“Blessed are those who honour their father and their mother, for their days will be long in the land,” murmured the clergyman, as if to himself.
“Well, Robbie, the times are strange, and men are talking of revolution, and overthrowing governments, and of war that will be needed to bring all that about. I am a dying man, Robbie, and what do all their present charges and revolutions seem to me. Ah, nothing more, lad, than the crimples on the lake when the wind blows, or than the billows when the storm rages—a boat or ship may go down with its load of souls, but when the wind is at rest again, all is as before.”
The tone of the speaker was so solemn, and the surroundings so dramatic, that Robbie felt in no mood to question anything that was said, but listened with pious and filial resignation.
“And now, Robbie, lad, I want ye to promise me, afore I go, that you will not any longer meddle or make with politics, and that you will have nothing to do with any of these societies that, I hear, are being formed in this country, bound by oaths, they tell me. Will ye promise, Robbie, will ye promise, lad. I am getting weak, Robbie, I want ye to promise me before I go, for your mother’s sake and mine, laddie, and there’s Mr. M’Clane there who will be your witness, Robbie.”
But Robbie was silent and did not reply. The request had taken him by a surprise so great that he knew not what to answer.
Robert Grierson, with, as he believed, the tacit approval of his father, had joined the Society of United Irishmen, and as he was well-educated, enthusiastic, and in a good position, for his father was known to be very well off, and, besides his extensive farm, had a good round sum in the bank, he easily acquired a rather prominent position, and was at the head of one of the committees of councils into which his county was divided. The society had become oath-bound, and Robbie, in view of his obligation as a member of it, knew not what to reply to his father’s unexpected request.
“Honour your father and mother if your days will be long in the land.”
It was the voice of the minister raised scarcely higher than a whisper.
“Will ye promise me, laddie, I’m flittin’? Will ye promise me, Robbie, before I go?”
Robert felt the hand on his relaxing. He lifted his own to catch it, and found it cold. He looked on his father’s face, and though he had not seen many die he felt the end was at hand.