"My cousin, William Gordon, younger son of the House of Earlstoun!"
"Ah," said Claverhouse, smiling upon me not so ill-pleased, "I have heard of him—the home stayer, the nest-egg. He that rode not to Bothwell with 'the Earl'[3] and 'the Bull.' Whither rides he now thus early?"
"He rides, Colonel Graham, to bury his father."
I thought my cousin was too bold thus to blurt out my mission, to the chief of them that had killed him whom I went to seek, but he was wiser than I in this matter.
Claverhouse smiled, and looked from the one to the other of us.
"You Gordons have your own troubles to get your fathers buried," he said. "I suppose you will claim that this cub also is a good King's man?"
"He is well affected, colonel," said Lochinvar gaily; "and there are none too many likeminded with him in these parts!"
"Even the affectation does him monstrous credit," quoth Clavers, clapping Walter on the shoulder; "it is much for a Gordon in this country to affect such a virtue as loyalty. I wonder," he went on, apparently to himself, "if it would be possible to transplant you Gordons, that are such arrant rebels here and so loyal in the North. It were well for the land if this could be done. In the North a few dozen Whigs would do small harm; here ten score King's men melled and married would settle the land and keep the King's peace."
Then he looked at my cousin with a certain uncommon gracious affection that sat well on him—all the more that he showed such a thing but rarely.
"Well, Wat, for your sake let young Earlstoun go bury his father in peace, an it likes him. The more Whigs buried the better pleased will John Graham be. If he will only bury his brother also when he is about it, he will rid the earth of a very pestilent fellow!"