"You defy me then, sirrah; then be prepared to take the consequences," said the laird furiously, and digging his spurs into his horse’s sides, turned the animal’s head, and rode away full gallop to Hartrigge, only to have his ire additionally kindled there by the cool defiance and dogged determination of Andrew Gray. *CHAPTER IX.* *PREPARING FOR EMERGENCIES.* When the laird rode away, Adam Hepburn turned and walked slowly back to Rowallan. He was somewhat disturbed by what he had heard, not on his own account, but on that of the venerable father of his beloved Agnes. When he entered the room where the minister sat with his daughter Jane, Mrs. Hepburn being busy with her household work, both saw that he was troubled about something. "Have you heard aught about the preaching yesterday, Adam, that you look so grave?" queried the minister. "Yes; I met the laird down the road, and he seems sore displeased over the thin attendance at Mr. McLean’s ministrations yesterday," replied Adam, a little quickly. "He threatened me, too, that unless I attended the services he would get you into trouble, Mr. Gray." "I said to you, Adam, my son, when you so nobly offered me the shelter of your roof-tree, that it might get you and yours into trouble, harbouring an ejected and rebellious minister," said the old man sadly. "Better let me go forth ere that trouble comes upon your house." "Go forth! and whither? At your age, and in the dead of winter, to wander in the open air as some are compelled to do would mean certain death," said Adam Hepburn. "No, no; though I am not such a red-hot churchman as Hartrigge, still, whoever seeks to molest you, be he king’s or bishop’s official, must first deal with me." Tears started in Jane Gray’s eyes as she looked with pride and gratitude at the erect figure and manly face of her brother-in-law. At that minute Agnes, hearing such serious voices, came in from the kitchen, asking what was the matter. Adam Hepburn turned his blue eyes fondly on his wife’s sweet pale face, and smiled to reassure her. "We are like to get into trouble, wife, by our dourness to attend the curate’s preaching, that is all," he answered lightly. A slightly troubled look stole into Agnes Hepburn’s gentle eyes. "I know not why, but I have of late had many dark forebodings, Adam," she said. "These are sad, sad days in which we live, and especially trying for timorous women-folk like me." "It is your poor health, dear one, that makes you fanciful. No harm can come upon Rowallan so long as my stout right arm retains its cunning," Adam answered, lightly still; but Agnes, shaking her head, stole back to her duties with a heavy heart.