''
``You are determined at least to allow me no
peace at home, mother; but this shall have an end,''
said Hamish, as, resuming his purpose of leaving
the hut, he rose and went towards the door.
``Stay, I command you,'' said his mother; ``stay!
or may the gun you carry be the means of your
ruin---may the road you are going be the track of
your funeral!''
``What makes you use such words, mother?''
said the young man, turning a little back---``they
are not good, and good cannot come of them.
Farewell just now, we are too angry to speak together---
farewell; it will be long ere you see me
again.'' And he departed, his mother, in the first
burst of her impatience, showering after him her
maledictions, and in the next invoking them on her
own head, so that they might spare her son's. She
passed that day and the next in all the vehemence
of impotent and yet unrestrained passion, now entreating
Heaven, and such powers as were familiar
to her by rude tradition, to restore her dear son,
``the calf of her heart;'' now in impatient resentment,
meditating with what bitter terms she should
rebuke his filial disobedience upon his return, and
now studying the most tender language to attach
him to the cottage, which, when her boy was present,
she would not, in the rapture of her affection,
have exchanged for the apartments of Taymouth
Castle.
Pages:
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240