“The boy is often a dreamer,” interrupted the Rover, smiling, with a wild and haggard look. “He sometimes gives form to his unmeaning thoughts, by clothing them in words.”
“My thoughts are not unmeaning,” continued Roderick, in a louder and far bolder strain. “If his peace or happiness be dear to you, do not yet leave him. Tell him of his high and honourable name of his youth; of that gentle and virtuous being that he once so fondly loved, and whose memory, even now, he worships. Speak to him of these, as you know how to speak; and, on my life, his ear will not be deaf, his heart cannot be callous to your words.”
“The urchin is mad!”
“I am not mad; or, if maddened, it is by the crimes, the dangers, of those I love. Oh! Mr Wilder, do not leave him. Since you have been among us, he is nearer to what I know he once was, than formerly. Take away that mistaken statement of your force; threats do but harden him: As a friend admonish; but hope for nothing as a minister of vengeance. You know not the fearful nature of the man, or you would not attempt to stop a torrent. Now—now speak to him; for, see, his eye is already growing kinder.”
“It is in pity, boy, to witness how thy reason wavers.”
“Had it never swerved more than at this moment Walter, another need not be called upon to speak between thee and me! My words would then have been regarded, my voice would then have been loud enough to be heard. Why are you dumb? a single happy syllable might now save him.”
“Wilder, the child is frightened by this counting of guns and numbering of people. He fears the anger of your anointed master. Go; give him place in your boat, and recommend him to the mercy of your superior.”
“Away, away!” cried Roderick. “I shall not, will not, cannot leave you. Who is there left for me in this world but you?”
“Yes,” continued the Rover, whose forced calmness of expression had changed to one of deep and melancholy musing; “it will indeed be better thus. See, here is much gold; you will commend him to the care of that admirable woman who already watches one scarcely less helpless, though possibly less—”
“Guilty! speak the word boldly, Walter. I have earned the epithet, and shall not shrink to hear it spoken. Look,” he said, taking the ponderous bag which had been extended towards Wilder, and holding it high above his head, in scorn, “this can I cast from me; but the tie which binds me to you shall never be broken.”