"That I know not," said I; "it seems slow enough." "All law is slow, save that which my man and your father got," said she. I was astonished that she should mention her man, with that courage and countenance, and the story not six months old; indeed, his very head sticking on the Netherbow, not a mile from us as we talked. But she saw some part of this in my face, and quickly began to say on. "You Gordons never think you die honest unless you die in arms against the King. But ye stand well together, though your hand is against every other man. And that is why I, that am but a tacked-on Gordon, come to help you if so be I can; though I and my boy stand for the King, and you and your rebel brother Sandy for the Covenants. Weary fa' them--that took my man from me--for he was a good man to me, though we agreed but ill together concerning kings and politics." "Speak for my brother Sandy," I said, "I am no strong sufferer, and so shall get me, I fear me, no golden garments." Thus I spoke in my ignorance, for the witty lown-warm air of Edinburgh in spiritual things had for the time being infected me with opinions like those of the Laodicians. Now this was a favourite overword of my mother's, that suffering was the Christian's golden garment. But to my aunt, to whom religion was mostly family tradition (or so I thought), I might as well have spoken of fried fish. "But concerning Walter," she went on, as one that comes to a real subject after beating about the bush, "tell me of him. You have been here with him in this city the best part of three months." Now indeed I saw plainly enough what it was that had procured me the honour of a visit so early from my lady of Lochinvar. "In this city I have indeed been, my aunt," I replied, "but not with Walter. For I am not Lord of Lochinvar, but only the poor suitor of the King's mercy. And I spent not that which I have not, nor yet can I afford further to burden the estate which may never be mine." She waved her hand as at a Whig scruple, which good King's folk made light of. "But what of Walter--you have seen--is it well with the lad?" She spoke eagerly and laid her hand on my arm. But after all the business was not mine, and besides, a Gordon--Covenant or no Covenant--is no tale-piet, as my lady might well have known. "Wat Gordon," said I, "is the gayest and brightest young spark in town, like a Damascus blade for mettle, and there are none that love not his coming, and grieve not at his going." "Ay--ladies, that I ken," said my aunt. "What of my Lady Wellwood?" Now I had a very clear opinion of my Lady Wellwood, though I knew her not; for indeed she would not have waved the back of her lily hand to me in the street. But she was a handsome woman, and I admired her greatly for the fairness of her countenance as she went by. Besides, the business of Wat and my Lady Wellwood was none of mine.