Marie Gourdon | Page 3

but a mighty army is to join us from the south; in
England Prince Chairlie has many friends, and to-morrow I go to join
them. The next day a mighty host will move to the west coast to
welcome our future King. And then----"
"Do you know, Ivan, that by your mad folly you seriously endanger the
McAllister estates? An' though it is well known at court that I am not a
Jacobite, yet I have many enemies who will soon tell the King my son
is with the rebels. You endanger, too, your brother Nowell's position at
court."
"Well, father, I have promised to go, and a McAllister never breaks his
word."
"What! you are determined? You persist in your selfish course of folly?
You will go in spite of all I say?"
"Yes, father, I must go, my word is pledged."
The McAllister's ruddy face grew white with anger, he clenched his
hands as if he would strike his son and by main force reduce him to
obedience, then with a great effort he controlled his anger and said in
an ominously calm voice: "Then, Ivan McAllister, I tell ye, never mair
shall ye set foot in this house, at least, when I am above ground; never
mair call yourself son of mine, and may----" raising his right hand
solemnly as if invoking supernatural aid.
But here he was interrupted by a gentle voice which said:

"Nay, nay, Nowell, ye shall not curse your son," and a soft hand was
laid on his upraised arm.
The McAllister paused and turned towards the speaker, a gentler
expression coming over his stern face, for Lady Jean had the greatest
influence over her husband, an influence which was always for good.
She was a tall, slightly built woman of some fifty-eight years of age.
Her hair was snow-white, contrasting admirably with her clear
complexion and dark eyes, and was combed back high above her
forehead, and surmounted by a mutch (cap) of finest lace. She was
dressed in a gown of pale green silk, which trailed in soft folds behind
her and made a rustling noise as she walked.
A most distinguished lady was Jean McAllister, for the blood of the
Stuarts ran in her veins.
Her face was beautiful, though not altogether with the beauty of correct
features, and certainly not with the beauty of youth, but it had in it that
indescribable loveliness, which one sees only in the faces of very good
women. It was what might be called a helpful face, and had upon it that
reflection of a divine light--all sympathetic natures possess, to some
degree.
"No angel, but a dearer being all dipt in angel instincts, breathing
Paradise."
Her voice was of soft and gentle timbre, soothing and tranquillizing
even at this heated moment, as she turned to her son and said:--
"Oh, me bairn, me bonnie bairn, could ye no' stay wi' us a while longer?
It is sair and lonely wi'out ye here, and Prince Chairlie has many mair
to fight for him. Can ye not stay wi' us?"
"No, mother dear; much as I should like to be wi' ye all, I fear I cannot.
A promise is a promise, you know. You have always taught me that.
Remember our motto, 'For God and the truth.' You would not wish me
to be the first McAllister who broke his word."

"Ah! my dear one," sobbed his mother, now fairly breaking down and
weeping piteously, "must ye go, must ye go?"
"Yes, mother dear; but don't distress yourself about me, I shall be all
right, and when bonnie Prince Chairlie comes into his own, we shall
meet again, and you, my ain bonnie mither, will be one of the first
ladies at the court of Holyrood. Now I must go. Father," he said,
turning to The McAllister, who was watching the scene in grim silence
with folded arms and countenance cold and stern. "Father, do you mean
what you said just now? Do you mean to say you will never forgive me
if I go to my prince?"
"Yes," the old man thundered out. "Yes, by heaven, I do mean it."
"Then you have driven me for ever from you, and I leave your house
to-night. You are hard, unjust, cruel," and, kissing Lady Jean, hastily,
without more ado, Ivan left the hall. Then he walked swiftly into the
court yard, saddled his favorite horse, and whistling to his collie dog
rode off into the dark tempestuous night to face the unknown.
The unknown is always terrible, but at three and twenty the heart is
light, care is easily shaken off, and hope springs up eternal. A merciful
gift of the good God this, and more especially so in the case of Ivan
McAllister, for,