



Produced by Al Haines.





[Illustration: "Folding his withered hands, he said, in solemn and
trembling tones, 'Let us pray'" (_see page_ 121).]




                           Adam Hepburn's Vow

                     *A TALE OF KIRK AND COVENANT*


                                   BY

                            *ANNIE S. SWAN*



                   WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS



                         TWENTY-THIRD THOUSAND



                        CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
                LONDON, NEW YORK, TORONTO AND MELBOURNE
                                  1885




                                   TO
                               MY FRIEND

                                 C. M.

                AND TO THE DEAR ONES GATHERED ROUND HER
                           IN HER HAPPY HOME




                               *CONTENTS*


                               CHAPTER I.

THE TRAVELLERS

                              CHAPTER II.

A NATION'S TESTIMONY

                              CHAPTER III.

FOREBODINGS OF EVIL

                              CHAPTER IV.

THE MINISTER'S CHILDREN

                               CHAPTER V.

THE FIRST MARTYRS

                              CHAPTER VI.

A THORN IN THE FLESH

                              CHAPTER VII.

A LONG FAREWELL

                             CHAPTER VIII.

MR. DUNCAN MCLEAN

                              CHAPTER IX.

PREPARING FOR EMERGENCIES

                               CHAPTER X.

ADAM HEPBURN'S VOW

                              CHAPTER XI.

UP IN ARMS

                              CHAPTER XII.

RULLION GREEN

                             CHAPTER XIII.

THE NEW MAID

                              CHAPTER XIV.

BETRAYED

                              CHAPTER XV.

BRAVE TO THE LAST

                              CHAPTER XVI.

AT THE DAWNING

                             CHAPTER XVII.

A SHOCK OF CORN FULLY RIPE

                             CHAPTER XVIII.

AT HAUGHHEAD

                              CHAPTER XIX.

UNLOOKED-FOR NEWS

                              CHAPTER XX.

DRUMCLOG

                              CHAPTER XXI.

DISUNION

                             CHAPTER XXII.

BOTHWELL BRIDGE

                             CHAPTER XXIII.

IN CAPTIVITY

                             CHAPTER XXIV.

DELIVERED

                              CHAPTER XXV.

AIRSMOSS

                             CHAPTER XXVI.

REST




                        *LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.*


"Folding his withered hands, he said, in solemn and trembling tones,
'Let us pray'"... _Frontispiece_

"Uplifting his hand, he swore the solemn oath"

"Little Jeanie... brought out a draught for the general"

"The wildest confusion seemed to prevail on the bridge"




                          *Adam Hepburn's Vow*

                    _*A TALE OF KIRK AND COVENANT.*_



                              *CHAPTER I.*

                           *THE TRAVELLERS.*


Towards the close of a bleak grey February afternoon, in the year 1638,
a small party of travellers might have been seen approaching Edinburgh
by the high road from Glasgow.  It consisted of a sturdy brown pony,
whereon sat a fair-faced, sunny-haired little girl, whose age could not
have exceeded nine years; a bright-faced, bold-looking lad, walking at
the animal's head, and having the bridle-rein hung loosely over his arm;
and a middle-aged gentleman, whose aspect and attire proclaimed him a
clergyman. He walked slowly, a little apart from the others, and his
hands were clasped before him, and his eyes bent thoughtfully on the
ground.  He was a man somewhat past his prime, of a noble and manly
bearing, with a fine open countenance, and a speaking eye, wherein dwelt
a singularly sweet and benevolent expression.

The shadows of evening were already beginning to gather over the
surrounding scene, making objects at a distance somewhat indistinct.

Yet, truly, there was little at that season of the year to refresh the
eye or gladden the heart.  The icy hand of winter had scarcely yet
relaxed its grasp on mother earth; there were no green buds on hedge or
tree; no blades of promise springing up by the wayside: all was
desolate, bleak, and cold.  Yet the newly upturned furrows smelt fresh
and sweet, and the purling brooks wandered cheerfully on their way;
singing their song of gladness, as if they knew that spring was close at
hand.  Presently the little party ascended a gentle eminence, and then
many lights were seen twinkling not far ahead.

"See, father, are yon the lights of Edinburgh?" exclaimed the lad, in
his eagerness letting go his hold on Roger's rein.

The minister raised his head, and a light kindled in his eye as he
looked upon the clustering roof-trees and towering spires of the
beautiful city.

"Yes, my son, that is Edinburgh," he said in his full, mellow tones.
"Thanks be to the Lord who hath brought us thither in safety.  Would my
little Agnes like to walk now?  The evening dews are falling, and
methinks a little exercise would do you no harm. Very soon now you will
be warmed and cheered by the ruddy glow by Aunt Jean's fireside."

As he spoke, the minister turned to Roger (who at a word from his master
stood perfectly still), and gently lifted his little daughter to the
ground.  It was then seen that her figure was very slight and fragile,
her face pale and refined-looking, her whole expression thoughtful and
even sad beyond her years.

"Are you wearied, David?" asked the kind father then; but the lad drew
himself up proudly, and shook his head.

"Wearied! no, no, father.  I could walk back to Inverburn, I believe,
without resting."

"Keep within the bounds, my boy," said the minister.  "See, lead Roger
down to yon little pool, and let him drink.  The poor animal is thirsty
and wayworn.  Then we will make what haste we can into the city, which
will of necessity be in somewhat of a turmoil to-night, owing to the
many strangers within her gates."

"Father, will there be a great crowd and a noise in Edinburgh?" asked
the little Agnes, somewhat timidly and holding yet more closely by her
father's hand.

"There will be a crowd, my daughter, but no unseemly noise, I trust.
The occasion upon which the nation is assembled in her ancient capital
is too solemn for vain clamourings," said the minister, somewhat sadly;
and as his eyes once more roamed over the spreading roof-trees of the
city, they were filled with tears.  The little Agnes, too young to
understand the cause of his emotion, still more closely clasped his
hand, and looked with awe into his face.

"I wish it would not grow dark so soon, father," said David, now
returning from watering the pony. "We will see nothing of Edinburgh till
to-morrow."

"But to-morrow, please the Lord, there will be a sight seen in
Edinburgh, the like of which there has never been in Scotland," said the
minister with kindling eye.  "The voice of her people raised in a
national testimony against the injustice and oppression of an earthly
ruler.  May the Heavenly King look down in approval on the faithfulness
of the Kirk of Scotland, and give her strength to stand firm to her vow;
ay, to seal it if need be with her blood."

The minister spoke with solemnity and passionate earnestness, which
impressed his young listeners not a little.

"Father, will the soldiers be out on their horses?" David asked with
boyish eagerness; to him the great event to transpire on the morrow
meant a gay pageant to delight the eye and stir the pulse of youth.

"My son, I cannot tell; only I know that peer and peasant, soldier and
civilian, minister and ministered unto, will assemble to-morrow on equal
ground, animated by one grand purpose, and stirred by a common zeal.
May the God of Hosts look down upon and bless the assembled multitudes,"
replied the minister; and then a silence fell upon the little party
which remained unbroken till they entered the city. Even in the
outskirts there were not lacking signs of stir and unusual commotion.
The streets were thronged with vehicles and foot-passengers, and the
very air seemed full of murmurings, telling of a nation's heart stirred
to its deepest depths.  The young lad and his sister looked about them
with lively interest; to them the city was a revelation indeed, in the
great contrast it presented to the unfrequented roads and quiet
solitudes of their native parish.  Darkness had fallen when the minister
guided Roger's steps into the Grass-market, where stood the hospitable
dwelling which was to shelter them during their sojourn in Edinburgh.
It was the abode of the minister's only sister, who was married to a
well-to-do merchant, by name Edward Kilgour.  Having been duly apprised
of his brother-in-law's coming on that day, Edward Kilgour was waiting
at the close mouth, anxiously peering up the street, which was now
almost in total darkness, there being no appliances then for lighting
the thoroughfares and byeways of the city. Hearing the click of the
pony's hoofs, he walked a few steps up the street, and then catching
sight of the little party, he called out in his cheery tones, "Andrew
Gray of Inverburn, and his little ones, if I mistake not!"

"Yes; thus far hath the Lord permitted us to travel in safety, Edward,"
said the minister.  "How is it with thee and thine?"

"All well; Jean a little impatient and fearful about you, as is the way
of womenkind," replied the merchant, heartily shaking his brother-in-law
by the hand.  "But what!  David, and little Agnes too! How did their
mother ever trust them so far?" he exclaimed, in surprise, at sight of
the children.

"She knew them safe with me, Edward, and I thought that the events of
to-morrow might, please God, make an impression on their young minds
which time would never efface.  And the Kirk, I am thinking, will need
both old and young to stand firm in her defence ere she be crowned and
blessed with liberty," said the minister, with a sigh.

"You speak the truth, Andrew," replied the merchant, soberly.  "Well, I
will take Roger to his stall and see that he is rubbed down and fed.  Do
you take the bairns upstairs: you know the way."

The minister nodded, and taking his boy and girl by the hand, led them
up the dark close and into a low doorway, which, unless he had been
familiar with the way, would have been difficult to find.

Aunt Jean heard their steps on the stair, and presently appeared on the
landing with a candle.

"Bless me!  Andrew Gray, is that the bairns all the way from the manse
of Inverburn?" she exclaimed, her motherly heart warming at sight of
them.

"Even so, Jean.  There will be room and welcome for them as well as for
their father under this roof-tree," answered the minister.  "Edward
tells me you are well; and, truly, you look it."

"Oh, ay, I am well in body!" she answered, blithely, and stooping she
lifted the little Agnes in her motherly arms, and affectionately kissed
her cheeks.  "Eh, Andrew, this bairn's her mother's living image.  How
is Ailie and Jane, and that stirring laddie, Andrew?  Why did you leave
him at home?"

"His master could not spare him, being busy preparing the ground for the
seed," replied the minister. "It was a sore disappointment to the lad.
He has a constant craving for something new."

By this time they had entered the wide and comfortable kitchen, where
the log-fire burned merrily, casting its ruddy glow on the hospitable
board spread for the expected guest.  A wooden cradle stood in the
warmest corner by the ingle-neuk, wherein slept peacefully the one child
of the household, a babe of eight months, and the first which had
blessed their hearth and home since their marriage, five years before.

The little Agnes looked very long and earnestly into her aunt's face,
never remembering having seen her before.

Mrs. Kilgour had been married out of the manse of Inverburn, at which
time Agnes was only four years old, but she had never visited it since,
and had only once seen her brother's wife, when she accompanied her
husband to Edinburgh on his being appointed to represent the Presbytery
of Lanark at the General Assembly.  Travelling in these days was very
slow and laborious, and not unaccompanied by dangers on the roads, owing
to the disturbed and unprotected state of the country.

"Ay, but she is like her mother, Andrew," repeated Mrs. Kilgour, as she
stooped to unfasten the child's cloak.  "She has her very een; may the
spirt of the bairn be her mother's likewise!  And this is David! He is
greatly grown.  I would hardly have known him again!  Dearie me, what
changes time works on bairns, as on other things!"

"You are right, Jean.  How has business been prospering with you
throughout the winter?"

"We cannot complain of the