Kiss ye the Son,
lest even he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath
is kindled but a little."
"Father o' lichts!" rang the cry again, and louder than before.
To Malcolm it seemed close behind him, but he had the self possession
not to turn his head. The preacher took no farther notice. MacLeod
stood up, and having, in a few simple remarks, attempted to smooth
some of the asperities of the youth's address, announced another
meeting in the evening, and dismissed the assembly with a prayer.
Malcolm went home with his grandfather. He was certain it was the
laird's voice he had heard, but he would attempt no search after his
refuge that day, for dread of leading to its discovery by others.
That evening most of the boats of the Seaton set out for the fishing
ground as usual, but not many went from Scaurnose. Blue Peter would
go no more of a Sunday, hence Malcolm was free for the night, and
again with his grandfather walked along the sands in the evening
towards the cave.
The sun was going down on the other side of the promontory before
them, and the sky was gorgeous in rose and blue, in peach and
violet, in purple and green, barred and fretted, heaped and broken,
scattered and massed--every colour edged and tinged and harmonized
with a glory as of gold, molten with heat, and glowing with fire.
The thought that his grandfather could not see, and had never
seen such splendour, made Malcolm sad, and very little was spoken
between them as they went.
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