‘God bless him!’ sobbed the heartbroken mother. ‘But what shall I do? What shall I do?’
‘Let me take ye to him,’ said Peebles. ‘Eh, lass, but the boy’s heart will leap for joy to know ye’re alive.’
‘No!’ said Moya, shrinking back. ‘No, no! Let things be as they are. It’s betther, far betther, that he should think me dead.
Alive, I shall only shame him more. Just let me see him, let me look into his eyes and hear his voice—’tis all I ask of the blessed saints, and I’ll go back to where I came from and never trouble him again.’
At that moment, as if in answer to the impassioned prayer of that lonely heart, a voice rose at a hundred yards’ distance. Peebles started at the sound:
‘Tho’ I lave thee for ever, my darling, and go,
Thine image shall haunt me in sunshine and
snow;
Like the light of a star shining over the foam,
Thy face shall go with me wherever I roam.’