Chapter XXIII
'Tis when the wound is stiffening with the cold,
The warrior first feels pain—'tis when the heat
And fiery fever of his soul is pass'd,
The sinner feels remorse.
The feelings of compunction with which Halbert Glendinning was visited upon this painful occasion, were deeper than belonged to an age and country in which human life was held so cheap. They fell far short certainly of those which might have afflicted a mind regulated by better religious precepts, and more strictly trained under social laws; but still they were deep and severely felt, and divided in Halbert's heart even the regret with which he parted from Mary Avenel and the tower of his fathers.
The old traveller walked silently by his side for some time, and then addressed him. 'My son, it has been said that sorrow must speak or die. Why art thou so much cast down? Tell me thy unhappy tale, and it may be that my grey head may devise counsel and aid for your young life.'
'Alas!' said Halbert Glendinning, 'can you wonder why I am cast down? I am at this instant a fugitive from my father's house, from my mother, and from my friends, and I bear on my head the blood of a man who injured me but in idle words, which I have thus bloodily requited. My heart now tells me I have done evil: it were harder than these rocks if it could bear unmoved the thought that I have sent this man to a long account, unhouseled and unshrieved!'
'Pause there, my son,' said the traveller. 'That thou hast defaced God's image in thy neighbour's person; that thou hast sent dust to dust in idle wrath or idler pride, is indeed a sin of the deepest dye; that thou hast cut short the space which Heaven might have allowed him for repentance, makes it yet more deadly: but for all this there is balm in Gilead.'
'I understand you not, father,' said Halbert, struck by the solemn tone which was assumed by his companion.
