Are you well, my bonnie dear? and the
good gentleman your father?"
"We are all well, dame. I am ashamed not to have been to see you for so
long, but I am glad that you have had other visitors," and she glanced
at Mr. Johnstone.
"We are old friends," he said with a smile of rare sweetness. "One of my
most faithful servants and friends was my foster-brother Harry Ray,
Rachel's eldest son."
"Aye, aye, was!" cried the woman, her voice rising to a kind of wail."
We speak of Hal Ray in the past now."
Johnstone bit his lip, and a bitter frown contracted his brow.
"Alas, is he dead, dame?" asked Betty tenderly.
"Aye, dear heart, dead, and his bones have no grave, and happen his
spirit no rest."
"This is terrible," said Betty with a shiver.
Mr. Johnstone moved restlessly to the window, and busied himself with
his sword-knot.
"I have often told you, good mother," he said, and his voice had in it
an odd mixture of grief and irritation, "that the less we dwell on these
things the better. Mistress Betty," he went on hurriedly, "Harry Ray
when he left my service, joined his fortunes with Wild Jack Barnstaple.
He had ill-luck, poor lad, he was taken and ... and hanged."
His mother uttered a shuddering cry.
"And by the road he must hang," she cried, "till the earth and the wild
winds have done their worst, and never a one to scare the wild birds
from the flesh of my boy!"
"Dear dame," said Betty earnestly, "the soul recks little of its earthly
tenement.
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