likely to be wretched, and so Sir Patrick sought concealment from the
hounds of the law. Foiled in laying hold of him, the law seized his
eldest son, Patrick, and cast him into prison. Two days after
Jerviswoode's death, the lad petitioned the Privy Council for release.
He was but "a poor afflicted young boy," he said, loyal to his
principles and with a hatred of plots, and only craved liberty that he
might "see to some livelihood for himself" and "be in some condition" to
help and serve his disconsolate mother and the rest of his father's ten
starving children. Most grudgingly was the boon bestowed, and not until
the boy had obtained security for his good behaviour to the extent of
two thousand pounds sterling was he allowed to return to the Merse.

Meantime Redbraes Castle was constantly kept under supervision. Scarcely
a week passed without a party of redcoats clattering up the drive,
interrogating the servants, tramping through all the rooms, hunting
round the policies, and doing everything in their power to make things
unpleasant for the wife and children of this attainted rebel. To only
two people in the house, and to one out of it, was the secret of Sir
Patrick Home's hiding-place known. With the help of a faithful friend
and retainer, Jamie Winter, the carpenter, Lady Home and her daughter
Grisell had one dark night carried bed and bedclothes to the
burying-place of the Homes, a vault under Polwarth Church, a mile from
Redbraes. A black walnut folding-bed, exactly underneath the pulpit from
which the minister of Polwarth preached every Sunday, was the fugitive's
resting-place at night, while for a month he saw no more daylight than
was able to reach him from a slit at one end of the vault. The ashes of
his ancestors were scarcely lively company, but Sir Patrick found "great
comfort and constant entertainment" by repeating to himself Buchanan's
Latin Version of the Psalms. Each night, too, the prisoner was cheered
by a visit from his daughter Grisell. Through an open glen by the