"
Rover still continued his low importunate whine, and began to scratch
against the door. The lad threw it open--the dog brushed past him in an
instant, and his quick, short, continuous yelping, expressed his
immoderate joy and recognition.
"Hollo! where be'st thee, Bill?" said the young peasant, stepping over
the threshold. "Come, none of thee tricks upon travellers, Master Bill;
I zee thee beside the rick yon!" and quitting the door for half a
minute, he again hastily entered the cot. The rich colour of robust
health had fled from his cheeks--his lips quivered--and he looked like
one bereft of his senses, or under the influence of some frightful
apparition.
The dame rose up--her work fell from trembling hands--
"What's the matter?" said she.
"What's frighted thee, lad?" asked the old man, rising.
"Oh! feyther!--oh! mother!"--exclaimed he, drawing them hastily on one
side and whispering something in a low, and almost inaudible voice.
The old woman raised her hands in supplication and tottered to her
chair while the Cotter, bursting out into a paroxysm of violent rage,
clutched his son's arm, and exclaimed in a loud voice:
"Make fast the door, boy, an thou'lt not have my curse on thee!--I tell
'ee, she shan't come hither!--No--never--never;--there's poison in her
breath--a' will spurn her from me!--A pest on her!--What; wilt not do
my bidding?"
"O! feyther, feyther!" cried the young peasant, whose heart seemed
overcharged with grief, "It be a cold, raw night--ye wou'dna kick a cur
from the door to perish in the storm! Doant 'ee be hot and hasty,
feyther, thou art not uncharitable--On me knees!"--
"Psha!" exclaimed the enraged father, only exasperated by his
remonstrances.
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