And, after all, was this paper a matter of life
and death? Was it worth destroying the entire happiness of a life?
for Cecile might never find Lovedy. It was only a dream of the little
girl's, that Lovedy waited for her in the Pyrenees; there might be no
English girl hiding there! and even if there was, did she want that
forty pounds so badly? Must he sacrifice his whole life for the sake
of that forty pounds? Was it not a sacrifice too hard to expect of
any boy? True, he had given his word! he had told Cecile that he
would rather be cut in little bits than touch her purse of gold. Yes,
yes; but this lifelong suffering was worse than being cut in pieces.
"He that loveth father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me."
How could he love this unknown Christ better than the mother from
whom he had been parted for seven long years?
After a time, worn out with his emotion, he dropped asleep. He had
thought to stay awake all night; but before the village clock had
again struck one, his head was dropped on his hands and he was sound
asleep.
In his broken sleep he had one of those dreams which he dreaded. He
saw his mother ill and calling for him, weeping for him. A voice, he
did not know from where it sounded, kept repeating in his ear that
his mother was dying of a broken heart because of him; because she so
mourned the loss of her merry boy, she was passing into the silent
grave. The voice told him to make haste and go to his mother, not to
lose an instant away from her side.
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