"Did the child make his mother weep," he said; "did his idle words
bring rain to her eyes, and make her heart heavy? But he is her child
still, and all the world is nothing to him."
Verty rose, and taking the old, withered hand, placed it respectfully
on his breast.
"Never again, _ma mere_" he said, "will the wind talk to me, or the
birds whisper. I will not listen. Have I made your eyes dark? Let it
pass away--I am your son--I love you--more than all the whole wide
world."
And Verty sat down, and gazed tenderly at the old woman, whose face
had assumed an expression of extraordinary delight.
"Listen," said Verty, taking down his old violin, with a smile,
"I will play one of the old tunes, which blow like a wind from my
childhood--happy childhood."
And the young man gazed for a moment, silent and motionless, into the
fire. Then he raised his old, battered instrument, and began to play
one of the wild madrigals of the border.
The music aroused Longears, who sat up, so to speak, upon his
forepaws, and with his head bent upon one side, gazed with dignified
and solemn interest at his master.
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