Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times
“ As he talked, Hector's voice thrilled until his last triumphant words rang through the cave like a challenge and a prophecy."Ay," he cried, "though the King's minions heap horror upon horror till every hill in the South o' Scotland is a heather-clad Golgotha, the men will stand firm: and generations yet unborn will reap the harvest o' their sacrifice."He ceased, and so deep a silence fell upon us that through the rock wall I could hear the splash of an icicle as it fell into the pool. The minister's bowed head was in his hands. ”
