"And thy grandsire, too? Ye are both deer-stealers, and I have hanged many such."
"Oh, not my grandsire—not my poor grandfather!" and the boy knelt down, and raised his hands joined in supplication. "Hang me, if thou wilt, but spare him."
"My boy, neither shalt hang, if thou wilt but hear me—be my page, and he shall be free to return to his hut, with permission to kill one deer per month, and smaller game as he pleases."
"And if I will not promise?"
"Thou must rot in a dungeon till my return, when I will promise thou wilt be glad to get out at any price, and he must hang to-day—and thou wilt know thou art his executioner."
The boy yielded.
"I must give way. Oh! must I be thy page?"
"Yes, foolish boy—a good thing for thee, too."
"If I must, I will—but only to save his life. God forgive me!"
"God forgive thee? For what?"