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Updated: June 19, 2025
Micah Ward, followed by his son, hastened to the MacClure's house. He stood for a moment on the threshold, lifted his hat solemnly from his head, and invoked a blessing on the building and all in it. Then he went to the woman, took one of her hands in his, and spoke to her with wonderful tenderness. "Bessie, my poor bairn. Hearken to me, Bessie. Quit crying now, quit crying.
Rab MacClure's horses served them well. By breakfast time they reached Ballymoney. They sat in the inn kitchen while the woman of the house broiled salmon for them. She was full of excitement, and very ready to talk. The yeomen had ridden through the town the day before. They had stopped at her house to drink. The officer and some of the men had paid their score and ridden on.
The room was in darkness. Through the open door came the long roaring of the sea. Within, Micah Ward's voice rose to passionate cries or sank to a tender whisper. Bessie MacClure's grief found utterance now only in half-choked sobs. At last even these ceased. Her hands ceased wandering over the curly heads of the children, asleep now with her lap for their pillow.
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