A whirl came through my brain, catching me back to
death.
I came slowly to my consciousness, weeks afterwards. My father's hair
was white when I recovered, and his hands shook as he looked into my
face.
We spoke no more of Gregory. We could not speak of him; but he was
strangely in our thoughts. Lassie came and went with never a word of
blame; nay, my father would try to stroke her, but she shrank away; and
he, as if reproved by the poor dumb beast, would sigh, and be silent and
abstracted for a time.
Aunt Fanny--always a talker--told me all. How, on that fatal night, my
father,--irritated by my prolonged absence, and probably more anxious
than he cared to show, had been fierce and imperious, even beyond his
wont, to Gregory; had upbraided him with his father's poverty, his own
stupidity which made his services good for nothing--for so, in spite of
the old shepherd, my father always chose to consider them. At last,
Gregory had risen up, and whistled Lassie out with him--poor Lassie,
crouching underneath his chair for fear of a kick or a blow.
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