said
softly:

"What did your father teach you out of the scriptures? 'Your highest
praise consists in this, to reward your mother for what she has done for
you, in bringing you up, so that she may not raise her hands to God, nor
He hear her lamentation.'"

At these words, Paaker sobbed aloud, but he did not look at his mother.
She called him tenderly by his name; then her eyes fell on his quiver,
which lay on a bench with other arms. Her heart shrunk within her, and
with a trembling voice she exclaimed:

"I forbid this mad vengeance--do you hear? Will you give it up? You do
not move? No! you will not! Ye Gods, what can I do?"

She wrung her hands in despair; then she hastily crossed the room,
snatched out one of the arrows, and strove to break it. Paaker sprang
from his seat, and wrenched the weapon from her hand; the sharp point
slightly scratched the skin, and dark drops of blood flowed from it, and
dropped upon the floor.

The Mohar would have taken the wounded hand, for Setchem, who had the
weakness of never being able to see blood flow--neither her own nor
anybody's else--had turned as pale as death; but she pushed him from her,
and as she spoke her gentle voice had a dull estranged tone.

"This hand," she said--"a mother's hand wounded by her son--shall never
again grasp yours till you have sworn a solemn oath to put away from you
all thoughts of revenge and murder, and not to disgrace your father's
name. I have said it, and may his glorified spirit be my witness, and
give me strength to keep my word!"

Paaker had fallen on his knees, and was engaged in a terrible mental
struggle, while his mother slowly went towards the door. There again she
stood still for a moment; she did not speak, but her eyes appealed to him
once more.

In vain. At last she left the room, and the wind slammed the door
violently behind her. Paaker groaned, and pressed his hand over his eyes.

"Mother, mother!" he cried. "I cannot go back--I cannot."

A fearful gust of wind howled round the house, and drowned his voice, and
then he heard two tremendous claps, as if rocks had been hurled from
heaven. He started up and went to the window, where the melancholy grey
dawn was showing, in order to call the slaves. Soon they came trooping
out, and the steward called out as soon as he saw him:

"The storm has blown down the masts at the great gate!"

"Impossible!" cried Paaker.

"Yes, indeed!" answered the servant. "They have been sa