“That proves what I say,” answered Martha doggedly; “or would you sooner see our homesteads burnt and ruin threatening us? Have you forgotten the prophecy of the Indian woman, the first who died under the shelter of your ancestor’s roof? ‘When Langlade and Boscowen part, then shall the land be riven.’”
“Nay, nay,” said Nathaniel uneasily. “The lads will love each other still, though they be parted; but Roger will never do as Charles has done—he will never bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. He is my only son.”
“Tut, tut! What is to prevent him, if, as you say of Charles, it should happen to be the ‘will of God’?”
She spoke bitterly—such an unusual thing for Martha that Father Nat looked at her with surprise, and Loïs exclaimed,—
“Oh, mother! surely you do not mean it!” and the girl’s fair face flushed and her lips quivered.
“I mean no harm,” said Martha; “but what more natural? They’ve been like brothers all their lives.”
“But because Charles has gone astray there is no need for Roger to do the same,” said Loïs gently. “It was not kindly spoken, mother, and yet I know you love Roger dearly.”
“Ay, surely she does,” said Nat; “who better, save myself, and his dead mother? Come, Martha woman, shake hands; we be too old friends to quarrel! Making my heart sore will not heal yours.”
“Forgive me, Nat,” said Martha, bursting into tears. “You are right, my heart is very sore. He was such a bonnie boy; and to think I’ve lost him, for truly it is worse than if he were dead!”
“Nay, nay,” answered Father Nat; “while there is life there is hope. Cheer up, mother; who knows? he may come back to us a better and a wiser man.”