t mind, my bonny bairn, ye hae battled for the faith, and dinna
let the dread o' losing creature-comforts withdraw ye frae the gude
fight."

"Hout tout, mither," replied Cuddie, "I hae fought e'en ower muckle
already, and, to speak plain, I'm wearied o'the trade. I hae swaggered
wi' a' thae arms, and muskets, and pistols, buffcoats, and bandoliers,
lang eneugh, and I like the pleughpaidle a hantle better. I ken naething
suld gar a man fight, (that's to say, when he's no angry,) by and
out-taken the dread o'being hanged or killed if he turns back."

"But, my dear Cuddie," continued the persevering Mause, "your bridal
garment--Oh, hinny, dinna sully the marriage garment!"

"Awa, awa, mither," replied. Cuddie; "dinna ye see the folks waiting for
me?--Never fear me--I ken how to turn this far better than ye do--for
ye're bleezing awa about marriage, and the job is how we are to win by
hanging."

So saying, he extricated himself out of his mother's embraces, and
requested the soldiers who took him in charge to conduct him to the place
of examination without delay. He had been already preceded by Claverhouse
and Morton.

CHAPTER XV.

My native land, good night!
Lord Byron.

The Privy Council of Scotland, in whom the practice since the union of
the crowns vested great judicial powers, as well as the general
superintendence of the executive department, was met in the ancient dark
Gothic room, adjoining to the House of Parliament in Edinburgh, when
General Grahame entered and took his place amongst the members at the
council table.

"You have brought us a leash of game to-day, General," said a nobleman of
high place amongst them. "Here is a craven to confess--a cock of the game
to stand at bay--and what shall I call the third, General?"

"Without further metaphor, I will entreat your Grace to call him a person
in whom I am specially interested," replied Claverhouse.

"And a whig into the bargain?" said the nobleman, lolling out a tongue
which was at all times too big for his mouth, and accommodating his
coarse features to a sneer, to which they seemed to be familiar.

"Yes, please your Grace, a whig; as your Grace was in 1641," replied
Claverhouse, with his usual appearance of imperturbable civility.

"He has you there, I think, my Lord Duke," said one of the Privy
Councillors.

"Ay, ay," returned the Duke, laughing, "there's no speaking to him s