Christine: A Fife Fisher Girl Part 29

And Margot whispered, "I was brought low, and He helped me."

A few hours later, in this simple cottage bedroom, the miracle of Love's last supper in the upper chamber at Jerusalem, was remembered.

With her own hands Margot covered a little table at her husband's bedside with her finest and whitest linen. She cut the bread into the significant morsels, and when the Domine came, he placed them solemnly on the silver plate of the consecrated service, and poured wine into the holy vessel of The Communion. All was then ready, and they sat down to wait for that lightening which so often comes when the struggle is over and the end near.

They waited long. Ruleson's deep sleep lasted for hours, and the Domine began to hope it might be that life-giving sleep which often introduces the apparently dying to a new lease of life.

He awoke after midnight, with the word "Margot" on his lips, and Margot slipped her hand into his, and kissed him.

"We are going to have supper with the Lord Christ. Will you join us, Ruleson?"

"Ay, will--I--gladly!"

After the simple rite Ruleson was quite happy. He said a few words privately to the Domine, asked for his grandson, and told him to be a good man, and a minister of G.o.d, and promised if it was in G.o.d's will he would watch o'er him, and then blessed and sent him away.

"I might hae another struggle at the last. I dinna want him to see it."

"The struggle is over, James," answered the Domine. "Be still, and wait for the salvation of the Lord."

And for some hours, even until the day broke, and the shadows began to flee away, that dying room was in a strange peace. Margot and Christine sat almost motionless, watching their loved one's face growing more and more calm and content, and the Domine stood or sat at the foot of the bed, and all was intensely still.

"Great things are pa.s.sing in the soul now," he said to the women. "It is contemplating the past. It is judging itself. It is bearing witness to the righteousness and mercy of its Maker. Pray that it may come from this great a.s.size justified through Christ." Soon after, he added "The tide has turned, he will go out with the tide. Stand near him now, and sing softly with me his last human prayer:

"Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly; While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is nigh: Hide me, oh my Saviour, hide!

Till the storm of life is past, Safe into the haven guide, Oh receive my soul at last!"

Once the dying man opened his eyes, once he smiled, but ere the last line was finished, James Ruleson had

Gone on that long voyage all men take, And with angelic help, had once again, By unknown waters, entered a new world.

Time waits neither for the living nor the dead, and when a month had come and gone, Margot and Christine had accepted, in some measure, their inevitable condition. Ruleson had left his small affairs beyond all dispute. His cottage was bequeathed entirely to his wife and daughter, "for all the days of their lives." His boat was to be sold, and the proceeds given to his widow. The two hundred cash he had in the bank was also Margot's, and the few acres of land he owned he gave to his eldest son, Norman, who had stood faithfully by his side through all his good and evil days. No one was dissatisfied except Norman's wife, who said her man, being the eldest born, had a full right to house and cash, and a' there was, saving Margot's lawful widow right. She said this so often that she positively convinced herself of its rightness and justice, "and some day," she frequently added, "I will let Mistress and Miss Ruleson know the ground on which they stand." To Norman, she was more explicit and denunciatory--and he let her talk.

It had been very positively stated in the adoption of James Ruleson, the younger, that the simple decease of his grandfather made him the adopted son of the Domine, and it was thought best to carry out this provision without delay. Margot had been seriously ill after the funeral, and she said calmly now, that she was only waiting until her change came. But life still struggled bravely within her for its promised length, and the Domine said Death would have to take her at unawares, if he succeeded yet awhile. This was the truth. The desire to live was still strong in Margot's heart, she really wished earnestly to live out all her days.

Now, public sympathy soon wears out. The village which had gone _en ma.s.se_ to weep at James Ruleson's funeral, had in two weeks chosen Peter Brodie to fill his place. The women who were now busy with their spring cleaning, and their preparations for the coming herring season, could not afford to weep any longer with "thae set-up Rulesons." Neil had ignored all of them at the funeral, Margot's sorrow they judged to be "a vera dry manifestation," and Christine would not talk about her father's last hours. The women generally disapproved of a grief that was so dry-eyed and silent.

So gradually the little house on the hill became very solitary. Jamie ran up from the school at the noon hour, and sometimes he stayed an hour or two with them after the school was closed. Then the Domine came for him, and they all had tea together. But as the evening twilight lengthened, the games in the playground lengthened, and the Domine encouraged the lad in all physical exercises likely to increase his stature and his strength.

Then the herring season came, and the Rulesons had nothing to do with it, and so they gradually lost their long preeminence. Everyone was busy from early to late with his own affairs. And the Rulesons? "Had they not their gentleman son, Neil? And their four lads wearing the Henderson uniform? And the Domine? And the lad Cluny Macpherson? Did he care for any human creature but Christine Ruleson?"

With these sentiments influencing the village society, it was no wonder that Margot complained that her friends had deserted her. She had been the leader of the village women in their protective and social societies, and there was no doubt she had been authoritative, and even at times tyrannical. But Margot did not believe she had ever gone too far. She was sure that her leniency and consideration were her great failing.

So the winter came again, and Christine looked exceedingly weary.

While Ruleson lived, Margot had relied on him, she was sure that he would be sufficient, but after his death, she encouraged an unreasonable trial of various highly reputed physicians. They came to her from Edinburgh and Aberdeen, and she believed that every fresh physician was the right one. The expense of this method was far beyond the profit obtained. Yet Christine could not bear to make any protest.

And the weeks went on, and there appeared to be neither profit nor pleasure in them. The Domine watched Christine with wonder, and in the second year of her vigil, with great anxiety. "Christine will break down soon, Margot," he said one day to the sick woman. "Look at the black shadows under her eyes. And her eyes are losing all their beauty, her figure droops, and her walk lags and stumbles. Could you not do with Faith for a few days, and let Christine get away for a change? You'll hae a sick daughter, if you don't do something, and that soon."

"I canna stand Faith Anderson. She's o'er set up wi' hersel'. I am that full o' pain and sorrow that Faith's bouncing happiness is a parfect blow in a body's face."

"The schoolmaster's wife?"

"I'm no a bairn, Domine; and she treats auld and young as if they were bairns. She would want to teach me my alphabet, and my catechism o'er again."

"There's Nannie Brodie. She is a gentle little thing. She will do all Christine does for a few shillings a week."

"What are you thinking of, Domine? I couldna afford a few shillings a week. I hae wonderfu' expenses wi' doctors and medicines, and my purse feels gey light in my hand."

"I see, Margot, that my advice will come to little. Yet consider, Margot, if Christine falls sick, who will nurse her? And what will become o' yourself?"

He went away with the words, and he found Christine sitting on the doorstep, watching the sea, as she used to watch it for her father's boat. She looked tired, but she smiled brightly when he called her name.

"My dear la.s.sie," he said, "you ought to have some new thoughts, since you are not likely to get new scenes. Have you any nice books to read?"

"No, sir. Mither stopped _Chambers Magazine_ and _The Scotsman_, and I ken a' the books we hae, as if they were school books. Some o' them are Neil's old readers."

"You dear, lonely la.s.sie! This day I will send you some grand novels, and some books of travel. Try and lose yourself and your weariness in them."

"O, Sir! If you would do this, I can bear everything! I can do everything!"

"I'll go home this hour, and the books will be here before dark. Get as much fresh air as you can, and fill your mind with fresh pictures, and fresh ideas, and I wouldn't wonder if you win back your spirits, and your beauty. Your mother is a great care, la.s.sie!"

"Ay, Doctor, but she is in G.o.d's care. I hae naething to do but help and pleasure her, when she's waking. She sleeps much o' her time now.

I think the medicine o' the last doctor frae Aberdeen, is the because o' her sleepiness. I was going to ask you to take a look at it."

He did so, and said in reply, "There's no harm in it, but it would be well enough to give it with a double portion of water."

Then the Domine went away, and Christine did not know that this hour was really the turning point of her life. And it is perhaps well for the majority that this important crisis is seldom recognized on its arrival. There might be interferences, and blunderings of all kinds.

But a destiny that is not realized, or meddled with, goes without let or hindrance to its appointed end.

Christine rose with a new strength in her heart and went to her mother. "Come here, dear la.s.s," said Margot. "The Domine was telling me thou art sick wi' the nursing o' me, and that thou must hae a change."

"The Domine had no right to say such a thing. I am quite well, Mither.

I should be sick, if I was one mile from you. I have no work and no pleasure away from your side, dear, dear Mither! I am sorry the Domine judged me sae hardly."

"The Domine is an interfering auld man. He is getting outside his pulpit. When I was saying I missed wee Jamie, and I wished him to come mair often to see me, you should hae watched him bridle up. 'James must be more under control,' he said, in a vera pompous manner. I answered, 'The laddie is quite biddable, Doctor,' and he said, 'Mistress, that belongs to his years. He is yet under authority, and I cannot allow him too much freedom.' And the bairn is my ain! My ain grandchild! Too much freedom wi' his sick grandmother! Heard ye ever the like?"

"Weel, Mither, he was right in a way. Jamie has been a bit stiff-necked and self-willed lately."

"There isna a thing wrang wi' the laddie."

"Weel, he behaves better wi' you than wi' any other person. The Domine is making a fine lad o' him."

"He was a' that, before the Domine kent him at a'. I wasna carin' for the reverend this afternoon. I dinna wonder the village women are saying he has his fingers in everyone's pie."

"It is for everyone's good, Mither, if it be true; but you ken fine how little the village say-so can be trusted; and less now, than ever; for since you arena able to sort their clashes, they say what they like."

"Nae doubt o' it, Christine."

"The Domine promised to send me some books to read. You see, Mither, the pain you hae wearies you sae that you sleep a great deal, and I am glad o' it, for the sleep builds up what the pain pulls down, so that you hold up your ain side better than might be."