David Fleming's Forgiveness Part 27

"But He may show him His face, up yonder," said Katie, with tears; "and I am sure, and so is Miss Betsey, that she is no' so very ill."

Grannie had never thought herself very ill. Even when all her days were spent in bed, she only called herself weary at first. There had been a very warm week about that time, and she had suffered from the heat, and had kept herself quiet. But she did not think herself ill, and certainly Katie did not think it. For though she was not strong, she did not suffer much, except that she was feverish and restless now and then, and she was always sweet and bright and easily pleased, and not at all like the sick people that Katie had seen. It was a pleasure to be with her, to wait on her, and to listen to her. For there were times when she had much to say, soothing her own restlessness with happy talk of many things which Katie liked to hear.

She told her about her father--so grave and kind and trustworthy--and about Hughie, who was so good and clever, but who had "gone wrong," and been lost to them, leaving their life so dreary. And once or twice she spoke of one over whom she had kept the silence of many a year. It was Katie's own name she heard--but it was of another "bonnie Katie" that her grandmother murmured so fondly, one who had been beguiled--who had sinned and suffered, and died long ago. But she always spoke brokenly of her when she was restless and feverish, and Katie, though she would have liked to hear more, strove always to turn her thoughts away.

But almost always her talk was happy and bright. In those days Katie heard more of her grandmother's youthful days than she had ever heard before. She spoke about her home, and her brothers and sisters, and about "the gowany braes" and "the silver Ythan," and the songs they used to sing, before it had ever come into her mind that there was trouble and care before her. She even tried to sing again, in her faint sweet voice, some of the dear old songs, laughing softly at her own foolishness.

But she never once spoke as though she thought she might not recover; even when she gave Katie words of counsel or caution, it was just in the way she used to do when they were going about their work together, and the girl was sure that she would soon be well again, and that that was Miss Betsey's thought too.

But seeing her as she stood looking down on her grandmother's sleeping face that morning, Katie was not so sure of what Miss Betsey's thoughts might be. Still, her grandmother's eyes opened and she smiled her old cheerful smile, as she said she was glad to see them.

"You must tell grandfather that the minister is come, Katie," said she.

Mr Maxwell had seen Mr Fleming stepping up the brae, and he knew well that no words of his could comfort him. He could only hope as Katie did, that his Lord and Master might show him His face in the solitude he sought.

He had few words to say to Mrs Fleming, for she seemed inclined to slumber through the afternoon.

"I wish you could stay with us to-night, Miss Betsey," said Katie's mother. "I am afraid grandmother is not so well."

"There is not much difference either way, I think. I would be glad to stay, but Uncle Gershom has had another bad turn, and I promised cousin Lizzie I would stay with her to-night. But I will come over to-morrow morning before I go home if I can get away."

"Do you think her very ill?" asked Mr Maxwell as they walked down the hill together.

"I have not thought her very ill. I don't know that she is worse to-day, but she is certainly no better. I suppose it depends on whether her strength holds out. She is an old woman now."

These were anxious days to Katie; but her grandfather had more of her thoughts than her grandmother.

"And it is a wonder to me that he should be so broken down, a good man like him, even by such sore trouble. Even the loss of grannie would be but for a few days, and he has the Lord Himself in the midst of it all."

But this was a mistake on Katie's part. For all this time, strangely and sadly enough, he was ringing the changes on his old complaint: "Thou art a G.o.d that hidest Thyself." He had not the Lord Himself in those days. Even when he pleaded, as he did day and night, for Davie's life, it was the cry of despair that came out of his sore trouble, rather than the "prayer of faith" to which the promise of healing to the sick is given.

And as he bowed himself down beneath the pines, it was the same. He was in a maze of perplexity and fear. Had he been sinning against G.o.d all this time? Had he been hating not the sin, but the sinner? Had it been beneath G.o.d's hand that he had been refusing to bow? And now was G.o.d leaving him to hardness of heart?

For he was utterly broken and spent, and in the weakness of mind which exhaustion of body caused, he had almost lost the power to discriminate or reason. He could not command his thoughts. The wind moaned in the pines above him, and the suns.h.i.+ne came and went, flickering and fading, and brightening again, and with the monotonous sound and the ever-changing light, there came voices and visions, and he seemed to listen as in a dream:

"It was G.o.d's will, grandfather. G.o.d kens, and it was His will. I would fain hear you say once that you have forgiven your enemy."

His enemy! Was Jacob Holt his enemy? And if he were, could even an enemy bring evil on him or his without permission? What had it all come to--the long pain, the persistent shrinking from this man, whom G.o.d alone might judge? Had he been hating him all this time--bringing leanness to his own soul, and darkness, and all the evil that hatred must ever bring? And where was it all to end? And what must he do, now that his sin had found him out?

For his time was short, and the end near. And then his thoughts wandered away to the old squire lying on his death-bed--the man who had declared himself willing to stand on the same platform with old David Fleming, when his time should come to be judged. And that time was close at hand now, and his own time could not be far away, and then he must stand face to face with Him whose last words were, "Father, forgive them!"--face to face with Him who had said, "Love your enemies,"

"Forgive, and it shall be forgiven unto you."

Over and over the same round his thoughts went, till, worn out with anxiety and watching, and lulled unconsciously by the soft "sough" of the wind in the pines, he fell asleep. Pine-tree Hollow was all in shadow when he awoke, but when he had gone a few steps, he saw the sunlight lying on the high hills to the east. His first thoughts were of what might have been happening at home while he slept, and he quickened his steps.

And as he walked he was conscious that his sleep had done him good. He was stronger and calmer, and could command his thoughts again, and he hurried eagerly on. The sight of Katie pa.s.sing quietly out and in to the dairy quieted him still more. It must be well with grannie or Katie would not be there.

"Well, my la.s.sie?"

"Yes. Grannie has been sleeping, but she is awake now, and has been asking for you. Mother is with her now."

He went into the house slowly and quietly. Katie's mother was sitting by the bed, with her sad eyes fastened on the face of the grandmother, who seemed to have fallen into slumber again.

"She has been wandering a little, I think," said Mrs James.

"Wandering?" repeated Mr Fleming drearily.

Grannie opened her eyes, and looked first at one and then at the other.

"No, my dear, it wasna that I was wandering. I was dreaming, I think--a strange grand dream--of a far country. And--Dawvid--I saw our Katie there, and her little bairn--and I saw our Hughie, and James, and many another. But I saw them first and best; and we have no cause to fear."

Even as she spoke her eyes closed again. The old man sat down with a sinking heart. Did not these sound like "last words?" Had she not got a first glimpse of the "far country" to which she was hastening? How vain to struggle against G.o.d, he thought. He never uttered a word. His daughter-in-law looked at him with compa.s.sionate eyes that he could hardly bear. Katie came in with a gla.s.s of milk in her hand.

"She is not asleep again, is she? Well, I must waken her, because she must take something. The sleeping is good for her, but she must take something to keep up her strength. Grannie dear, take this," and she raised her gently.

She opened her eyes and smiled.

"Oh, ay! I'll take it. And I could take a bit of bread, I think."

"Well, mother will bring a bit." But Katie was greatly surprised.

"I think I'm better, if I were only stronger a bit," said grannie.

Over Katie's bright face Mr Fleming saw the grave face of her mother, and though he knew that it was her way rather to fear than to hope, his heart sank.

"I'll soon be better, I think. Are you there, Dawvid? You ken I couldna go and stand before the Lord and tell Him that you hadna forgiven your enemy."

"She is wandering," whispered Katie's mother.

"No; I'm no wandering, but whiles I feel--as if I were slipping awa'-- and you'll give me your hand, Dawvid, and that will keep me back. Ay.

That will do," and her eyes closed again.

Katie followed her mother from the room.

"It is not far away now."

"Mother, don't say it. She is not going to die. Oh, mother! mother!

Surely G.o.d is not going to take her from us yet. No. I'm not going to cry; I havena time," said Katie. "And, mother, she says it herself, and I don't think she is going to die. Oh, if Miss Betsey could have been here to-night!"

Katie resolutely put away her tears and her fears, and prepared for a night of watching. First, she made her mother lie down with a warm wrapper on her, so that she might be ready to come at any moment. Then she sent the bairns to their beds, and wished that Davie would come home. Then she remembered, with a pang of remorse, that her grandfather had not had his supper, and she got his accustomed bowl of bread and milk, and carried it into the room. Neither of them had moved, and stooping and listening, it seemed to Katie that her grandmother was sleeping naturally and sweetly. Her grandfather shook his head at the sight of the food.

"You must take it, grandfather," said Katie in a whisper.

She put the bowl on a chair, and knelt down beside him.

"You need not move," she said softly, and she fed him as he had often fed her when she was a little child.

"My good Katie!" said he, but it would not have been well for him to try to say more.