oming
into it from its being sunk so low in the ground, Sir Patrick one night
came home. For a couple of weeks only was Redbraes his sanctuary, for,
on Christmas Day, upon Grisell lifting the boards as usual to see that
all was well with the lair that her father was to retire to in case of a
sudden surprise, the mattress bounced to the top, the box being full of
water. The poor child nearly fainted from horror, but Sir Patrick
remained quite calm.

"Obviously," he said to his wife and daughter, "we must tempt Providence
no longer. It is now fit and necessary for me to go off and leave you."
Later in the day, news brought by the carrier confirmed him in his
resolution. Baillie of Jerviswoode had been hanged in Edinburgh on the
previous day, and his head now adorned a spike on the Nether Bow. The
death of his best friend was a great shock to Sir Patrick, perhaps an
even greater one to Lady Home, and to little Grisell, for could not
their imagination readily paint a picture of _their_ dear "traitor"
hanging where his friend had hung. No time was to be lost, and Grisell
at once began work on her father's wardrobe, and in the coming days and
nights, with anxious fingers, made such alterations in his clothing as
seemed necessary for a disguise.

Meantime a friend and neighbour of Sir Patrick's, John Home of
Halyburton, had "jaloused" that his namesake was not hidden so far
afield as some imagined, and when, one cold January afternoon, he heard
the clatter of hoofs on the high-road and saw the red coats of the
dragoons, he had a stab at his heart at the thought of another good son
of the Merse going to martyrdom.

"Where do you ride to-day?" he asked, when the party came up.

"To take Polwarth at Redbraes," they said.

"Is it so?" said Home. "Then I'll go with you myself and be your guide.
But come your ways into the house and rest you a little, till I get
ready for the road."

Nothing loth, the troopers followed him, and were still contentedly
testing the quality of the contents of his big case-bottles when a groom
galloped off to Redbraes. Halyburton's message to Lady Home of Polwarth
was a brief one, for when she opened his envelope there was nothing
there to read--only a little feather fluttered out, giving as plainly
the advice to instant flight as pages of words might have done.

There was nothing for it but to take another into their secret. John
Allen, the grieve, was sent for, and fainted dead away when he hea