Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing TimesMacKenna, Robert William
History
Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times
MacKenna, Robert William
Adventure stories; Covenanters -- Scotland -- Fiction; Love stories; Scotland -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction
I plodded forward steadily, looking to right and left and from time to
time uttering the whaup call. But there was no answer; nor did I
anywhere see sign of Andrew. When I turned again to look for Mary she
had passed out of sight and, though I scanned the distance eagerly, I
could catch no glimpse of her.
My path had begun to lead me up the hills and as I went I was conscious
that the strength of my injured limb was not all that I had thought. On
the level it served me well enough, but on the slopes the strain began
to tell. I was not to be beaten, however, by mere physical pain and
struggled on with all the spirit I could command, though my progress was
hindered seriously. It was close to noon when I came to the place of
the hill-meeting where I had first seen Mary face to face. I clambered
down into the hollow. It was a place of hallowed memories. In the hope
that Andrew might be near, I uttered the whaup call: but there was no
reply. I sat down, and took from my pocket some of the food with which
Jean had provided me, and as I ate I pondered. I was not yet half way to
my destination and the portion of the road that lay before me was harder
far than that along which I had come. I judged that in my crippled
state it would be evening before I could reach the loch-side, and to
return to Daldowie again that day would be impossible. I dared not go
back without having completed my search. To fail of accomplishing my
part of the quest would be disloyalty to the friends to whom I owed my
life.
My absence for a night would doubtless cause them anxiety, and as I
thought of Mary’s pain I was sore tempted to abandon my search and turn
back to Daldowie at once. But I remembered my debt to Andrew and
determined that at all costs I should see this matter through to the
end.
Possibly Andrew was lying somewhere in my path with a broken limb such
as I myself had sustained, and if I abandoned the search, his death
would be upon my head. When I considered what Mary would think of me in
such a case, shame smote me; so, without more ado, I set out again and
battled on until, as the sun began to climb down the western sky, I
found myself within sight of the loch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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