“An' I'll live as I am a' my days for your sake. Oh, England! I hae likeit ye sae weel, ye suld na rob me o' my lad—he's a' the joy I hae!”
“I love you,” said Gatty. “Do you love me?”
All the answer was, her head upon his shoulder.
“I can't do it,” thought Gatty, “and I won't! Christie,” said he, “stay here, don't move from here.” And he dashed among the boats in great agitation.
He found his mother rather near the scene of the late conference.
“Mother,” said he, fiercely, like a coward as he was, “ask me no more, my mind is made up forever; I will not do this scoundrelly, heartless, beastly, ungrateful action you have been pushing me to so long.”
“Take care, Charles, take care,” said the old woman, trembling with passion, for this was a new tone for her son to take with her. “You had my blessing the other day, and you saw what followed it; do not tempt me to curse an undutiful, disobedient, ungrateful son.”
“I must take my chance,” said he, desperately, “for I am under a curse any way! I placed my ring on her finger, and held up my hand to God and swore she should be my wife; she has my ring and my oath, and I will not perjure myself even for my mother.”
“Your ring! Not the ruby ring I gave you from your dead father's finger—not that! not that!”
“Yes! yes! I tell you yes! and if he was alive, and saw her, and knew her goodness, he would have pity on me, but I have no friend; you see how ill you have made me, but you have no pity; I could not have believed it; but, since you have no mercy on me, I will have the more mercy on myself; I marry her to-morrow, and put an end to all this shuffling and maneuvering against an angel! I am not worthy of her, but I'll marry her to-morrow. Good-by.”