Adam Hepburn, only too ready to accompany his brother-in-law, grasped his sword, and the two stole cautiously up the hill in the friendly shelter of the trees. The two ministers, who were unarmed, followed at a little distance, so that, in case of alarm, they might yet make good their escape. The hearts of all four were filled with foreboding and anxious fears, for too well they knew the meaning of that portentous report. Arrived at the summit of the hill, Hartrigge stole a little in advance of Adam Hepburn, and thence could see the road, at the far end of which he caught a glimpse of the rear of the dragoons ere they emerged out upon the public highway. Satisfied that there was nothing to apprehend from them, he went boldly forward, and, emerging from the shadow of the trees, saw a sight which almost made his heart stand still. There on the greensward lay the prostrate form of his firstborn son, with his mother kneeling motionless by his side; the two little bairns were holding each other close and weeping bitterly; and Jeanie, with white face and dry eyes, was bathing a ghastly wound in her brother’s left temple. A moment more and those following more slowly up the hill were startled by the sound of a hoarse and bitter cry. Andrew Gray’s iron composure, his absolute self-control were swept away, and, darting forward, he knelt by his murdered boy, calling him by every loving name, in accents of anguish and entreaty. It was in vain: life was gone! Then there arose upon the wings of the soft September wind the echo of that desolate and anguished cry with which David of old bewailed his firstborn: "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would to God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!" *CHAPTER XVI.* *AT THE DAWNING.*