mally, "William
Gordon, son of umquhile William Gordon of Earlstoun in Galloway, and
brother of the aforementioned Alexander Gordon, condemned traitor from
the prison of Blackness, presently to be examined."

"Ah!" said Mackenzie, picking up his pen again, "the Glenkens messan!
We'll wait for the muckle hound and take both the lowsy tykes
thegether!"

But Queensberry, as was his custom at Council, ran counter to the
advocate in his desire, and commanded presently to interrogate me.

The Duke asked me first if I had been at the wounding of the Duke
Wellwood.

I answered him plainly that I had. But that it was a fair fight, and
that the Duke and his men had made the first onslaught.

"You have proof of that at your hand, no doubt," said he, and passed on
as though that had been a thing of little import--as indeed, in the
light of my succeeding admissions, it was.

"You were at Sanquhar town on the day of the Declaration?" he said,
looking sharply at me, no doubt expecting a denial or equivocation.

Now it seemed to me that I must most certainly die, so I cared not if I
did it with some credit. For the whiner got even less mercy from these
men, than he that defied and outfaced them.

"I was at Sanquhar, and with this hand I raised the Banner of Blue!" I
said.

"Note that, advocate," said Tarbet, smiling foxily. "The King hath a
special interest in all that took his name in vain at Sanquhar."

Mackenzie glanced with a black, side-cocking look of interest at the
hand I held up, as if to say, "I shall know that again when I see it on
the Netherbow!"

"You were at Ayrsmoss, and won clear?" was the next interrogatory.

"I was one of two that broke through both lines of the troops when we
came to the charge!" I said, with perhaps more of the braggart than I
care now to think on.

Then all the Council looked up, and there was a sudden stir of interest.

"Blood of St. Crispin!" said Queensberry, "but ye do not look like it.
Yet I suppose it must be so."

"It is so," said Sir George the Advocate shortly, flicking a parchment
with the feather of his quill pen. He had the record before him.

"Is there anything more that ye were in? Being as good as headed
already, a little more will not matter. It will be to your credit when
the saints come to put up your tomb, and scribe your testimony on it."

"I am no saint," said I, "though I love not Charles Stuart. Neither,
saving your honourable presences, do I love the wa