"'Tis thy mother's terror,--an' thy father's house,--I make no
doubt," said Darrel, presently, in a deep voice. "But, boy, I
cannot tell any man where is thy father; not even thee, nor his
name, nor the least thing, tending to point him out, until--until I
am released o' me vow. Be content; if I can find the man, ere
long, thou shalt have word o' him."
Trove leaned against the breast of Darrel, shaking with emotion.
His tale had come to an odd and fateful climax.
The old man stroked his head tenderly.
"Ah, boy," said he, "I know thy heart. I shall make haste--I
promise thee, I shall make haste. But, if the good God should
bring thy father to thee, an' thy head to shame an' sorrow for his
sin, forgive him, in the name o' Christ, forgive him. Ay, boy,
thou must forgive all that trespass against thee."
"If I ever see him, he shall know I am not ungrateful," said the
young man.
A while past twelve o'clock, those two, lying there in the
firelight, thinking, rose like those startled in sleep. A mighty
voice came booming over the still water and echoed far and wide.
Slowly its words fell and rang in the great, silent temple of the
woods:--
"'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have
not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
Pages:
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181