Adam Hepburn's Vow: A Tale of Kirk and CovenantSwan, Annie S.
History
Adam Hepburn's Vow: A Tale of Kirk and Covenant
Swan, Annie S.
Covenanters -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction
From the appearance of the company gathered in the room, as well as from
their remarks, it could be gathered that they were (with the exception
of Watty, who would on no account let Adam Hepburn out of his sight)
leaders among the insurgents. They were discussing the next steps to be
taken by the army, and Sir Robert Hamilton, brother to the Laird of
Inverburn, and a staunch, though moderate Presbyterian, was counselling
cautious measures, to which Andrew Gray, Adam Hepburn, and some other
fiery spirits listened with but a small show of patience, when there
came a loud and peremptory knocking at the door. Involuntarily all
sprang to their feet, and grasped their swords. If they were
discovered, and the soldiers were without, there were twenty valiant and
desperate men of them, who would fight dearly for their lives.
Adam Hepburn, sword in hand, fearlessly went to the outer door, and
threw it open. In the faint and uncertain beams of the young May moon
he saw only a solitary horseman, whose steed was panting and covered
with foam, as if it had galloped many miles that day.
"Is this Windyedge, the house of Gideon Dickson?" the horseman asked in
a thick whisper.
"Is it friend or foe?" queried Adam, briefly.
"Friend," replied the horseman, as briefly. "Is Sir Robert Hamilton
within?"
"He is; but be good enough first to give me your name as a guerdon of
your honour," said Adam.
"Tush! man," said the horseman impatiently; "well, John Balfour of
Kinloch, synonymous with liberty at any price, is it not?"
Those within, hearing the whispered conference, now came crowding out to
the door, and Sir Robert Hamilton, at sight of the figure on the horse,
uttered an exclamation of surprise, and at once stepped across the
threshold.
"John Balfour! What on earth brings you from Fife to this remote place?
No paltry reason, I could swear."
"You speak the truth," returned Balfour grimly. "Is there any fellow who
can put up my steed, who is in a sorry plight, poor wretch, as well he
may, after his desperate ride. And is there any refreshment to be had
within, for I am fainting with hunger and fatigue."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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