"Well, mine host, I entirely
approve of your doings, and, moreover, have resolved to prosper after the
same fashion myself."
"If that be the commodity you seek," replied Hugh Crombie, "you will find
none here to your mind. We have widows in plenty, it is true; but most of
them have children, and few have houses and lands. But now to be serious,
--and there has been something serious in your eye all this while,--what
is your purpose in coming hither? You are not safe here. Your name has had
a wider spread than mine, and, if discovered, it will go hard with you."
"But who would know me now?" asked the guest.
"Few, few indeed!" replied the landlord, gazing at the dark features of
his companion, where hardship, peril, and dissipation had each left their
traces. "No, you are not like the slender boy of fifteen, who stood on the
hill by moonlight to take a last look at his father's cottage. There were
tears in your eyes then; and, as often as I remember them, I repent that I
did not turn you back, instead of leading you on."
"Tears, were there? Well, there have been few enough since," said his
comrade, pressing his eyelids firmly together, as if even then tempted to
give way to the weakness that he scorned.
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