s bound up with a cause than with a person.

"Jock," said Graham, with a certain accent of former days and kindly
doings. Now, a person's name may mean anything according to the way in
which it is pronounced. It may be an accusation, a rebuke, an insult,
a threat, or it may be an appeal, a thanksgiving, a benediction, a
caress. And at the sound of the word, said more kindly than he had
ever heard it, Grimond turned him round and looked at his master; his
grim, lean, weather-beaten face relaxed and softened and grew almost
gentle.

"Maister John, Maister John," and suddenly he did a thing incredible
for his undemonstrative, unsentimental, immovable granite nature. He
knelt down beside Dundee, and seizing his hand, kissed it, while tears
rolled down his cheeks. "My laddie, and my lord, baith o' them, this
is the best day o' my life, for ye've forgiven me my terrible mistake,
and my sin against my mistress. It's sore against my grain to confess
that I was wrang, for it's been my infirmity to be always richt, but I
sinned in this matter grievously, and micht have done what could never
be put richt. But oh! my lord, it was a' for love's sake, for though I
be only a serving man to the house of Graham, I dare to say I have
been faithful. With neither wife nor child, I have nothing but you,
my lord, and I have nothing to live for but your weel. When ye were
angry wi' me I didna blame you, I coonted ye just, but 'twas to me as
when the sun gaes behind the clouds. I cared neither to eat nor
drink--had it not been for your sake, I didna care to live. But noo,
when ye've buried the past and taken me back into your favor, I'm in
the licht again, and I carena what happens to me, neither hardship nor
death. Oh! my loved lord, will ye call me Jock again? When the severe
and self-contained Lowland Scot takes fire, there is such strength of
fuel in him, that he burns into white heat, and there is no quenching
of the flame. And at that moment Graham understood, as he had only
imagined before, the passion which can be concealed in the heart of a
Scots retainer.

"Get up, Jock, you old fool and--my trusty friend." Claverhouse
concealed but poorly behind his banter the emotion of his heart, for
Jock had found him in a lonely mood.

"You and me are no made for kneeling, except to our Maker and our
king. Faith, I judge we are better at the striking. Aye, we are
friends again, and shall be till the end, which I am thinking may not
be far o