spirit, but this oath I shall not lay upon you. No, by my hand
he shall die, or let him go." He stood for some moments silent,
his head leaning forward upon his breast. "No," he said again,
"Simon is right. This is a new land, a new life. Let the past die
with me. With this quarrel you have nothing to do. It is not yours."

"I will kill him," said the boy stubbornly, "I have sworn the oath.
It was my mother you left in the snow. Some day I will kill him."

"Aha! boy," said the father, drawing him close to his side, "my
quarrel is yours. Good! But first he is mine. When my hand lies
still in death, you may take up the cause, but not till then.
You hear me?"

"Yes, father," said the boy.

"And you promise?"

"I promise."

"Now farewell, my son. A bitter fate is ours. A bitter heritage I
leave you!" He sank down upon the bench, drew his boy toward him
and said brokenly, "Nay, nay, it shall not be yours. I shall free
you from it. In this new land, let life be new with you. Let not
the shadow of the old rest upon you." He gathered the boy up in his
strong arms and strained him to his breast. "Now farewell, my son.
Ah! God in Heaven!" he cried, his tears raining down upon the boy's
face, "must I give up this too! Ah, those eyes are her eyes, that
face her face! Is this the last? Is this all? How bitter is life!"
He rocked back and forward on the bench, his boy's arms tight about
his neck. "My boy, my boy! the last of life I give up here! Keep
faith. This," pulling out the miniature, "I would give you now,
but it is all I have left. When I die I will send it to you.
Your sister I give to your charge. When you are a man guard her.
Now go. Farewell."

The guard appeared at the door.

"Come, you must go. Time's up," he said roughly.

"Time is up," cried the father, "and all time henceforth is useless
to me. Farewell, my son!" kissing him. "You must go from me. Don't
be ashamed of your father, though he may die a prisoner or wander
an exile."

The boy clung fast to his father's neck, drawing deep sobbing breaths.

"Boy, boy," said the father, mingling his sobs with those of his
son, "help me to bear it!"

It was a piteous appeal, and it reached the boy's heart. At once he
loosened one hand from its hold, put it up and stroked his father's
face as his sobs grew quiet. At the touch upon his face, the father
straightened himself up, gently removed his son's clinging arm from
his neck.

"My son," he said quietly, "