The Grey Man

by S. R. Crockett

The two strangers were John Mure of Auchendrayne and the young Laird, his son. The old man was dressed as I first saw him—in plain, fine cloth of blue without decoration. He wore no arms or any armour that was visible—though by the square setting of his body as he came down the steps I judged that he wore a stand of chain mail underneath. His son James, a cruel, loutish, hot-headed, but not wholly ill-looking young man, was clad in the gayest fashion. He wore the wide, falling lace collar which Prince Henry had brought in from France, and a pointed doublet and wide breeches of the newest English mode.

It was John Mure who was speaking, for his son was but a lout, and had little to say all the days of him. He waved his hand to the steps, by the door of Culzean, whereon there stood Marjorie Kennedy, with her arm on Nell's shoulder, both being pale as death, and seeming more dowie and sad than I had ever seen them look before.

'It is to be the burying of strife,' cried Auchendrayne; 'in this loving cup I drink it. The day of our love is at the dawning, and the auguries of the time to come are of the happiest. To our next and sweeter merrymaking!'

And Sir Thomas, with his face one beaming smile of pleasure, bade him a loving farewell, and told him to haste back, for that cousins thus joined in affection could not be too often together.

And all the while I sat Dom Nicholas as one that is sunk fathoms deep in blank astonishment.

As Auchendrayne rode through the gateway, he waved his hand to me, and turning to Culzean, where he stood looking after them, he cried in the hearing of them all,—

'You have there the handsomest and the boldest squire in all the south country, Culzean. This is the bruit that I hear of this young man everywhere I go.'

And so, still smiling and bowing, he rode away with his son half a length of his horse behind him.

But I gave him no greeting, neither yea nor nay—but regarded him with a fixed countenance. For my heart was like stone within me, because of the sorrow that I saw coming on the house and could noways prevent.

Now the bitterness of this winter did not come till some time after the New Year. It was about the midst of January when the frost bit most keenly, and the snow began to fall most deeply. The Culzean lads, James, Alexander and little David (who was my favourite), caused the court and out-buildings to ring with happiness. Joy and peace seemed indeed for a little to have come back to Culzean. This was the first snow since David had donned the trunks, and laid by the bairn's kilts—which are indeed mortally cold wear in the winter season when it comes to rolling in the snow.