and cursed me. I saw that if I did not lift a hand they would take away everything I had, and I should be left hungry and a beggar. But you left everything to God, and commanded me to be patient. At last you could endure me no longer; you banished from your house the prodigal son who did not want to follow the habits of his ancestors, who hated the yoke of slavery, who did not love to kiss the feet of his oppressors."
"But where have you been since, and what were you doing?" asked the grieved father.
"I became a wandering hunter. But there is only one step between killing animals and killing men. And why should I not slay, when I saw that those who did were more fortunate, more respected; while those who did not want to hurt a fly were always wretched, always persecuted, and never the masters of their family, their property, or even their own lives?"
The young man paused, and, taking a long breath continued:—
"Do you see, father, good, kind-hearted man, meek as a lamb, but your goodness did not help you? And those priests who are impaled on stakes, and those corpses which lie on the ground,—all of them were good, Christian men; I knew them. But they fell before the wicked! One must be stern to the bad, and good to the good; this is a necessity of unjust humanity."
"Let your unfortunate father die in peace," said the old man in a faint voice; "your words pierce my heart more deeply than the swords of the Kurds."
"He who has not lived in peace can never die in peace. Rest and peace are not for us, neither in our cottages nor in our graves."
"Did you go—did you see our cottage?" asked the father.
"I saw it. It was on fire."
"But your mother! your sisters! your brother!"
"None of them were there. I saw only dead bodies."
"And you did not hasten to assist your helpless father and save his family?"
