“God preserve me!” he groaned, “what am I about?”
For some time he remained standing silent, with head down as if not quite sure of himself. He was recalled by a grip of his arm. He turned and saw his nephew, Ranald, at his side. The boy's dark face was pale with passion.
“And is that all you are going to do to him?” he demanded. Macdonald gazed at him.
“Do you not see what he has done?” he continued, pointing to his father, who was still lying propped up on some coats. “Why did you not break his back? You said you would! The brute, beast!”
He hurled out the words in hot hate. His voice pierced the noise of the room. Macdonald stood still, gazing at the fierce, dark face in solemn silence. Then he sadly shook his head.
“My lad, 'Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.' It would have pleased me well, but the hand of the Lord was laid upon me and I could not kill him.”
“Then it is myself will kill him,” he shrieked, springing like a wildcat at LeNoir. But his uncle wound his arms around him and held him fast. For a minute and more he struggled fiercely, crying to be set free, till recognizing the uselessness of his efforts he grew calm, and said quietly, “Let me loose, uncle; I will be quiet.” And his uncle set him free. The boy shook himself, and then standing up before LeNoir said, in a high, clear voice:
“Will you hear me, LeNoir? The day will come when I will do to you what you have done to my father, and if my father will die, then by the life of God “Whist, whist, lad! be quate!” said his uncle; “these are not goot words.” The lad heeded him not, but sank down beside his father on the floor. Black Hugh raised himself on his elbow with a grim smile on his face. “It is a goot lad whatever, but please God he will not need to keep his word.” He laid his hand in a momentary caress upon his boy's shoulder, and sank back again, saying, “Take me out of this.”