not explain, had sprung up like a wild shrub, full of sap and strength,
but uncultivated and solitary. Besides, from the time when he was
fifteen, one was accustomed to his motiveless absences, which the
indifference that everyone bore him made moreover perfectly explicable;
from time to time, however, he was seen to reappear at the castle, like
those migratory birds which always return to the same place but only stay
a moment, then take their way again without one's knowing towards what
spot in the world they are directing their flight.

An instinct of misfortune in common had drawn Little Douglas to George.
George, seeing the child ill-treated by everyone, had conceived an
affection for him, and Little Douglas, feeling himself loved amid the
atmosphere of indifference around him, turned with open arms and heart to
George: it resulted from this mutual liking that one day, when the child
had committed I do not know what fault, and that William Douglas raised
the whip he beat his dogs with to strike him, that George, who was
sitting on a stone, sad and thoughtful, had immediately sprung up,
snatched the whip from his brother's hands and had thrown it far from
him. At this insult William had drawn his sword, and George his, so that
these two brothers, who had hated one another for twenty years like two
enemies, were going to cut one another's throats, when Little Douglas,
who had picked up the whip, coming back and kneeling before William,
offered him the ignominious weapon, saying,

"Strike, cousin; I have deserved it."

This behaviour of the child had caused some minutes' reflection to the
two young men, who, terrified at the crime they were about to commit, had
returned their swords to their scabbards and had each gone away in
silence. Since this incident the friendship of George and Little Douglas