tly to-night, for he is safe in
some rebel's house. Yet I am sorry from my heart," said Claverhouse,
"and I am sorry for your sake, since I make no doubt he will die some
day soon, either on the hill or on the scaffold."

"For my sake?" said Jean, looking at him in amazement. "What have I to
do with him more than other women?"

"If I have touched upon a secret thing which ought not to be spoken
of, I ask your pardon upon my bended knees. But I was told, it seemed
to me from a sure quarter, that there was some love passage between
you and Henry Pollock, and that indeed you were betrothed for
marriage."

As Claverhouse spoke the red blood flowed over Jean's face and ebbed
as quickly. She looked at Claverhouse steadily, and answered him in a
quiet and intense voice, which quivered with emotion.

"Ye were told wrong, then, Claverhouse, for I have never been
betrothed to any man, and I shall never be the wife of Henry Pollock.
I am not worthy, for he is a saint, and God knows I am not that nor
ever likely to be, but only a woman. But I tell you, face to face,
that I respect him, suffering for his religion more than those who
pursue him unto his death. And when he dies, for his testimony, he
will have greater honor than those who have murdered him. But they did
me too much grace who betrothed me to Henry Pollock; if I am ever
married it will be to more ordinary flesh and blood, and I doubt
me"--here her mood changed, and the tension relaxing, she smiled on
Claverhouse--"whether it will be to any Covenanter."

"Lady Jean," said Claverhouse, with a new light breaking on him, for
he began to suspect another cause of her anger, "it concerns me to see
you standing while there is this fair seat, and, with your leave, may
I sit beside you? Can you give me a few minutes of your time before we
part--I to go on my way and you on yours. I hope mine will not bring
me again to Paisley Castle, where I am, as the hillmen would say, 'a
stumbling-block and an offence.'" Jean, glancing quickly at him, saw
that Claverhouse was not mocking, but speaking with a note of sad
sincerity.

"When you said a brief while ago that mine was work without glory, ye
said truly. But consider that in this confused and dark world, in
which we grope our way like shepherds in a mist, we have to do what
lies to our hand, and ask no questions--and the weariness of it is
that in the darkness we strike ane another. We know not which be
right, and shall not kno