I was glad enough when he ceased his cares
and lay down by me. I took his hand.
"Thou canst not remember, lad, how we lay together thus by our dying
mother. She put thy small, wee hand in mine--I reckon she sees us now;
and belike we shall soon be with her. Anyhow, God's will be done."
"Dear Gregory," I muttered, and crept nearer to him for warmth. He was
talking still, and again about our mother, when I fell asleep. In an
instant--or so it seemed--there were many voices about me--many faces
hovering round me--the sweet luxury of warmth was stealing into every
part of me. I was in my own little bed at home. I am thankful to say,
my first word was "Gregory?"
A look passed from one to another--my father's stern old face strove in
vain to keep its sternness; his mouth quivered, his eyes filled slowly
with unwonted tears.
"I would have given him half my land--I would have blessed him as my
son,--oh God! I would have knelt at his feet, and asked him to forgive
my hardness of heart."
I heard no more.
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