back me, and especially that which he
made with the Duchess of Wellwood, I wore out the winter of the year
1679 in petitions and embassies, praying that the estates should not be
taken from us, and biding all the time in my lodging in the West Bow. I
had James Stewart, then in hiding, to make out my pleas, and right ably
he drew them. It was a strong point in our favour that my father had not
been killed at Bothwell, but only when advancing in the direction of the
combatants. And besides, I myself had bidden at home, and not ridden out
with the others. As for Sandy, he had not the chance of a lamb in the
wolf's maw, having been on the field itself with a troop; so I stood for
my own claim, meaning with all my very heart to do right by my elder
brother when the time came--though, indeed, I had but small reason to
love him for his treatment of me. Yet for all that, I shall never say
but what he was a stupid, honest lown enough.

Mayhap if he had been other than my brother, I had loved him better; but
he tortured me as thoughtlessly when I was a weakly lad as if I had been
a paddock or a fly, till the instinct of dislike infected my blood. And
after that there could be no hope of liking, hardly of tolerance. This
is the reason of most of the feuds among brothers the world over. For it
is the fact, though there are few fathers that suspect it, that many
elder brothers make the lives of the youngers a burden too heavy to be
borne--which thing, together with marrying of wives, in after years
certainly works bitterness.

More than anything, it struck me as strange that my cousin Lochinvar
could make merry in the very city--where but a few months before his
father had been executed and done to death. But Hughie Kerr told me one
evening, when we were going over Glenkens things, how Wat's father had
used him--keeping him at the strap's end. For Wat was ever his mother's
boy, who constantly took his part as he needed it, and made a great
cavalier and King's man of him. This his father tried to prevent and
drive out of him with blows, till the lad fairly hated him and his
Covenants. And so it was as it was. For true religion comes not by
violence, but chiefly, I think, from being brought up with good men,
reverencing their ways and words.

CHAPTER XIII.

WULLCAT WAT DARES HEAVEN AND HELL.

It was about the end of February, when the days are beginning to creep
out quickly from their shortest, that my aunt, the Lady Loc