It was the month of April, and all Nature was sweetly rejoicing in the wealth and beauty of a perfect spring. While spring is ever a pleasant season in rural districts, it was especially so in that rich and picturesque part of Lanarkshire which included the parish and village of Inverburn. It lay in a secluded and lovely valley, sheltered from the north and east by heather-clad hills, while to the west it commanded a magnificent and wide-stretching view of the Vale of Clyde, at the utmost limit of which the smoke from the populous city of Glasgow obscured the clear brightness of the horizon.

Although the parish of Inverburn was by no means small, the village itself consisted only of a small main street and a few straggling houses in the outskirts. The only building of any pretensions was the Hamilton Arms Inn, a substantial two-storey block, with a wide, low doorway and a trellised porch set round with benches, a favourite resort for the villagers on the long summer evenings, when honest Mistress Lyall's parlour became too close and warm to be pleasant. Upon a gentle eminence about a mile removed from the village, the grey turrets of Inverburn, long time the seat of the Hamiltons, peeped out from among its ancestral trees. It was a fine, proud old place, renowned for its beauty and its antiquity even in a district where many a princely heritage reared its stately head. The graceful spire of the parish church intervened, however, between the village and the mansion. It also stood upon a gentle knoll, and was beautifully shaded by the birch trees which were known far and near as the "birks of Inverburn." The manse was close by, a grey and rambling house, just such a one to be hallowed by many precious memories of home and loved ones. It was a common saying that there had been Grays in the manse as long as there had been Hamiltons in Inverburn, so that the one family could claim equal antiquity with its prouder neighbour.

There could be no sweeter spot to live and die in than that old-fashioned country manse, standing so cosily amid its wealth of greenery, the roses and honeysuckle and sweet woodbine clambering about doors and windows with a loving clinging touch. It looked fair indeed that mild April evening, for lilac, laburnum, and hawthorn were in flower in the shrubberies, and primrose and polyanthus blooming in the old-fashioned plots before the door. The air about it was sweet and fragrant indeed; but it was more: it breathed something of the peace which dwelt ever under its roof-tree.

By the open window of the family sitting-room sat a pleasant-faced, sedate-looking young woman, busily engaged embroidering a white frock for a child. She was neatly though plainly dressed, and there was an air of precision and daintiness about her which some women acquire as they grow older, especially if they are unmarried. It was a pleasant face, as I said, yet there was a grave firmness about the mouth, a dauntless gleam in the fine clear brown eye, which betokened that Jane Gray was not without a will of her own. She looked what she was, a firm, prudent, self-reliant woman, who had known the cares as well as the joys of life. To her dying mother Jane Gray had solemnly pledged herself not to quit the roof-tree of the manse so long as her father needed her care. Both the giver and receiver of that promise had felt assured that it would not be long ere she was released from its fulfilment, because the minister of Inverburn was at that time in a precarious state of health.

But, to the joy of those who loved him, certain means prescribed by an Edinburgh physician were blessed to his complete recovery, and he seemed to receive a new lease of life. That made no alteration, however, in the resolution of the elder daughter of the manse. Very faithfully year by year she discharged her duties as mistress of her father's household. She was mother and sister in one to her brothers, and it was a question which was dearer to her heart, the broad-shouldered, bluff-mannered farmer Andrew, or gentle-voiced, scholarly, meek-minded David, minister of the neighbouring parish of Broomhill.

She had watched them go forth to their own homes, with a blessing and a tear, and she had dressed for her bridal her fair and delicate sister Agnes, who had now been for two years the wife of Adam Hepburn of Rowallan. It must not be supposed that Jane Gray had no other alternative but to remain under her father's roof-tree. Nay, it was far otherwise. Many knew and appreciated her sterling worth, and more than one had pleaded for her love. But though there came one at last who stirred her heart to its deepest depths, she shook her head. She looked at her father's white head and drooping shoulders, thought of his desolate old age, the empty, childless home she would leave behind, and, crushing down the yearnings of her heart, she answered no. Perhaps it was that experience, undreamed of by those to whom she so unselfishly ministered, which had lined her broad brow, and tinged her hair with grey before its time. Her face in its repose was apt to look sad, for it was in the stillness of an evening such as this that Jane Gray's heart was often peculiarly stirred by memories of the past. She laid down her seam at length, and leaning her arm on the sill, looked out into the flower-laden garden, which was sweet with all the lovely bloom of spring.

Just then her reverie was disturbed by a short, sharp whistle, and a light, hurried footfall coming round the approach which led down to the gate, and thence to the public road. And almost immediately a young lad came bounding over to the open window, waving his cap in the air. Jane Gray looked at the young, eager face with a kindly smile, for the eldest son of her brother Andrew was very dear to her heart. He had been sojourning for some months at the manse, his grandfather taking much pride and pleasure in forwarding him in his studies preparatory to his entering the University of Edinburgh or Glasgow, as a student of divinity. It had been his father's desire that he should follow his vocation, and by-and-by succeed him as the farmer of Hartrigge, but the lad had so early shown his distaste for outdoor labour, and his love for books, that it was evident nature intended him for a scholar.

"What is it, Gavin? You seem eager and excited," said his aunt, resuming her work.

"There is a horse and rider coming up the road, Aunt Jane, and I am sure it is the Reverend James Guthrie. It is his horse, I am quite sure, by the white foot and the white star on its forehead. Is grandfather in?"

"Yes, he is in his study; nay, do not disturb him yet, until we make sure you are right," she said, restraining the impetuous boy, as he was about to run off in search of his grandfather. "Stay, and I will walk down with you to the road, and by that time the horse and his rider, whoever he may be, will have reached the gate."

So saying, Jane Gray folded up her work, and in a minute had joined her nephew out of doors. "I cannot think that you can be right, Gavin," she said thoughtfully, "for I remember that Mr. Guthrie intended to be present at a special meeting in Edinburgh this week, and he has not yet had time to return to Stirling and come on so far as this."

"Why, there he is alighting at the gate, Aunt Jane! it is just Mr. Guthrie!" exclaimed the lad, and darting forward, he was the first to greet the much-beloved minister of Stirling, and to relieve him of his horse's bridle rein.

A glow of pleasure overspread the face of Jane Gray as she advanced to meet her father's revered friend, who was almost a brother to her, so close and dear was the intimacy between the two families.

"Mr. Guthrie, it is no ordinary pleasure to see you so unexpectedly," she said, as they shook hands; nevertheless her eyes dwelt rather anxiously upon his fine face, for in these troublous and foreboding times the announcement of danger or alarm might come at any moment.

"To me also, Miss Gray; I trust I have arrived to find your honoured father under his own roof-tree.

"Oh, yes; he is busy with his sermon. It is not often a minister is far from home on a Friday evening if he is to supply his own pulpit on the Sabbath Day. We thought you had been in Edinburgh this week, Mr. Guthrie."

"So I have been; and thanks to the Lord's journeying mercies vouchsafed to his unworthy servant, I have again been brought to my father's house in safety. The lad is out of hearing, I see," he added, glancing towards Gavin, who was leading the hot and dusty steed away in the direction of his grandfather's stable, "so I may say that a strange apprehension of evil came upon me in my bed last night, and so strong was the conviction in my mind this morning that I should not long be at liberty, that I was constrained to ride over here to be encouraged and comforted by your father's sweet counsel, and, if need be, bid your family circle, who are as dear to me almost as my own kinsfolk at Guthrie, a last farewell."

The ruddy colour faded out of Jane Gray's cheeks, and her startled eye looked with alarm into the minister's face. She was astonished and relieved at its sweet serenity; evidently his gloomy convictions had not power to rob him of his tranquillity.

"The Lord forbid that a hand should be laid on you, one of His most honoured and valued servants," she said involuntarily; "but pray tell me, Mr. Guthrie, have you had any warnings that the evil men in power are jealous of your influence for good?"

"In Edinburgh, yesterday, I was told that that good and noble lord, Archibald, Marquis of Argyll, will be laid hands upon ere long. If that be so, I cannot hope to escape, for I am doubly guilty of the actions which have doomed him. If it be so, and the Lord call me to bear witness for Him on the scaffold, He will give me strength to crucify the passions and affections of the body, and to glory in suffering for His sake."

The good man's face was suffused with a holy peace and joy, but a shudder ran through Jane Gray's frame, for not yet had the scaffold become so common, and in those brutal times so desirable a mode of exit from this troublous life as it was destined to become ere long in poor stricken Scotland.

"The prayers of God's people can but be offered up on your behalf, Mr. Guthrie. Such as you can ill be spared from the vineyard in these times," said Jane Gray, earnestly. "But now, let us tarry no longer out of doors; I am sure you stand in need of refreshment after your long ride."

Ere he crossed the threshold, the minister, as was his wont, raised his eyes to Heaven and reverently invoked a benediction in the words of the apostle of old: "Peace be to this house."

Having shown her guest into the sitting-room, Jane Gray sent Betty the maid to tap at the minister's door and tell him the Reverend James Guthrie, from Stirling, had arrived at the manse. Betty, or Elizabeth McBean, had served with the Grays since her girlhood, and her love for the family was only exceeded by her intense love and devotion to the Kirk of Scotland, and her intense hatred to every form of religion alien to the sound Presbyterianism of her forefathers.

While Jane Gray with her own hands set about preparing some refreshment for the guest, the minister, her father, left his study with joyful haste, and entering the family room, very warmly greeted his friend and brother-minister, whom he had known and loved these many years. There was a great change in the minister of Inverburn since that memorable time three-and-twenty years before, when he had visited Edinburgh, and witnessed with his brethren for the Covenant in the Kirk of the Greyfriars.

His tall, spare figure was now much stooped, his face worn and wrinkled, his eye, though still bright and clear, far sunken in his head, his long hair and flowing beard as white as the driven snow. He looked a patriarch indeed, and the serene and heavenly expression on his face, his kindly smile, and sweet fatherliness of manner and tone were calculated to inspire the deepest reverence and love.

"Bless the Lord, I am again permitted to look upon your face, my brother!" he said, as he warmly and fervently grasped Mr. Guthrie's hand. "But I trust no untoward circumstances prompt your unlooked-for visit. In these troublous times we are all as watchers on the house-top."

"I was but saying to your daughter, Mr. Gray, that it was a presentiment of evil which brought me here to-night," replied the minister of Stirling. "I only returned from Edinburgh yesterday, and what I heard there augured ill for the peace of Zion. It is rumoured that the Marquis of Argyll is no longer safe, so the king's emissaries are not to be satisfied with common prey."

"I can hardly credit the truth of such rumours, Mr. Guthrie," replied the minister of Inverburn. "Gratitude for past invaluable services should render his person sacred in the eyes of the king."

An expression of mild scorn passed over Mr. Guthrie's face.

"Gratitude is a word not found in the vocabulary of the House of Stuart," he said, quietly. "The Marquis, I am told, leaves for London on Monday, to offer his congratulations to the king on his restoration. I fear me he takes the journey at his own great risk."

"If need be the Lord will hold His sheltering arm over him, Mr. Guthrie," said the minister of Inverburn, cheerfully. "No man, either prince or peasant, shall die before the appointed time. But here comes Jane with your refreshment. I hope it is not your intention to quit the roof-tree of the manse before the dawning of another day."

"If convenient for Miss Jane I will very gladly stay," answered Mr. Guthrie. "As troubles thicken round us, opportunities for sweet counsel together, though more sorely needed, will become more limited, I fear. And now, are all your kinsfolk at Hartrigge and Rowallan well? and is the kirk at Broomhill prospering under David's ministrations?"

"Verily the Lord hath been pleased to greatly bless the lad in his labours," said the minister of Inverburn, in tones of satisfaction. "Here comes young Gavin Gray, in whose studies I take a deep interest. Here Gavin, lad, come and speak to the Reverend Mr. Guthrie, and behold in him the pattern of what I one day hope to see you become."

The bright, happy-faced boy came forward frankly, and was again addressed cordially by the minister of Stirling.

"I have been thinking, father," said Jane Gray's pleasant voice in the doorway, "that Gavin might saddle Donald, and carry word of Mr. Guthrie's visitation both to his father's house, and to his uncle and aunt at Rowallan. Andrew and Susan, I am sure, would be greatly rejoiced to come over to the manse. They could drive round in their little cart to Rowallan, and bring over Adam and Agnes with them."

"A very good suggestion, my daughter," said Mr. Gray. "You hear what your aunt says, Gavin," he added to the lad. "Run and get Donald saddled and if you ride quickly they can all be here before the evening is far spent."

Gavin, nothing loth, at once obeyed his grandfather's behest, and was soon scampering along the road towards Hartrigge.