“Aye, I know it well,” he said; and then he added, in a voice that sank almost to a whisper, “Now you will be reading the prayer.” And Mrs. Murray, opening her Gaelic Bible, repeated in her clear, soft voice, the words of the Lord's Prayer. Through all the petitions he followed her, until he came to the words, “Forgive us our debts.” There he paused.
“Ranald, my man,” he said, raising his hand with difficulty and laying it upon the boy's head, “you will listen to me now. Some day you will find the man that brought me to this, and you will say to him that your father forgave him freely, and wished him all the blessing of God. You will promise me this, Ranald?” said Macdonald Dubh.
“Yes, father,” said Ranald, lifting his head, and looking into his father's face.
“And, Ranald, you, too, will be forgiving him?” But to this there was no reply. Ranald's head was buried in the bed.
“Ah,” said Macdonald Dubh, with difficulty, “you are your father's son; but you will not be laying this bitterness upon me now. You will be forgiving him, Ranald?”
“Oh, father!” cried Ranald, with a breaking voice, “how can I forgive him? How can I forgive the man who has taken you away from me?”
“It is no man,” replied his father, “but the Lord himself; the Lord who has forgiven your father much. I am waiting to hear you, Ranald.”
Then, with a great sob, Ranald broke forth: “Oh, father, I will forgive him,” and immediately became quiet, and so continued to the end.
After some moments of silence, Macdonald Dubh looked once more toward the minister's wife, and a radiant smile spread over his face.
“You will be finishing,” he said.