"But, mother, don't be grieving like this," sobbed Shock, "or how can I leave you at all."
"Laddie, laddie, why did you come in to me? I had minded to give you up without tears, and this iss my hour of weakness. There now, let your head lie there. Whist! lad, och-hone. It iss twenty-four years since first you lay there, lad, and though grief hass come to me many's the day, yet never through you, never once through you, and you will be remembering that, lad. It will comfort you after—after—after I'm gone."
"Gone, mother!" cried Shock in surprise.
"Yess, for this iss the word given to me this night, that you will see my face no more."
"Oh, mother! mother! don't say that word, for I cannot bear it," and poor Shock buried his face in the pillow, while his great frame shook with sobs.
"Whist now, laddie! There now. It iss the Lord."
Her voice grew steady and grave. "It iss the Lord, and He gave you to me for these few happy years, and, Shock, man, you will be heeding me."
Shock turned his face toward her again and laid his face close to her cheek.
"Remember, I gave you to Himself in convenant that day, and that covenant you will keep now and—afterwards, and I must be keeping it too."
"Yes, mother," said Shock brokenly, while he held her tight. "But it is only for two years, and then I will be coming home, or you to me, and before that, perhaps."