he himself had prospered, and from which he had now retired. He suddenly
realized that a day of trouble was at hand with this youth on whom his
heart doted, and it tortured him that he could not understand.

"By none of these things shall I break my life," was David's answer now.

For a moment he stood still and silent, then all at once he stretched out
his hands to them. "All these things I did were against our faith. I
desire forgiveness. I did them out of my own will; I will take up your
judgment. If there be no more to say, I will make ready to go to old
Soolsby's hut on the hill till the set time be passed."

There was a long silence. Even the shrill Elder's head was buried in
his breast. They were little likely to forego his penalty. There was
a gentle inflexibility in their natures born of long restraint and
practised determination. He must go out into blank silence and
banishment until the first day of winter. Yet, recalcitrant as they held
him, their secret hearts were with him, for there was none of them but
had had happy commerce with him; and they could think of no more bitter
punishment than to be cut off from their own society for three months.
They were satisfied he was being trained back to happiness and honour.

A new turn was given to events, however. The little wizened Elder
Meacham said: "The flute, friend--is it here?"

"I have it here," David answered.

"Let us have music, then."

"To what end?" interjected the shrill Elder.