It was that in
tearing himself from them he could make no response to the dumb appeal
in the eyes that followed him with adoration and fidelity: "Wherefore
do you leave us at all?" and "Why do you make no promise of return?" To
that dumb appeal there was no answer possible from one who carried on
his heart for himself, and on his life for some few others, and among
these his own father, the terrible brand of the criminal. It was this
grim fact that stained black the whole landscape of his consciousness,
and that hung like a pall of death over every living and delightsome
thing in the garden of his soul. While none could, without challenge,
condemn him, yet his own tongue refused to proclaim his innocence.
Every face he loved drove deeper into his heart his pain. The deathless
loyalty and unbounded pride of the Glen folk rebuked him, without their
knowing, for the dishonour he had done them. The Glen itself, the hills,
the purpling heather, the gleaming loch, how dear to him he had never
known till now, threw in his face a sad and silent reproach. Small
wonder that the Glen, that Scotland had become intolerable to him. With
this bitter burden on his heart it was that young Mr. Allan went his way
through the Glen making his farewells, not daring to indulge the luxury
of his grief, and with never a word of return.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137