of Lag than a gathering
of the Seven Thousand. But since ye ask my name, I am poor unworthy
Robin Hamilton, on whom the Lord hath set His hand."

Then we knew that this dark-browed man was Sir Robert Hamilton, who with
my brother Sandy had been the Societies' Commissioner to the Low
Counties, and who was here at Shalloch-on-Minnoch to defend his action.
He was also brother of Jean Hamilton, Sandy's wife, and of a yet more
sombre piety.

Then, though I knew well that he had been the rock on which the Covenant
ship split at Bothwell, and a stone of stumbling in our counsels ever
since, yet, because he looked so weary and broken with toils, travels,
and watchings, my heart could not choose but go out to him.

As he looked and said nothing, a more kindly light came into his eye as
he gazed at Wat. "Ye will be Black Bess of Lochinvar's son--a tacked-on
Covenant man. But I doubt not a kindly lad, for all ye are so brisk with
your tongue and ready with your blade. I have seen the day when it would
have done me a pleasure to step out with you, in days that were full of
the pride of the flesh. I do not blame you. To fight first and ask
wherefore after, is the Gordon all over. But do not forget that this
day, here on the wild side of the Shalloch-on-Minnoch, there are
well-nigh a thousand gentlemen of as good blood as your own. Homespun
cloth and herds' plaidies cover many a man of ancient name this day,
that never thought to find himself in arms against the King, even for
the truth's sake."

Robert Hamilton spoke with such an air of dignity and sadness, that Wat
lifted his hand to his blue bonnet in token that he was pacified. And
with a kindly nod the stranger turned among the throng that now filled
all the spacious place of meeting.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE OUTFACING OF CLAVERS.

It was indeed a wonderful sight and made our hearts beat high only to
look at it. Upon the Session Stone twelve men stood with heads bared to
the fierce heat of the sun. All of them were grey-headed men, saving two
only, a lad of a pale and girlish face with dark sweet eyes, and
towering above him, the flecked raven locks of Sir Robert Hamilton.
These twelve were the commissioners of districts, all ordained elders.
At one side was a little table brought from the house of the Shalloch,
and a man sat at it busily writing. By a curious sword cut across his
cheek, I knew him for Michael Shields, presently the clerk, and
afterwards the historian