the gang-by to a' his auld acquaintances. Wha in Gallowa' wants to
ride an' mell wi' Clavers an' the lads on the Grey Horses, save siccan
loons as red-wud Lag, roaring Baldoun, and Lidderdale, the Hullion o'
the Isle?"

"I would have you remember, Matthew," said my cousin, speaking in Scots,
"that I rode wi' them no lang syne mysel'."

"Ou, ay, I ken," said independent Matthew, dourly, "there was my leddy
to thank for that. The women fowk are a' great gomerils when they meddle
wi' the affairs o' the State. But a' the Glen jaloosed that ye wad come
oot richt, like the daddy o' ye, when ye tired o' leading-strings, an'
gang to the horn like an honest man, e'en as ye hae dune the day."

CHAPTER XVIII.

AULD ANTON OF THE DUCHRAE.

It was a wintry-like morning in the later spring when at last we got out
of hiding in the house of Gordonstoun. During our stay there I had often
gone to see my mother just over the hill at Earlstoun, to give her what
comfort I could, and in especial to advise about Sandy, who was then on
his travels in the Low Countries. That morning Matthew of the Dub came
with us, and we took our legs to it, despising horses in our new quality
of hill-folk. The wind blew bitter and snell from the east. And May--the
bleakest of spring months, that ought to be the bonniest--was doing her
worst to strengthen the cold, in proportion as she lengthened her
unkindly days.

Matthew told us not whither we were going, and as for me, I had no
thought or suspicion. Yet the tear was in my eye as we saw the bonny
woods of Earlstoun lying behind us, with the grey head of the old tower
setting its chin over the tree-tops and looking wistfully after us.

But we marched south along the Ken, by New Galloway, and the seat of my
Lord Kenmuir, where there was now a garrison with Clavers himself in
hold. We saw the loch far beneath us, for we had to keep high on the
side of Bennan. It ruffled its breast as a dove's feathers are blown
awry by a sudden gusty wind. It was a cheerless day, and the gloom on
our faces was of the deepest. For we were in the weird case of suffering
for conscience' sake, and with no great raft either of conscience or of
religion to comfort us.

Not that our case was uncommon. For all were not saints who hated
tyranny.

"Wat," I said, arguing the matter, "the thing gangs in the husk o' a
hazel. I wear a particular make of glove chevron. It likes me well, but
I am not deadly set on it. Comes