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 entrust 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.
Pages:
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325