocks lying abundantly around ; great blocks of granite mortared together so thoroughly that the storms of five centuries had left no trace on its solid masonry. Bare and firm as a rock, it stood ; a look of defiance on its front, and an air of something sorrowful and implacable in its aspect.

The mountain rose steeply from the back of the house ; first a stately belt of firs, terminating in juni per, and great bowlders edged with heather ; and then the bare crags where the ravens built ; and still higher up, the tremendous peaks, where the eagles reared their young. Not far away from the house were many small stone huts, built into the clefts of the mountain, and attracting attention only by the aperture of the door, or by the smoke ascending from the opening in their roofs. These were the homes of the clansmen, and from them, at the sound of MacArgall's horn, they poured four hundred strong into the great court which sloped from the front of the house down to the strath or valley of Argall.

At the time this story opens, the head of Clan Mac- Argall was Chief Murdo Maximus MacArgall, the eighth of his name ; a man of great age, but full of the fire of youth; a ruddy, tall, wrinkled giant, with something Scythian and restless, drawing him to end less antagonism with the world around him — a fighter because he loved to fight, and full of that self-appre ciation which could sincerely say, " I do not know a better man than myself."

He was walking about the large central hall of his house one afternoon in the spring of 1745. The land was lonelier than ruin, but even so, the long strath wore a halo of dandelions, and on the young grass a thousand cattle were straying and feeding. So he rested at the open window watching them, wondering the while how soon his drovers could start southward with their lots of beasts. The sunshine fell on his mighty form, on his white hair and strong face, on the Jacobite tartan he wore; and glinting on his dirk showed on its handle the large silver " S," for Stuart, in the open-work of its hilt. All his garments were large and free, and his checkered hose bound not his stride, for they did not reach his knee by a span.

The sight of the spring and the cattle was pleas ant to him, and his thoughts were vivid and hopeful, but his molesting temper could not let him be at rest. In a few minutes he turned impatiently and cast his eyes upon a young man and a young woman who were sitting at the upper end of the hall. The woman was threading a string of beads made of transparent gold en-brown crystals of the Cairngorm mountains; the young man was reading a book. Their occupations were alike trivial and idle in the Chief's estimation, and he spoke with an imperious sharpness as he turned :

" Revan, this is no reading time. Are you a clerk or a priest ? You have five fingers on each hand, were they made to handle bits of paper ? " and he lifted the claymore that lay upon the table, and let it fall again with an angry clang.

" Father of my father," answered the young man respectfully, " do not fret yourself. When it is the hour of the sword, my five fingers will quiver for the sword ; then the book will fall from them. I am put ting the time past with the tale of Conan."

" Humf-f-f ! Then learn a lesson from Conan, and let your kindness to your enemies be like the kindness of Conan to the demons — cuff for cuff, and claw for claw."

" I am sunwise [ready] for everything."

" You are not sunwise. 'Twere better you were on the hills counting the herds, than sitting here reading of the Conan. I was a prince among the beasts at your age. Lachlan, and Clythe, and Tavis might teach you something, if you would only listen to them."

" Do you wish Revan to be a drover, grandfather? " asked the girl. " Let him alone. He is doing well ; " and she put her elbows on the arm of her chair and swung the string of beads to and fro in the sunshine. As she did so she looked from them to the Chief, and he caught her glance and smile and grew uncertain and uneasy, and turning to the open door again, took out his snuff-box and tapped on its golden lid some thing he could not bring his tongue to utter. Then the girl let her beads fall to her lap, and with a glance of sympathetic intelligence said softly : " Revan ! " and Revan answered only : " Sara ! " The word was full of tenderness, and he put aside his book and sat smiling and looking at his sister.

She was conscious of his admiration and pleased to look lovely in his eyes. She began to thread her beads again, and he watched her movements with delight; for though some might have denied her beauty, none could ignore her charm. She was small, with an un commonly slender waist and upright carriage of the head, and her abundant hair was of that shimmering brown which has the effect of a halo, and her complexion was delicate and blooming as a rose. She had the beauty of opening flowers, their softness and sweetness, but withal a gravity and clear austerity of mind that was akin to physical light. For Sara Mac- Argall had a spiritual nature of extreme sensibility, evidenced by eyes of that weird blue that can see visions. At times her whole face had this ultra-ter restrial charm, but usually the mystical aspiration of her nature was dominated by the passionate directness of a woman of the world, who regarded daily life and its duties as matters of imperative importance.

Her brother Revan resembled her in some respects ; in others he differed widely. He had a towering form crowned with the same beautiful shining hair; great mental and physical vigor, blunt speech, and an icy cold expression, with every now and then a look of fire. His dress was simple, if compared with the splendor of the grandfather's; and was remarkable in that he wore the tartan of his clan, rather than the Jacobite one assumed by his Chief. But he was not insensible to fine clothing, for as he looked at Sara, he recognized a richness in her attire which had also the added charm of novelty.

" This is a beautiful gown, Sara," he said, drawing his chair close to her, and touching gently the soft, rich silk. " Who could have thought that pale green would have become you so completely? It is like the tender green sheath of a rose."

" Aunt Athol brought me it ; many other pretty gowns also — a box full of lovely things. But I did not open the lid until this morning, because aunt was too weary to help me; and I could not deprive her of the pleasure of seeing my gratitude."

" That is like you. I wonder what brought our aunt over the mountains at this time ! It was a great journey to take."

" I have not been motive hunting. Say that she wanted to see our grandfather. He is her brother, and the last of her household — that is on the swordside ; there are women, but there is no man left of her father's sons, save her brother Murdo."

" I know, but grandfather goes once every year to see her."

" I ask not why she came. She is ever welcome for herself, and she always brings with her a sough of the great, good world, beyond these mountains."

" Then you think the great world is a good world ? "

" Yes. I shall never forget the four years I spent with Aunt Athol in Edinburgh. They were a ro mance, a tale better and stranger than any the clans men tell of the olden time."

As she spoke she was listening, and she added, with a smile, " I hear Aunt Athol coming ; rise, Revan ! "

Then the young man went to a door and opened it and, bowing and offering his hand, led Lady Atholia Gordon into the room. She was the youngest and only living sister of the Chief ; a tall, stately woman, about sixty years old, with a fresh, handsome face full of good humor and shrewd common-sense. A coif of white lace covered her hair, her gown was of violet silk, and she carried a long ivory cane, though she had not the least real necessity for it.

" Children," she said cheerfully, " a good day to you ! Brother, is it well with you ? "

" When you are here, it is always well, Athol." Then he took her to the open door, and pointed out the drovers urging the cattle closer, and the quickspringing grass, which would make the southward journey for them near at hand. And as he said this, he looked into his sister's face with an intelligence she understood, for she asked softly:

" Coming from the north and west, will the roads now be passable? "

" Men who want to pass over them can find a way ; men not sure of their hearts may have stumbling feet."

" You are still on the same side, Murdo? "

" There is only one side to me."

" Right or unright? "

" Right or unright, I am on the same side for ever."

" You are a good man."

" There are worse than me — at times." Then he left her, and went striding down the strath, and she watched him a few moments, while a shadow of sad ness passed over her face. The brooding power of the great hills, the murmur of running waters, the silence, and pastoral melancholy filled her soul with prayer.

" Bring my chair into the open, Revan," she said ; " the wind streams out of the mountains like living water. And oh, children, the mountains themselves! They are like a great stairway going up to the skies. You lose sight of the ordinaries of life as you look at them. I wonder if they did reach as far as heaven, how many of us would try to win over the heights and depths of such a fearsome road ! "

" I would try it joyfully, even if I perished in the effort," said Sara.

" That would be just impossible, my little lambie. No perishing on that road ; for the good Shepherd would be everywhere ; both down in the depths and up on the heights. He is the ' Way.' "

There was no answer to this remark. Sara looked far off, and far upward to the mystical stairway of mountains ; and Revan sat with his arms on his knees and his head dropped thoughtfully forward, putting his thumbs and forefingers together. The sensitive pause was broken by Lady Gordon, who asked in a tone of solicitude :

" When shall we have more news ? I can see the anxiety of the Chief; he is very near the end of patience."

" Hector MacDonald should have been here five weeks ago. His delay means evil. Something has gone wrong, or this house and strath had now been full of fighting men," said Revan. " The meeting at the sign of ' The Blue Bell ' was trysted for the twentyfourth of last month. The tryst is broken; we can only wait for the reason."

As he spoke there came down the strath a long, clear whistle, which they heard the Chief instantly answer.

" Hector has come at last," said Sara joyously. She stood up and waved her scarf, and Lady Gordon also rose; but Revan hurried down the steep path to meet whatever news was coming.

It was not good news. That was plain enough to the two women before they heard a murmur of it. The Chief's passionate voice and carriage, and Revan's air of reserve or dejection, told some story of defeat and disappointment. But as the men came closer it was evident that the messenger was not him self much troubled. He said afterward, he had had his fit of despair, and that invincible hope had only grown stronger in it. Certainly at this hour joy was the master emotion; he gazed at Sara with a lover's adoration, and was not then conscious of anything in life to make him miserable.

Travel-stained and weary with his long tramp through the mountain passes, he was nevertheless singularly attractive. He wore the splendid scarlet and black tartan of the MacDonalds, and on his black hair the picturesque Glengarry with the noble ensign of an eagle's feather in it. A soldier every inch of him, io THYRA VARRICK

with all his good qualities in evidence: the handsome face, the cheerful temperament, the aristocratic man ner of one born to command, the brightness of fiery youth, the black mustache soft as silk, shading lips full and tender. His faults were less obvious, for they were of that negative order held in abeyance, until circumstances develop them. He was never as great as he led people to imagine he would be. He was self-indulgent, and not able to practice any selfdenial. Faithful unto death where his clan's tradi tions, or his political opinions were concerned ; he was not faithful to his feelings; and after all has been said, it is feeling which lies at the foundation of every man and woman, and which makes them individual. Male and female friends alike called him fickle, and very likely with good reason.

But he came into the melancholy old hall like a shaft of sunshine. He brought movement and speech with him. Life that had seemed half dead was sud denly alert, noisy, busy. A score of men were run ning hither and thither, preparing his room, cleaning his clothing, hastening the meal, setting the table, bringing in wood for the fire. Somewhere near, the pipes began to play; and though the clan quickly understood that young Hector had not brought good news, the music was the defiant march of MacDonald, " Gainsay Who Dare."

As the Chief took his place at the table, Dugald, the piper of MacArgall, proudly entered with the fa-

"THE LAND OF HILLS" n

mous black chanter of his clan; a pipe whose strains were said to inspire all who heard them, with more than mortal courage. Round the table he marched three times, filling the room with wild, passionate music. Then Chief Murdo put into his hand a great silver beaker full of Farintosh, and raising his own glass, he stood up and cried:

" God save King James! Gainsay who dare! " The enchanted pipes reiterated in frenzied crescendos the dauntless challenge, until the room was in a delirious excitement. The Chief was snapping his fingers, as Highlanders do when under great emotion. Lady Gordon was weeping. Sara had risen to her feet, and every strand of her lovely hair seemed in stinct with an individual life; it waved, it glowed, it appeared to have luminous emanations, to make a ver itable glory round the fair oval face, that had grown white as a lily with feeling. On the contrary, Revan had utterly lost his cold appearance; his cheeks were like a flame, his eyes like living furnaces, and his radi ant hair had the same characteristics as his sister's. Hector, quivering and noisy in his enthusiasm, urged on the piper with the untranslatable vehemence of the Highland battle cry—" Sa! Sa! Sa! Sa! Sa! Sa! " A few moments of such vivid life is all the spirit will endure and be restrained in its clay tabernacle! and it was well for the aged Chief that the tumult of the gathering clan in the court brought a diversion of feeling. They made no call on him, but he knew they would wait until he appeared. Unbonneted he went to the open door, and stretched his hands out over them. A soft murmur, a perfect silence, followed the action, and gathering his life forces together he said :

" Children of Clan Argall. There is news, and some will be saying that it is not very good news. I tell you that it is very good news. Yes, indeed! the best news that has come yet. Listen to me. The French King, as you well know, swore to James the Seventh, as he lay dying, to stand by his son, and help him to his rights. Very well ; a promise made to the dying must be kept, or great ill from the dead to the living, and King Louis was not caring to have the ill-will of the dead — who would? So to make good his word, he sent with our Prince Charles the great Mareschal Saxe, and fifteen thousand French troops. They were to land in Scotland, and we have been waiting for them, more than two months. They will never come. Things went black ill with them from the first. The devil was in the winds and waves, and ' be tween the devil and the deep sea,' and the English navy, they went to wreck and carrion. So far, it seems to be bad news ; now comes the good of it. One is here — young Hector MacDonald — who was with Prince Charles, and who escaped with him to Paris. And he brings word that Prince Charles will never again look for help from the stranger. He will get more gold and arms, and will come here to his own and trust to our love and valor, and to no others. Then he will come to the beginning of fortune, for the Highland host will bear him on their claymores to Perth; they will crown him King of Scotland; they will seat him in old Edina. And then we will have no * Union ' with England ; not we ! We will have our own crown and scepter, and our own royal line; and when I see that day, I will pray to depart in peace, for I shall have seen the salvation of Scotland."

A suppressed sob, which quickly grew to a pro longed shout, answered this speech, and the Chief turned away and went back to his delayed meal. There was obvious weariness of both flesh and spirit in all, and it was only fitfully and gradually that con versation was resumed. MacArgall eat his pea brose and butter in silence, while Sara and Lady Gordon drank their tea, and talked softly to each other, and to Hector, about the appearance of Prince Charles. But when the Chief had finished his bowl of brose, and was dipping his oatcake in his toddy, Lady Gordon said to him :

" Murdo, you spoke well to-night, as well as you did fifty years ago — and how the clan adore you! Who would be a King, if he could be Chief of his clan? If I was Prince Charles, I should come back as Chief of Clan Stuart. But do you really think he will try again next year ? "

" If I did not think so, I had not said it. To Clan Argall I speak nothing but the truth — if I know it."

" Prince Charles will succeed where his father failed," said Hector. " He has what his father no tably lacked — conciliating and charming manners."

" His father is your King, Hector MacDonald. Speak no ill of the King even in your bedchamber. A man that was wiser than you said that."

" And yet Hector is right," answered Lady Gor don. " My lord thought a man must love the Stuarts well, to bear his presence ; and I heard you say your self, Murdo, that it was hard to fight for such a man."

" I will give you good-night. Blessing to you, one and all, but the talk suits me not. He is the King; King by grace of God — I do not put my opinion be fore the divine will."

Every eye was fixed on the positive old man, and Revan and Hector stood up, until he closed the door. After a few moments' silence they drew closer to gether, and began to talk with a freedom not possible in the Chief's presence.

" Children," said Lady Gordon, " it is not easy to make your grandfather listen to a dissenting word; and yet someone should speak to him. I came here for that purpose, and I hope my few words will bring certain things to his remembrance, that he ought not to forget."

" Concerning the King? " asked Revan.

" Concerning the King. The chiefs * out ' in Mar's Rising and the break-up in 1716 will be hard to persuade * out ' again."

" But they will not be asked to come out for King James, but for his eldest son, Prince Charles. In the course of thirty years much is forgotten, and, after all, Lady Gordon, a king can do no wrong," said Hector.

" The hatred and scorn King James inspired thirty years ago have not been forgotten. I am not a ma licious body, but my disappointment and anger is as great to-day as it was when my lord went into hiding after Sheriffmuir. And, Hector MacDonald, the King can do wrong. From the first hour of his landing in Scotland, King James made men's hearts faint and sick. Lord Gordon was in the camp at Perth when he entered it, on the 6th of January, 1716 ; and as soon as men looked on him, their enthusiasm for the Stuarts melted away. You must remember that Highlanders have no belief in the divine right of kings. They have always associated power with strength, wisdom, and courage. Their legends are full of instances where weak chieftains have been replaced by some hardy, daring kinsman who could effectively lead their clans to forage and victory. When King James showed himself to these little kings of the Highland clans, his appearance filled them with the coldness of despair. They could hardly believe him to be a de scendant of the heroic race of Stuart ; and they asked each other if this apparition of a king could speak or move."

" You are very hard on King James the Eighth,

Aunt Athol," said Revan. " Was he indeed so physi cally wanting in all good qualities ? "

" His body, always weak and shaffling, was shaken by his dissipations; he had dull, lazy eyes; sallow cheeks ; an imbecile smile ; slow, listless movements. He was as haughty and despotic as if he was an acknowl edged king with unlimited power. He answered all men, and all bodies of men, in brief, chilling words, as if assured authority had made the adulation of obse quious subjects tiresome to him. He surrounded him self with the most particular etiquette and ceremony, and the number of his dinner courses created a hearty contempt for him, among men who, when in arms, found a little oatmeal and water sufficient."

" But I never heard his courage questioned, Lady Gordon," said Hector.

" You were not born, Hector, when men's hearts were burning with the shame and wrong King James brought them. I was in the middle of the quarrel, for I was at Perth the whole of that fateful month. I re member the day this royal James was persuaded to at tend a council of war ; and Lord Gordon told me after it, that the King's terror of any warlike preparation which would put him in danger filled the hearts of the Highland chiefs with disgust and despair. Lord Gordon wished, then and there, to send home his clan; and Mar and other leaders began to talk of retreat, as ' necessary for the King's safety.' Then there was almost war in the camp itself. The clansmen wanted to know what they had been brought to Perth for? Were they to fight like men, or fly like cowards? Had their King come among them to lead them in battle, or only to see how many of his subjects were ready for the shambles? The grim laird of Glenbucket proposed to the loyal clans to put the King in their center and fight to the death around him — a threat which struck the direst terror to the royal heart. Those who wanted to fight and those who wanted to retreat were at open enmity; and doubt and dismay soon spread like a plague. The King had entered the camp on the 16th of January ; on the 30th of January the retreat began, at midnight. You know how High landers melt away among their mountains; and, silently and heartsick, Mar's army dispersed by hun dreds, in the direction of their own particular valleys. Lord Gordon sent home his clan; he himself escaped through Caithness to Orkney, where he found a French vessel going to Sweden ; and in Sweden he re mained seven years ere I obtained a pardon for him. My case was one of many. Do you think people for get such experiences? "

"But had he no good qualities, Lady Gordon?" asked Hector.

" He had one positive quality — the bitterest, nar rowest bigotry. For the rest," she said, with rising anger and disdain, " he was neither Caesar nor Nullus ; neither a man nor a mouse ; neither soldier nor sailor ;

nor cardinal, without brains or bravery, made in the figure of a man, but just alive, and that's all. He was brought to Scotland to fight battles and lead good soldiers to victory, and he skulked and whined, and speeched and cried, and having smelled gunpowder and dreamed of a fight, ran away at midnight. If this Prince Charles is anything like his father, we want none of him. I would travel from the Hebrides to the Shetlands to keep men from going out with him. I came resolved to hold back your grandfather, but I fear I shall utterly fail."

" But I assure you, Lady Gordon," said Hector, " that Prince Charles has the opposites of all his father's qualities. He is affable, courageous, and ca pable of friendship. I have been much with him, and I assure you that his character has inspired me with an enthusiastic affection."

" Why can't we leave the Stuarts alone ? A plague on them all ! To touch them is to catch calamity," said Lady Gordon.

" We can't leave them alone," answered Sara, " be cause we are Scots, and we want our own royal line to rule us. So God save the Stuarts ! "

" Well, then, is not King George also a Stuart? He is the son of the Princess Sophia, whose mother was the sister of King Charles the First."

" He is on the distaff side," said Revan.

" The distaff side is as good as the sword side, in the English royal house; and the Scotch also. And

George is a Protestant, while the other line is unde niably Catholic. For this reason alone, George will succeed, and Charles will fail ! "

At this remark Revan smiled broadly, and asked: " So you think Providence is Protestant, Aunt Athol? "

" Yes. Protestant and Presbyterian," she answered promptly. " Our young men like to talk for the Stu arts ; but to echo the language of their fathers is not to echo their spirit. The living force of Jacobitism is dead."

" Not so ! Not so, Lady Gordon ! " cried Hector hotly. " You will see in a few months that it is very much alive. I am now on a mission to all hopeful clans, and will proceed even to Orkney and Shetland, to raise men and money for the cause."

" Good Heavens, Hector ! Has not one expedition with the King of France behind it just been blown to the land of Nowhere? Can you not see that you are fighting against Destiny ? "

" Then we will conquer Destiny. She cannot always have her dice loaded. The youth of Scotland are Jacobites at heart. A few days ago I had a mes sage from young MacLauchlan, and he speaks for the whole youth of the Highlands, when he writes * a stone lies near to the earth, but, tell Prince Charles, nearer than that is our aid when called for.' Remember, not an hour ago, not a man of Clan MacArgall would have hesitated, if called then and there to the battlefield."