brither, was it that brocht him hame?"

"I kenna wha it was that brocht him. It was a wee bit lass that fand him
when she was playin' i' the moss wi' her brither."

"I ken your wee bit lasses," said Westerhall; "she's a bonny sprig o'
that braw plant o' grace, Roger Allison, wha's heid shall yet look
blythe on the West Port o' Edinburgh, wi' yin o' his cantin' thief's
hands on ilka side o't."

The poor woman said no word, but out from the chamber door came our
little lass of yesterday and stood beside her.

"Wha's plaidie is this?" again quoth Westerhall, holding up the plaid in
which the dead man had been wrapped, like an accusation in his hand; "to
the hill, boys, and lay hand on this honest woman's honest sons. King
Charles wull hae something to say to them, I'm thinkin'."

With that he leapt from his horse, throwing the reins to the widow.

"Hae, haud my horse," he said, "an' gin ye stir an inch, ye'll get an
ounce o' lead in you, ye auld shakin' limb o' Sawtan."

CHAPTER XI.

THE BLOOD OF THE MARTYRS.

With that, like a loch broken loose, Johnstone's tail of Annandale
thieves rushed within the house and dang all things here and there at
their liking. Some came forth carrying good house gear, some table
furniture, and some the plenishing of bed and wardrobe. They turned all
that they could not carry into the midst of the floor to burn at their
leisure. They drove away the cattle from off the brae-face. They
gathered the widow's poor head of sheep off the hill. And all the time
Isobel Herries stood trembling for her lads and holding the chief's
horse. As the men passed, one after another, they flung words at her
that will not bear writing down. And I was glad that the little maid who
stood by with her brother in her hand, understood not their import.

When all was done, Westerhall set to work and pulled down the whole
house, for the rigging and walls were but of baked clay and crumbled
before them. Yet the poor woman wailed for them bitterly, as they had
been a palace.

"The bonny bit, O the bonny bit!" she cried. "Where I had sic a sweet
bairn-time. I was that happy wi' a' my tottlin' weans aboot my hand. But
I kenned it couldna last--it was ower sweet to last."

So they turned her out to the bare hillside with the bairns in her hand.
It did not, to my thinking, make the case any better that her brother
was a rebel. But in those days it was treason to succour the living or
honour the dead--ay