Allison Bain Part 49

"Forgive--at the last! There's sma' comfort in _that_, I'm thinking,"

and not another word was spoken between them that day. And not many were spoken for a good many days after that.

But one morning, when Allison had been detained among her "auld wives" a little longer than usual, she came softly into the room, to find, not d.i.c.kson, but an old man with clear, keen eyes and soft white hair sitting beside the bed. His hands were clasped together on the top of his staff, and his face, benign and grave, was turned toward the sick man.

"He seems to be asleep," said Allison softly, as she drew near.

"Yes, he seems to be asleep," said the old man; "but I have a message to him from the Master, and I can wait till he wakens. And who may you be?

One who comes on an errand of mercy, or I am greatly mistaken."

"I am a nurse here. And--I am--this man's wife."

She said it in a whisper, having had no thought a moment before of ever uttering the words.

"Ay! ay!" said the old man, in tones which expressed many things-- surprise, interest, awakened remembrance. And then Allison turned and met the eyes of her husband.

"It is the minister come to see you," said she, drawing back from his outstretched hand.

"Stay where you are," said he, taking hold of her gown. "Bide still where you are."

"Yes, I will bide. It is Doctor Kirke who has come to see you."

"You have had a long and sore time of trouble and pain," said the minister, gravely.

"Yes, but the worst is over now," said Brownrig, his eyes still fixed on Allison's half-averted face.

"Let us hope so," said the old man, solemnly. "If the Lord's dealing has been taken to heart and His lesson learned, the worst is over."

But he had more to say than this. He was by no means sure that in his sense, or in any sense, the worst was over for this man, who had all his life sinned with a high hand, in the sight of his fellow-men, as well as in the sight of his Maker. His heart was full of pity, but he was one of those whose pity inclines them to be faithful rather than tender.

"Man, you have been a great sinner all your days," he said, slowly and solemnly. Many changes pa.s.sed over the face of Brownrig as the minister went on, but he never removed his eyes from the face of Allison, nor loosened his firm clasp of her hand.

Faithful! Yes, but yet tender. How full of pity and of entreaty was the old man's voice when he spoke of One who, hating sin, yet loves the sinner; One who is slow to anger, full of compa.s.sion and of great mercy, not willing that any should perish, but that all, even the worst, should come unto Him and live.

"And, O man! ye need Him no less, that you may be going back to your life again. The Lord could do wonderful things for the like of you, if ye would but let Him have His will o' ye. Able! ay, is He, and willing as able, and surely He has given you a sign. Look at this woman against whom, it is said, ye woefully sinned! If she, who is but a weak and sinful mortal, has forgiven you, and is caring for you, and would save you, how can there be doubt of Him who gave His life a ransom for you?"

A glance at Allison's face stayed his words. Then he knelt down and prayed--not in many words--not as if entreating One offended or angry, but One waiting, looking, listening, loving; One "mighty to save." And then he rose and touched the hand of each, and went silently away.

Had Brownrig fallen asleep? Allison slowly turned her face toward him.

He lay with closed eyes, motionless, and there were tears on his cheeks.

As Allison tried gently to withdraw her hand from his clasp his eyes opened.

"Is it true, Allie? Have you forgiven me?"

"I--was sorry for you long since, even before you were hurt. I never wished ill to you. I came when I heard that you were like to die, so that we might forgive one another--"

Allison had gone almost beyond her power of speech by this time, but he held her fast.

"Oh! Allie, ye micht hae made a good man o' me, if ye had but had the patience and the will to try."

But Allison said:

"No, that could never have been. I wasna good myself, and I was dazed with trouble."

"Ay, poor la.s.sie, ye hae much to forgive. But I will make amends, I will make amends. Yes, in the sight of G.o.d and man, I will make full amends."

Allison could bear no more. Where was it all to end? Surely she was in the net now, and it was drawing close upon her, and she could not bear it. For a moment it came into her mind to flee. But the temptation did not linger long, nor did it return.

In his accustomed place d.i.c.kson was waiting.

"Your master requires you," said Allison, and then she pa.s.sed on to her refuge among the auld wives, and puir bodies in the wide ward beyond.

But it was not a refuge to-day.

"And how is your patient the day, puir man?" said she who was bowed with rheumatism being 'no' fifty yet.

"We heard that the minister had been sent for to see him," said another.

"It is to be hoped that he will do him some good."

Allison answered them both quietly: "He is just as usual. Yes, the minister has been there," and moved on to some one else.

It was the hour which she usually spent among them, and she went from one bed to another, saying and doing what was needed for the suffering or fretful poor souls among them, answering kindly and firmly, with never-failing patience, the grateful looks of some, and the dull complaining of others, till the time came which set her free to go her own way again.

She was the better for the hour which she had dreaded when she first came in. She no longer felt the touch of that hot hand on hers, or the gaze of the eager eyes, which she had met with such sinking of heart.

She was herself again.

"To think that I should grow fainthearted this day of all days, when for the first time he seemed to be touched by a good man's words. I should be rejoicing and thankful. And whatever else is true, it is true that He who brought me here, kens the end, though I do not."

And so she went home to her rest, and the next day was like all the days, except that the sick man, as d.i.c.kson put it, "wasna sae ill to do wi'." It became evident to both doctor and nurse, that Brownrig had at last taken in the thought that he might be going to die. He said nothing for a while, but he marked their words and watched their ways, and when Dr Kirke came, which he did every few days, he listened with patience which grew to pleasure as time went on. When at last he repeated to Doctor Fleming himself, the question which he had put to Allison, the doctor's rather ambiguous answer did not satisfy him.

"I see you have your own thoughts about it," said Brownrig. "I think you are mistaken. I do not mean to die if I can help it. I wish to live, and I mean to live--if such is G.o.d's will," he added, after a pause. "I'm no' going to let myself slip out o' life without a struggle for it. I have a strong will, which hasna ay been guided to good ends, ye'll say, and I acknowledge it. But 'all that a man hath will he give for his life,' the Book says, And I will do my best to live."

The doctor said nothing.

"It is not that I'm feared to die. If all is true that Doctor Kirke has been saying to me, why should I fear? 'More willing to forgive, than ye are to be forgiven,' says he. And I can believe it. I _do_ believe it.

If Allison Bain can forgive, surely He will not refuse, who is 'merciful and full of compa.s.sion'. And I hope--I believe--that I am forgiven."

Looking up, Doctor Fleming saw the tears on the sick man's cheek. That was all he was permitted to say for the time, for his strength was not great though his will was strong. The rest of the day was pa.s.sed between sleeping and waking, while Allison sat working in silence by the window. But he returned to his declaration in the morning.

"Yes, I mean to live, but for a' that I may as well be prepared for death. And you'll send Mr Rainy to me this very day. He must just come while I need him--and when I'm at my best and able for him. I'll die none the sooner for setting all things in order to my mind."

So the next day Mr Rainy came, and for a good many days, and went through with him many matters of business, which must be attended to whether he lived or died. He was quite fit for it--a little at a time-- Mr Rainy declared. But the doctor wondered that his strength held out through it all. There was no evidence of failure in sense or judgment in all he said or planned, though his memory sometimes was at fault.

There was much to do, and some of it was not of a nature to give either peace or pleasure to the sick man. But it came to an end at last, and there were a few days of quiet till he was rested. Then he began again.

"I may be going to die, or I may be going to live. Who can say? It must be as G.o.d wills. But I have settled with myself one thing.

Whether I am to live or to die, it is to be in my own house."

This was said to d.i.c.kson, who was ready with an answer to please him.

"And the sooner the better, sir, say I. The fine fresh air o' the hills would set you up sooner than a' their doctor's bottles is like to do.