"I am for going on, and forcing an entrance into the city," said Hartrigge, dauntlessly. "It is like playing at warfare to retreat before closed gates and a few guns." But others, whose discretion was not blinded by zeal, shook their heads, and said it were best to return quietly, and with as much speed as possible, to their homes. Adam Hepburn took no part in the discussion, but it was easy to see that his soul yearned to shed blood. A look of deep disappointment came upon his haggard face when the majority decided in favour of retreat. Not being in the slightest degree apprehensive of pursuit by the Government troops, they proceeded leisurely round the eastern slopes of the Pentland hills to the southern side, to begin their march homewards. The day was now closing in; the feeble wintry sun had sunk behind a bank of ominous cloud on the western horizon, and the grey bleak shadows of the night were darkening down. The north wind swept mournfully round the desolate mountain sides, sometimes raising its voice to a wail, as some sharp peak or projecting rock impeded its course. But suddenly another sound much more ominous than the moaning wind broke upon the startled ears of the faithful band, and to their astonishment they saw what appeared to be a great army pressing rapidly on their rear. Hurriedly the Covenanters set themselves in the order of battle. It was what many among them longed for, and yet unless the God of battles held over them the banner of His defence, and aided them to discomfit their foes, what chance had they, weary, wayworn, with strength far spent by exposure and lack of food, against the dragoons, fresh from the drill and comfortable training of the barracks? The minister of Broomhill led in fervent prayer, craving victory for the Covenant from the King of Heaven. Then they stood erect, calm, and steadfast, waiting the onslaught of the enemy. The face of Andrew Gray of Hartrigge glowed with the deep enthusiasm of religious zeal, but that of his brother-in-law, Adam Hepburn, was dark with the furious passion of revenge. His eye glittered, his hand trembled as it grasped his father’s sword, and in that breathless instant his vow was repeated that the blade should not return to its sheath until it had sucked the life-blood of more than one dragoon.