Here he hurriedly began to select the few articles he intended to
take; for, besides the dread of interruption, he was feverishly
anxious to travel far that very night, if only Nest was capable of
performing the journey. As he was thus employed, he tried to
conjecture what his father's feelings would be on finding that his
once-loved son was gone away for ever. Would he then awaken to
regret for the conduct which had driven him from home, and bitterly
think on the loving and caressing boy who haunted his footsteps in
former days? Or, alas! would he only feel that an obstacle to his
daily happiness--to his contentment with his wife, and his strange,
doting affection for the child--was taken away? Would they make
merry over the heir's departure? Then he thought of Nest--the young
childless mother, whose heart had not yet realized her fulness of
desolation. Poor Nest! so loving as she was, so devoted to her
child--how should he console her? He pictured her away in a strange
land, pining for her native mountains, and refusing to be comforted
because her child was not.

Even this thought of the home-sickness that might possibly beset Nest
hardly made him hesitate in his determination; so strongly had the
idea taken possession of him that only by putting miles and leagues
between him and his father could he avert the doom which seemed
blending itself with the very purposes of his life as long as he
stayed in proximity with the slayer of his child.

He had now nearly completed his hasty work of preparation, and was
full of tender thoughts of his wife, when the door opened, and the
elfish Robert peered in, in search of some of his brother's
possessions. On seeing Owen he hesitated, but then came boldly
forward, and laid his hand on Owen's arm, saying,