Thither the prisoner was also led, the
clergyman still continuing by his side, pouring
forth exhortations of courage and consolation, to
which the youth appeared to listen with respectful
devotion. With slow, and, it seemed, almost unwilling
steps, the firing party entered the square,
and were drawn up facing the prisoner, about ten
yards distant. The clergyman was now about to
retire---``Think, my son,'' he said, ``on what I
have told you, and let your hope be rested on the
anchor which I have given. You will then exchange
a short and miserable existence here, for a life in
which you will experience neither sorrow nor pain.
---Is there aught else which you can intrust to me
to execute for you?''
The youth looked at his sleeve buttons. They
were of gold, booty perhaps which his father had
taken from some English officer during the civil
wars. The clergyman disengaged them from his
sleeves.
``My mother!'' he said with some effort, ``give
them to my poor mother!---See her, good father,
and teach her what she should think of all this.
Tell her Hamish Bean is more glad to die than
ever he was to rest after the longest day's hunting.
Farewell, sir---farewell!''
The good man could scarce retire from the fatal
spot.
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