Allison Bain Part 47

"No. Oh! no. But he has come to himself, in a measure, and needs to be roused. Your coming may startle him. That is what I wish. It cannot really harm him."

And so with little outward token of the inward trembling which seized her when she saw his face, Allison stood beside her husband. Yes, her husband! For the first time, scarcely knowing what she did, she said to herself, "My husband."

The doctors had something to do for him, and something to say to one another, and she stood looking on in silence, pale, but calm and firm, at least as far as they could see. They spoke to him and he answered sensibly enough, and muttered, and complained, and begged to be let alone, as sick folk will, and told them at last that little good had all their physic done him yet.

They let in the light, and his eye followed Allison and rested on her face for a moment; then he sighed and turned away. No one moved, and in a little he turned his head again, and his colour changed. Then they let down the curtain, and the room was in shadow.

"A dream--the old dream, ay coming--coming--only a dream," they heard him say with a sigh.

Doctor Fleming beckoned to Allison, and she followed him from the room.

"He will sleep now for a while, and when he wakens he will be more himself. You are not afraid to be left with him? He may know you when he wakens again."

"I am not afraid," said Allison, speaking faintly, and then she added with a firmer voice, "No, I am not afraid."

"You have but to open the door and call, and his man d.i.c.kson will be with you in a minute. Do not speak to him unless he speaks to you.

Even if he should speak, it may be better to call d.i.c.kson, and come away."

Doctor Fleming spoke gravely and briefly, letting no look or tone of sympathy escape from him. "I'll see you again before I leave the place," said he.

So she sat down a little withdrawn from the bed and waited, wondering how this strange and doubtful experiment was to end. He neither spoke nor moved, but seemed to slumber quietly enough till Doctor Fleming returned. He did not come in, but beckoned Allison to the door.

"That is long enough for to-day. Are you going to your poor folk again?

If it should suit you better to go home, you can do so. Old Flora has returned, and I will speak to her."

"I will go out for a little, but I will come back. They will expect me.

Yes, I would like better to come back again."

And so she went out for a while, and when she returned she brought an odd volume of the History of Scotland to restless Charlie, and a late rose or two tied up with a bit of sweet-briar and thyme, to poor Annie Brand.

The next day pa.s.sed like the first. Allison went when she was called, and sat beside the sick man's bed for an hour or two. He followed her with his eyes and seemed to know her, but he did not utter a word. He was restless and uneasy, and muttered and sighed, but he had no power to move himself upon the bed, and he did not fall asleep, as Allison hoped he might do after a while. For the look in his troubled eyes hurt her sorely. There was recognition in them, she thought, and doubt, and a gleam of anger.

"If I could do something for him," thought she. "But to sit here useless! And I must not even speak to him until he speaks to me."

She rose and walked about the room, knowing that the dull eyes _were_ following her as she moved. When she sat down again she took a small New Testament from her pocket, and as she opened it he turned his face away, and did not move again till a step was heard at the door. Then as some one entered, he cried out with a stronger voice than had been heard from him yet:

"Is that you, d.i.c.kson? Send yon woman away--if she be a woman and not a wraith (spirit)," he added, as he turned his face from the light.

It was not d.i.c.kson. It was the doctor who met Allison's startled look as he came in at the door.

"You have had enough for this time. Has he spoken to you?" said he.

"He has spoken, but not to me. I think he knew me, and--not with good-will."

"You could hardly expect that, considering all things. He has made a step in advance, for all that. And now go away and do not show your face in this place again to-day. Wrap yourself up well, and go for a long walk. Go out of the town, or down to the sands. Yes, you must do as I bid you. Never heed the auld wives and the bairns to-day. I ken they keep your thoughts on their troubles and away from your own. But you may have a good while of this work yet,--weeks it may be, or months," and in his heart he said, "G.o.d grant it may not be for years."

"Yes, I will go," said Allison faintly.

"And you must take good care of yourself. Mistress Allison, you have set out on a road in which there is no turning back now, if you would help to save this man's soul."

"I have no thought of turning back," said Allison.

"That is well. And to go on you will need faith and patience, and ye'll also need to have a' your wits about you. You'll need perfect health and your natural strength, and ye'll just do my bidding in all things, that you may be fit to meet all that is before you--since it seems to be G.o.d's will that this work is to fall to you."

Allison went at the doctor's bidding. She wrapped herself up and went down to the sands, to catch the breeze from the sea. It was more than a breeze which met her. It was almost a gale. The waves were coming grandly in, dashing themselves over the level sands. Allison stood and watched them for a while musing.

"And each one of them falls by the will of the Lord. A word from Him could quiet them now, as His 'Peace, be still,' quieted the waves on the Sea of Galilee so long ago. 'Oh! ye of little faith!' said He, 'wherefore do ye doubt?' As He might well say to me this day, for oh!

I am fainthearted. Was I wrong from the beginning? And is my sin finding me out? Have I undertaken what I can never go through with?

G.o.d help me, is all that I can say, and though I must doubt myself, let me never, never doubt Him."

And then she set herself to meet the strong wind, and held her way against it till she came to a sheltered spot, and there she sat down to rest. When she turned homeward again, there was no strong wind to struggle against. It helped her on as she went before it, and it seemed to her as if she had come but a little way when she reached the place where she had stood watching the coming in of the waves. The weight was lifted a little from her heart.

"It is only a day at a time, however long it may be," she told herself.

"It is daily strength that is promised, and G.o.d sees the end, though I do not."

Yes, daily strength is promised, and the next day, and for many days, as she went into the dim room where the sick man lay, Allison felt the need of its renewal. It was not the silence which was so hard to bear. It was the constant expectation, which was almost dread, that the silent lips might open to speak the recognition which she sometimes saw in the eyes, following her as she moved. There were times when she said to herself that she could not long bear it.

"In one way he is better," said the doctor. "He is coming to himself, and his memory--his power of recalling the past--is improving. He is stronger too, though not much, as yet. With his loss of memory his accident has had less to do, than the life he had been living before it.

He has had a hard tussle, but he is a strong man naturally, and he may escape this time. From the worst effects of his accident he can never recover. As far as I can judge from present symptoms, he will never walk a step again--never. But he may live for years. He may even recover so as to be able to attend to business again--in a way."

Allison had not a word with which to answer him. The doctor went on.

"I might have kept this from you for a while, but I have this reason for speaking now. I do not ask if you have 'counted the cost.' I know you have not. You cannot do it. You have nothing to go upon which might enable you to do so. Nothing which you have ever seen or experienced in life, could make you know, or help you to imagine, what your life would be--and might be for years,--spent with this man as his nurse, or his servant--for it would come to that. Not a woman in a thousand could bear it,--unless she loved him. And even so, it would be a slow martyrdom."

Allison sat silent, with her face turned away.

"What I have to say to you is this," went on the doctor. "Since it is impossible--if it is impossible, that such a sacrifice should be required at your hands, it will not be wise for you to bide here longer, or to let him get used to you, and depend upon you, so that he would greatly miss you. If you are to go, then the sooner the better."

Allison said nothing, but by her changing colour, and by the look in her eyes, the doctor knew that she was considering her answer, and he waited patiently.

"No," said Allison, "I do not love him, but I have great pity for him-- and--I am not afraid of him any more. I think I wish to do G.o.d's will.

If you do not say otherwise, I would wish to bide a while yet,--till--it is made plain to me what I ought to do. For I was to blame as well as he. I should have stood fast against him. I hope--I believe, that I wish to do right now, and the right way is seldom the easy way."

"That is true. But many a sacrifice which good women make for men who are not worthy of it, is made in vain. I do not like to think of what you may have to suffer, or that such a man should have, as it were, your life at his disposal. As for you, you might leave all this care and trouble behind you, and begin a new life in a new land."

"That was what I meant to do. But if the Lord had meant that for me, why should He have let me be brought here, knowing not what might be before me?"

"I doubt I am not quite free from responsibility in the matter, but I thought the man was going to die."

"No, you are not to blame. When Mr Rainy touched my arm that day in the street, I seemed to know what was coming, and I would not wait to hear him. And when Saunners Crombie spoke his first word to me that night, I kenned well what I must do. But like you, I thought he was going to die. And so I came, though I was sore afraid. But I am not afraid now, and you might let me bide a little longer, till I see my way clearer, whether I should go or stay."

"Let you stay! How could I hinder you if I were to try? And I am not sure that I wish to hinder you. I suppose there may be a woman in a thousand who could do as you desire to do, and come through unscathed, and you may be that woman. My only fear is--no, I will not say it. I do believe that you are seeking to do G.o.d's will in this matter. Let us hope that during the next few days His will may be made clear to you, and to me also."

But Mr Rainy had also a word to say with regard to this.

"If I had thought it possible that the man was going to live, I would never have spoken to you, or let my eyes rest upon you that day. Yes, I was sure that he was going to die. And I thought that you might do him some good maybe--pray for him, and all that, and that his conscience might be eased. Then I thought he might make some amends at last. But well ken I, that all the gear he has to leave will ill pay you for the loss of the best years of your youth, living the life you would have to live with him. I canna take upon myself to advise you, since you havena asked my advice; but really, if ye were just to slip away quietly to your brother in America, I, for one, would hold my tongue about it. And if ever the time should come when you needed to be defended from him, I would help you against him, and all the world, with right good will."

Allison thanked him gently and gravely, but he saw that she was not to be moved. A few more days, at least, the doctor was to give her, and then she must decide. Before those days were over something had happened.