Janet's Love and Service Part 28

But he clasped her to him for a moment still, and before he let her go, he whispered, softly,--

"I trust you quite, love, and you'll bring them all home safe to your mother and me."

It was not very long after this, a few tranquil days and nights only, and the end came. They were all together in Marian's room, sitting quietly after worship was over. It was the usual time for separating for the night, but they still lingered. Not that any of them thought it would be to-night. Mrs Snow might have thought so, for never during the long evening, had she stirred from the side of the bed, but watched with earnest eyes, the ever changing face of the dying girl. She had been slumbering quietly for a little while, but suddenly, as Mrs Snow bent over her more closely, she opened her eyes, and seeing something in her face, she said, with an echo of surprise in her voice,--

"Janet, is it to be to-night? Are they all here? Papa, Graeme. Where is Graeme?"

They were with her in a moment, and Graeme's cheek was laid on her sister's wasted hand.

"Well, my lammie!" said her father, softly.

"Papa! it is not too good to be true, is it?"

Her father bent down till his lips touched her cheek.

"You are not afraid, my child?"

Afraid! no, it was not fear he saw in those sweet triumphant eyes. Her look never wandered from his face, but it changed soon, and he knew that the King's messenger was come. Murmuring an inarticulate prayer, he bowed his head in the awful presence, and when he looked again, he saw no more those bonny eyes, but Janet's toil-worn hand laid over them.

Graeme's cheek still lay on her sister's stiffening hand, and when they all rose up, and her father, pa.s.sing round the couch put his arm about her, she did not move.

"There is no need. Let her rest! it is all over now, the long watching and waiting! let the tired eyelids close, and thank G.o.d for the momentary forgetfulness which He has given her."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

That night, Graeme slept the dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion, and the next day, whenever her father or Mrs Snow stole in to look at her, she slept or seemed to sleep still.

"She is weary," they said, in whispers. "Let her rest." Kind neighbours came and went, with offers of help and sympathy, but nothing was suffered to disturb the silence of the now darkened chamber. "Let her rest," said all.

But when the next night pa.s.sed, and the second day was drawing to a close, Mrs Snow became anxious, and her visits were more frequent.

Graeme roused herself to drink the tea that she brought her, and to Mrs Snow's question whether she felt rested, she said, "Oh! yes," but she closed her eyes, and turned her face away again. Janet went out and seated herself in the kitchen, with a picture of utter despondency.

Just then, her husband came in.

"Is anything the matter?" asked he, anxiously.

"No," said his wife, rousing herself. "Only, I dinna ken weel what to do."

"Is Miss Graeme sick? or is she asleep?"

"I hope she's no' sick. I ken she's no sleeping. But she ought to be roused, and when I think what she's to be roused to--. But, if she wants to see her sister, it must be before--before she's laid in--"

A strong shudder pa.s.sed over her.

"Oh! man! it's awful, the first sight of a dear face in the coffin--"

"Need she see her again?" asked Mr Snow.

"Oh! yes, I doubt she must. And the bairns too, and it will soon be here, now."

"Her father," suggested Mr Snow.

"He has seen her. He was there for hours, both yesterday and to-day.

But he is asleep now, and he has need of rest. I canna disturb him."

"Couldn't you kind of make her think she was needed--to her father or the little ones? She would rouse herself if they needed her."

"That's weel said," said Mrs Snow, gratefully. "Go you down the brae for the bairns, and I'll go and speak to her again."

"Miss Graeme, my dear," said she, softly; "could you speak to me a minute?"

Her manner was quite calm. It was so like the manner in which Graeme had been hundreds of times summoned to discuss domestic matters, that without seeming to realise that there was anything peculiar in the time or circ.u.mstances, she opened her eyes and said, quietly,--

"Well, what is it, Janet?"

"My dear, it is the bairns. There is nothing the matter with them,"

added she hastily, as Graeme started. "They have been down the brae with Emily all the day, but they are coming home now; and, my dear, they havena been ben yonder, and I think they should see her before--before she's moved, and I dinna like to disturb your father. My bairn, are you able to rise and take Will and wee Rosie ben yonder."

Graeme raised herself slowly up.

"Janet, I have been forgetting the bairns."

Mrs Snow had much ado to keep back her tears; but she only said cheerfully:

"My dear, you were weary, and they have had Emily."

She would not be tender with her, or even help her much in her preparations; though her hands trembled, and she touched things in a vague, uncertain way, as though she did not know what she was doing.

Janet could not trust herself to do what she would like to have done; she could only watch her without appearing to do so, by no means sure that she had done right in rousing her. She was ready at last.

"Are they come?" asked Graeme, faintly.

"No, dear. There's no haste. Rest yourself a wee while. My dear, are you sure you are quite able for it?" added she, as Graeme rose.

"Yes, I think so. But I would like to go alone, first."

"My poor lamb! If I were but sure that I have been right," thought Janet, as she sat down to wait.

An hour pa.s.sed, and when the door opened, and Graeme came out again, the fears of her faithful friend were set at rest.

"She hasna' been alone all this time, as I might have known," said Janet to herself, with a great rush of hidden tears. "I'm faithless, and sore beset myself whiles, but I needna fear for them. The worst is over now."

And was the worst over? After that was the covering of the beloved forever from their sight, and the return to the silent and empty home.

There was the gathering up of the broken threads of their changed life; the falling back on their old cares and pleasures, all so much the same, and yet so different. There was the vague unbelief in the reality of their sorrow, the momentary forgetfulness, and then the pang of sudden remembrance,--the nightly dreams of her, the daily waking to find her gone.

By and by, came letters from the lads; those of Norman and Harry full of bitter regrets, which to Graeme seemed almost like reproaches, that they had not been sent for before the end; and the grief of those at home came back strong and fresh again.

The coming of the "bonny spring days" for which Norman had so wished, wakened "vain longings for the dead." The brooks rose high, and the young leaves rustled on the elms; and all pleasant sounds spoke to them with Menie's voice. The flowers which she had planted,--the May-flower and the violets by the garden path, looked at them with Menie's eyes.