man whose bowels yearn after kindred and friends of this world. When I
put my hand to the plough, I entered into a covenant with my worldly
affections that I should not look back on the things I left behind me.
Yet the son of mine ancient comrade is to me as mine own, and I cannot
behold him without the deep and firm belief, that I shall one day see him
gird on his sword in the dear and precious cause for which his father
fought and bled."

With a promise on Morton's part that he would call the refugee when it
was time for him to pursue his journey, they parted for the night.

Morton retired to a few hours' rest; but his imagination, disturbed by
the events of the day, did not permit him to enjoy sound repose. There
was a blended vision of horror before him, in which his new friend seemed
to be a principal actor. The fair form of Edith Bellenden also mingled in
his dream, weeping, and with dishevelled hair, and appearing to call on
him for comfort and assistance, which he had not in his power to render.
He awoke from these unrefreshing slumbers with a feverish impulse, and a
heart which foreboded disaster. There was already a tinge of dazzling
lustre on the verge of the distant hills, and the dawn was abroad in all
the freshness of a summer morning.

"I have slept too long," he exclaimed to himself, "and must now hasten to
forward the journey of this unfortunate fugitive."

He dressed himself as fast as possible, opened the door of the house with
as little noise as he could, and hastened to the place of refuge occupied
by the Covenanter. Morton entered on tiptoe, for the determined tone and
manner, as well as the unusual language and sentiments of this singular
individual, had struck him with a sensation approaching to awe. Balfour