Shenac's Work at Home Part 25

Shenac Dhu was herself again when she crossed the threshold, and when her cousin would have turned towards the door of her brother's room, she gently but firmly drew her past it.

"No; it is Allister's turn and mine to-night," she said; and Shenac had no strength to resist, but suffered herself to be laid down by little Flora's side without a word.

She rose next morning refreshed; and after this all was changed. She gave Hamish up after that night; or, rather, she had given up her own will, and waited that G.o.d's will might be done in him and in her. It was not that she suffered, and had strength to hide her suffering from her brother's eye. She did not suffer as she had done before. She did not love her brother less, but she no longer grudged him to his Lord and hers. It was not that for him the change would be most blessed, nor that for her the waiting would not be long. It was because G.o.d willed that her brother should go hence; and therefore she willed it too.

And what blessed days those were that followed! Surely never traveller went down the dark valley cheered by warmer love or tenderer care.

There was no cloud, no shadow of a cloud, between the brother and sister after that night. Though Shenac never said it, Hamish knew that after that night she gave him up and was at peace. It was a peaceful time to all the household, and to the friends who came now and then to see them; but there was more than peace in the hallowed hours to the brother and sister. It was a foretaste of "the rest that remaineth." To one, that rest was near. Between it and the other lay life--it might be long--a life of care and labour and trial; but to her the rest "remaineth" all the same.

He did not suffer much--just enough to make her loving care constant and very sweet to him--just enough to make her not grudge too much, for his sake, the pa.s.sing of the days. Oh, how peacefully they glided on! The valley was steep, but it never was dark. Not a shadow, to the very last, came to dim the brightness of those days; and in remembrance the brightness lingers still.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

But I must go back again to the June days when Shenac's peace was new.

The light came in through the western window, not from the sun, but from the glory he had left behind; and with his face upturned towards the golden clouds, Hamish sat gazing, as if he saw heaven beyond.

"Ready and waiting!" thought Shenac--"ready and waiting!"

For a moment she thought she must have spoken the words aloud, as her brother turned and said,--

"I have just one thing left to wish for, Shenac. If I could only see Mr Stewart once again."

"He said he would come, dear, in August or September," said Shenac, after a moment's pause.

"I shall not see him, then," said Hamish softly.

"He might come sooner, perhaps, if he knew," said Shenac. "Allister might write to him."

"I so long to see him!" continued Hamish. "I do love him so, Shenac dear--next to you, I think. Indeed, I know not which I love best. Oh, I could never tell you all the cause I have to love him."

"He would be sure to come," said his sister.

"I want to see him because I love him, and because he loves me, and because--" He paused.

"Have you anything to say to him that I could tell him afterwards? But he will be sure to come."

"You could write and ask him, Shenac."

"Yes; oh yes. Only Allister could do it better," said Shenac; "but I could let him know that you are longing to see him again."

But it was Hamish himself who wrote--two broken lines, very unlike the letters he used to take so much pains to make perfect. But the irregular, almost illegible, characters were eloquent to his friend; and in a few days there came an answer, saying that in a day or two business would bring him within fifty miles of their home, and it would go hard with him if he could not get a day for his friend. And almost as soon as his letter he himself came. He had travelled all night to accomplish it, and must travel all night again; but in the meantime there was a long summer day before them.

A long, happy day it was, and long to be remembered. They had it mostly to themselves. All the morning Mr Stewart sat beside the low couch of Hamish, and spoke or was silent as he had strength to listen or reply.

On the other side sat Shenac, never speaking, never moving, except when her brother needed her care.

Once, when Hamish slumbered, Mr Stewart, touching her bowed head with his hand, whispered,--

"Is it well?" And Shenac answered, "It is well. I would not have it otherwise."

"And afterwards?" said her friend.

"I cannot look beyond," she murmured.

He stooped to whisper,--

"I will not fear, though the earth be removed, though the mountains be cast into the midst of the sea."

"I am not afraid," said Shenac. "I do not think when the time comes I shall be afraid."

After that Mr Stewart carried Hamish out to the end of the house, and there they were alone. When they came in again, one and another of his friends came to see Mr Stewart, and Hamish rested. As it grew dark, they all gathered in to wors.h.i.+p, and then it was time for Mr Stewart to go. When all was ready, and he came to say farewell, Hamish slumbered.

Shenac stooped down and spoke his name. Mr Stewart bent over him and kissed him on the brow and lips. As he raised himself, the closed eyes opened, and the smiling lips murmured, as Shenac stooped again to catch the words,--

"He will come again, to care for you always. I could hardly have borne to leave my Shenac, but for that."

Shenac lifted her startled eyes to Mr Stewart's face.

"Is he wandering?" she asked.

"No. Will you let me care for you always, Shenac, good and dear child?"

Shenac did not catch the true meaning of his words, but she saw that his lip quivered, and the hand he held out trembled; so she placed hers in it for a farewell. Then he kissed her as he had kissed her brother, and then he went away.

There was no break in the long summer days after this. Sabbaths and weekdays were all the same in the quiet room. Once or twice Hamish was carried in Allister's strong arms to the door, or to the seat at the end of the house, and through almost all July he sat for an hour or two each day in the great chair by the western window. But after August came in, the only change he had was between his bed and the low couch beside it.

He did not suffer much pain, but languor and restlessness overpowered him often; and then the strong, kind arms of his elder brother never were wearied, even when the harvest-days were longest, but bore him from bed to couch, and from couch to bed again, till he could rest at last.

Sometimes, when he could rest nowhere else, he would slumber a little while with his head on his sister's shoulder, and her arms clasped about him.

When a friend came in to sit with him for a while, or when he was easy or slumbered through the day, Shenac made herself busy with household matters; for, what with the milk and the wool and the harvest-people, Shenac Dhu had more than she could well do, even with the help of her handmaid Maggie, and her sister strove to lighten the labour. But the care of her brother was the work that fell to her now, and at night she never left him. She slept by s.n.a.t.c.hes in the great chair when he slept, and whiled away the wakeful hours when his restless turns came on.

She was not doing too much for her strength; she was quite fit for it all. The neighbours were more than kind, and many of them would gladly have shared the watching at night with her; but Hamish was not used to have any one else about him, and it could hardly be called watching, for she slept all she needed. And, besides, it was harvest-time, and all were busy in the fields, and those who worked all day could not watch at night. She was quite well--a little thin and pale--"bleached," her aunt said, by being in the house and not out in the harvest-field; but she was always alert and cheerful.

The coming sorrow was more hers than any of the others. They all thought with dismay of the time when Shenac should be alone, with half her heart in the grave of Hamish. But she did not look beyond the end to that time, and sought no sympathy because of this.

It is a happy, thing that they who bear the burdens of others by this means lighten their own; and Shenac, careful for her young brothers and little Flora, anxious that the few hushed moments in their brother's room--his prayers, his loving words, his gentle patience, his immortal hope--should henceforth be blended with all their inward life, never to be forgotten, never to be set aside, thought more of them than of herself through all those days and nights of waiting.

When a sudden shower or a rainy day gave the harvesters a little leisure, she used to make herself busy in the house that Dan might feel himself of use to Hamish, and might hear, with no one else to listen, a sweet, persuasive word or two from his dying brother's lips.

For Shenac's heart yearned over her brother Dan. He did so need some high aim, some powerful motive of action, some strengthening, guiding principle of life. All need this; but Dan more than others, she thought. If he did not go straight to the mark, he would go very far astray. He would soon be his own master, free to guide himself, and he would either do very well or very ill in life; and there had been times, even since the coming home of Allister, when Shenac feared that "very ill" it was to be.

And yet at one time he had seemed not very far from the kingdom. During all the long season of religious interest, no one had seemed more interested, in one way, than he. Without professing to be personally earnest in the matter, he had attended all the meetings, and watched-- with curiosity, perhaps, but with awe and interest too--the coming out from the world of many of his companions, their changed life, their higher purpose. But all this had pa.s.sed away without any real change to himself, and, as a reaction from that time, Dan had grown a little more than careless--very willing to be called careless, and more, by some who grieved, and by others who laughed.

So Shenac watched and prayed, and forgot herself in longings that, amid the influences of a time so solemn and so sweet, Dan might find that which should make him wise and strong, and place him far beyond all her doubts and fears for ever.

It was a day in the beginning of harvest--a rainy day, coming after so long a time of drought and dust and heat that all rejoiced in it, even though it fell on golden sheaves and on long swaths of new-cut grain.

It was not a misty, drizzling rain; it came down with a will in sudden showers, leaving little pools in the chip-yard and garden-paths. Every now and then the clouds broke away, as if they were making preparation for the speedy return of the suns.h.i.+ne; but the sun did not show his face till he had only time to tinge the clouds with golden glory before he sank behind the forest.

"Carry me to the window, Dan," said Hamish. "Thank you: that is nice.

You carry me as strongly and firmly as Allister himself. You are as strong, and nearly as tall, I think," continued he, when he had been placed in the great chair and had rested a little. At any other time Dan would have straightened himself up to declare how he was an eighth of an inch taller than Allister, or he would have attempted some extraordinary feat--such as lifting the stove or the chest of drawers-- to prove his right to be called a strong man. But, looking down on his brother's fragile form and beautiful colourless face, other thoughts moved him. Love and compa.s.sion, for which no words could be found, filled his heart and looked out from his wistful eyes. It came to him as it had never come before--what a sorrowful, suffering life his brother's had been; and now he was dying! Hamish seemed not to need words in order that he might understand his thoughts.