“And that,” she said, with assumed calmness, which her glancing eye disowned, “is the punishment of a disobedient hound, is it not?” “Ask me no more, mother,” said Hamish; “the punishment is nothing to one who will never deserve it.” “To me it is something,” replied Elspat, “since I know better than thou, that where there is power to inflict, there is often the will to do so without cause. I would pray for thee, Hamish, and I must know against what evils I should beseech Him who leaves none unguarded, to protect thy youth and simplicity.” “Mother,” said Hamish, “it signifies little to what a criminal may be exposed, if a man is determined not to be such. Our Highland chiefs used also to punish their vassals, and, as I have heard, severely. Was it not Lachlan MacIan, whom we remember of old, whose head was struck off by order of his chieftain for shooting at the stag before him?” “Ay,” said Elspat, “and right he had to lose it, since he dishonoured the father of the people even in the face of the assembled clan. But the chiefs were noble in their ire; they punished with the sharp blade, and not with the baton. Their punishments drew blood, but they did not infer dishonour. Canst thou say, the same for the laws under whose yoke thou hast placed thy freeborn neck?” “I cannot, mother--I cannot,” said Hamish mournfully. “I saw them punish a Sassenach for deserting as they called it, his banner. He was scourged--I own it--scourged like a hound who has offended an imperious master. I was sick at the sight--I confess it. But the punishment of dogs is only for those worse than dogs, who know not how to keep their faith.” “To this infamy, however, thou hast subjected thyself, Hamish,” replied Elspat, “if thou shouldst give, or thy officers take, measure of offence against thee. I speak no more to thee on thy purpose. Were the sixth day from this morning’s sun my dying day, and thou wert to stay to close mine eyes, thou wouldst run the risk of being lashed like a dog at a post--yes! unless thou hadst the gallant heart to leave me to die alone, and upon my desolate hearth, the last spark of thy father’s fire, and of thy forsaken mother’s life, to be extinguished together!”--Hamish traversed the hut with an impatient and angry pace. “Mother,” he said at length, “concern not yourself about such things. I cannot be subjected to such infamy, for never will I deserve it; and were I threatened with it, I should know how to die before I was so far dishonoured.” “There spoke the son of the husband of my heart!” replied Elspat, and she changed the discourse, and seemed to listen in melancholy acquiescence, when her son reminded her how short the time was which they were permitted to pass in each other’s society, and entreated that it might be spent without useless and unpleasant recollections respecting the circumstances under which they must soon be separated.