"Deprive you of what I may never be able to repay."
"Ye must and ye shall take the money, or I'll fling it into the Lollard's Linn!" said the other, impetuously. "It was I who laid your father's head in the grave, laddie, in the auld kirkyard yonder in the glen, and ill would it become auld John Girvan, of the 25th, to let his son go forth to seek his fortune in this cold hard world, portionless and penniless, while there was a shot in the locker—a lad I love, too!"
"But the repayment, John Girvan, the repayment."
"Heed not that—it will come time enough; and if it never comes I'll never miss it; but ye'll write to me from the next burgh-town, won't ye, Quentin, laddie?"
"I shall, John—I shall," replied Quentin, now so softened that he sobbed with his face on the old man's shoulder.
"God bless ye, my bairn—God bless ye!"
"And you, John."
"You'll think o' me sometimes."
"Oh, could I ever forget?"
"Sorely will she repent this at my lord's homecoming," said Girvan, bitterly.