The Starling Part 24

Mercer," he said, "that the Sergeant is awfu' ill wi' a smittal fivver, and that he needs some nurse--that is, as I understan', some ane that wad watch him day and nicht, and keep their een open like a whitrat; somebody that wadna heed haein' muckle tae do, and that could haud a guid but freen'ly grip o' Mr. Mercer gif his nerves rise. An' I hae been thinkin' ye'll fin't a bother tae get sic a bodie in Drumsylie--unless, maybe, ane that wad wark for a hantle o' siller; some decent woman like Luckie Craigie, wha micht--

"Dinna bother me the noo, Jock, wi' ony nonsense," said Katie, "I'm no fit for't. If ye need onything yersel', tell me what it is, and, if possible, I'll gie ye't. But I maun gang back tae the room."

"Ay," said Jock, "I want something frae ye, nae doot, and I houp I'll get it. I want an extraordinar' favour o' ye; for, as I was sayin', ye'll fin't ill tae get ony ane to watch Mr. Mercer. But if _I_ get ane that doesna care for their life--that respecs and loes Adam--that wadna take a bawbee o' siller----"

"As for that o't, I'll pay them decently," interrupted Katie.

"And ane that," continued Jock, as if not interrupted, "has strength tae watch wi' leevin' man or woman,--what wad ye say tae sic a canny nurse as that?"

"If there's sic a bodie in the toon," replied Katie, "I wad be blythe tae _try_ them; no' tae fix them, maybe, but to _try_, as the Doctor insists on't."

"Weel," said Jock, "the favour I hae to ax, altho' it's ower muckle maybe for you tae gie, is to let _me_ try my han'--let me speak, and dinna lauch at me! I'm no' feered for death, as I hae been mony a time feered for life: I hae had by ordinar' experience watchin', ye ken, as a poacher, fisher, and a' that kin' o' thing, sin' I was a bairn; sae I can sleep wi' my een open; and I'm strong, for I hae thrashed keepers, and teylors, and a' sorts o' folk; fac', I was tempted tae gie a blue ee tae Smellie!--but let sleepin' dogs lie--I'll mak' a braw nurse for the gudeman."

Katie was taken so much aback by this speech as to let Jock go on without interruption; but she at last exclaimed--"Ye're a kind cratur, Jock, and I'm muckle obleeged to you; but I really canna think o't.

It'll no' work; it wad pit ye aboot, an' mak' a cleish-me-claver in the toon; an'--an'----"

"I care as little for the toon," said Jock, "as the toon cares for me!

Ye'll no be bothered wi' me, mind, gif ye let me help ye. I hae got clean pease strae for a bed frae Geordie Miller the carrier, and a sackfu' for a bowster; and I ken ye hae a sort o' laft, and I'll pit up there; and it's no' aften I hae sic a bed; and cauld parritch or cauld praties wull dae for my meat, an' I need nae mair; an' I hae braw thick stockin's--I can pit on twa pair if necessar', tae walk as quiet as a cat stealin' cream; sae gif ye'll let me, I'll do my best endeevour tae help ye."

"Oh, Jock, man!" said Mrs. Mercer, "ye're unco guid. I'll think o't--I'll think o't, and speer at the Doctor--I wull, indeed; and if sae be he needs--Whisht! What's that?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Katie, starting from her chair, as little Mary entered the kitchen hurriedly, saying--

"Come ben fast, mither!"

Katie was in a moment beside her husband, who for the first time manifested symptoms of violent excitement, declaring that he must rise and dress for church, as he heard the eight o'clock bells ringing. In vain she expostulated with him in the tenderest manner. He ought to rise, he said, and would rise. Was he not an elder? and had he not to stand at the plate? and would he, for any consideration, be late? What did she mean? Had she lost her senses? And so on.

This was the climax of a weary and terribly anxious time for Katie. For some nights she had, as she said, hardly "booed an ee", and every day her lonely sorrow was becoming truly "too deep for tears". The unexpected visit of even Jock Hall had helped for a moment to cause a reaction and to take her out of herself; and now that she perceived beyond doubt, what she was slow hitherto to believe, that her husband "wasna himsel'"--nay, that even _she_ was strange to him, and was addressed by him in accents and with expressions betokening irritation towards her, and with words which were, for the first time, wanting in love, she became bewildered, and felt as if G.o.d had indeed sent her a terrible chastis.e.m.e.nt. It was fortunate that Hall had called--for neither her arguments nor her strength could avail on the present occasion. She immediately summoned Jock to her a.s.sistance. He was already behind her, for he had quickly cast off his boots, and approached the bed softly and gently, on perceiving the Sergeant's state. With a strong hand he laid the Sergeant back on his pillow, saying, "Ye will gang to the kirk, Sergeant, but I maun tell ye something afore ye gang. Ye'll mind Jock Hall? him that ye gied the boots to? An' ye'll mind Mr. Spence the keeper? I hae got an erran'

frae him for you. He said ye wad be glad tae hear aboot him."

The Sergeant stared at Jock with a half-excited, half-stupid gaze. But the chain of his a.s.sociations had for a moment been broken, and he was quiet as a child, the bells ringing no more as he paused to hear about his old friend Spence.

Jock's first experiment at nursing had proved successful. He was permitted, therefore, for that night only, as Katie said, to occupy the loft, to which he brought his straw bed and straw bolster; and his presence proved, more than once during the night, an invaluable aid.

The Doctor called next morning. Among his other causes for anxiety, one, and not the least, had been the impossibility of finding a respectable nurse. He was therefore not a little astonished to discover Jock Hall, the "ne'er-do-weel", well dressed, and attending the Sergeant. He did not at first ask any explanations of so unexpected a phenomenon, but at once admitted that he was better than none. But before leaving, and after questioning Jock, and studying his whole demeanour, and, moreover, after hearing something about him from Mrs.

Mercer, he smiled and said, "Keep him by all means--I think I can answer for him;" and muttering to himself, "Peculiar temperament--hysterical, but curable with diet--a character--will take fancies--seems fond of the Sergeant--contagious fever--we shall try him by all means."

"Don't drink?" he abruptly asked Jock.

"Like a beast," Jock replied; "for a beast drinks jist when he needs it, Doctor, and sae div I; but I dinna need it noo, and winna need it, I think, a' my days."

"You'll do," said the Doctor; and so Jock was officially appointed to be Adam's nurse.

Adam Mercer lay many weary days with the fever heavy upon him--like a ship lying to in a hurricane, when the only question is, which will last longest, the storm or the ship? Those who have watched beside a lingering case of fever can alone comprehend the effect which intense anxiety, during a few weeks only, caused by the hourly conflict of "hopes and fears that kindle hope, an undistinguishable throng" produces on the whole nervous system.

Katie was brought into deep waters. She had never taken it home to herself that Adam might die. Their life had hitherto been quiet and even--so like, so very like, was day to day, that no storm was antic.i.p.ated to disturb the blessed calm. And now at the prospect of losing him, and being left alone in the wide, wide wilderness, without her companion and guide; her earthly all--in spite of the unearthly links of faith and love that bound them--lost to her; no one who has thus suffered will wonder that her whole flesh shrunk as from the approach of a terrible enemy. Then it was that old truths lying in her heart were summoned to her aid to become practical powers in this her hour of need. She recalled all she had learned as to G.o.d's ends in sending affliction, with the corresponding duties of a Christian in receiving it. She was made to realize in her experience the gulf which separates _knowing_ from _being_ and _doing_--the right theory from the right practice. And thus it was that during a night of watching she fought a great battle in her soul between her own will and G.o.d's will, in her endeavour to say, not with her lips, for that was easy, but from her heart, "Thy will be done!" Often did she exclaim to herself, "Na, G.o.d forgie me, but I _canna_ say't!" and as often resolved, that "say't she wad, or dee". At early morn, when she opened the shutters, after this long mental struggle, and saw the golden dawn spreading its effulgence of glory along the eastern sky, steeping the clouds with splendours of every hue from the rising sun of heaven, himself as yet unseen; and heard the birds salute his coming--the piping thrush and blackbird beginning their morning hymn of praise, with the lark "singing like an angel in the clouds"--a gush of holy love and confidence filled her heart, as if through earth and sky she heard the echo of her Father's name. Meekly losing herself in the universal peace, she sank down on her knees, beside the old arm-chair, and with a flood of quiet tears, that eased her burning heart, she said, "Father! Thy will be done!"

In a short time she rose with such a feeling of peace and freedom as she had never hitherto experienced in her best and happiest hours. A great weight of care seemed lifted off as if by some mighty hand; and though she dared not affirm that she was now prepared for whatever might happen, she had yet an a.s.sured confidence in the goodness of One who _would_ prepare her when the time came, and whose grace would be sufficient for her in any hour of need.

The interest felt by the parish generally, on the Sergeant's dangerous state becoming known, was great and sincere. In the presence of his sufferings, with which all could more or less sympathise--whether from their personal experience of sorrow, from family bereavements, or from the consciousness of their own liability to be at any moment visited with dangerous sickness--his real or supposed failings were for the time covered with a mantle of charity. It was not for them to strike a sorely wounded man.

Alas! for one that will rejoice with those who rejoice, many will weep with those who weep. Sympathy with another's joy is always an unselfish feeling; but pity only for another's suffering may but express the condescension of pride towards dependent weakness.

But it is neither gracious nor comforting to scrutinise too narrowly the motives which influence human nature in its mixture of good and evil, its weakness and strength. We know that we cannot stand such microscopic examination ourselves, and ought not, therefore, to apply it to others. Enough that much real sympathy was felt for Adam. Some of its manifestations at an earlier stage of his illness were alluded to by Miss Thomasina in her conversation with Mr. Smellie. It was true that Mrs. Gordon had called in her carriage, and that repeatedly, to inquire for him--a fact which greatly impressed those in the neighbourhood who had treated him as a man far beneath them. Mr. Gordon, too, had been unremitting in quiet attentions; and Mrs. Mercer was greatly softened, and her heart delivered from its hard thoughts of many of her old acquaintances, by the kind and constant inquiries which day by day were made for her husband. Little Mary had to act as a sort of daily bulletin as she opened the door to reply to those who "speered for the Sergeant"; but no one entered the dwelling, from the natural fears entertained by all of the fever.

Many, too, spoke well of the Sergeant when he was "despaired of", who would have been silent respecting his merits had he been in health.

Others also, no doubt, would have waxed eloquent about him after his burial. But would it not be well if those who act on the principle of saying all that is good about the dead, were to spend some portion of their charity upon the living? Their _post-mortem_ store would not be diminished by such previous expenditure. No doubt it is "better late than never"; but would it not be still better if never so late? Perhaps not! So far as the good man himself is concerned, it may be as well that the world should not learn, nor praise him for, the many premiums he has paid day by day for the good of posterity until these are returned, like an insurance policy, in grat.i.tude after he is screwed down in his coffin.

CHAPTER XXVIII

MR. PORTEOUS VISITS THE SERGEANT

But what was the minister thinking about during the Sergeant's illness?

Miss Thomasina had told him what had taken place during her interview with Smellie. Mr. Porteous could not comprehend the sudden revolution in the mind of his elder. But his own resolution was as yet unshaken; for there is a glory often experienced by some men when placed in circ.u.mstances where they stand alone, that of recognising themselves as being thereby sufferers for conscience' sake--as being above all earthly influences, and firm, consistent, fearless, true to their principles, when others prove weak, cowardly, or compromising. Doubts and difficulties, from whatever source they come, are then looked upon as so many temptations; and the repeated resistance of them, as so many evidences of unswerving loyalty to truth.

"I can never yield one jot of my principles," Mr. Porteous said to Miss Thomasina. "The Sergeant ought to acknowledge his sin before the Kirk Session, before I can in consistency be reconciled to him!" And yet all this st.u.r.dy profession was in no small degree occasioned by the intrusion of better thoughts, which because they rebuked him were unpleasant. His irritation measured on the whole very fairly his disbelief in the thorough soundness of his own position, and made him more willing than he had any idea of to be reconciled to Adam.

We need not report the conversation which immediately after this took place in the Manse between Smellie and Mr. Porteous. The draper was calm, smiling, and circ.u.mspect. He repeated all he had said to Miss Thomasina as to the necessity and advantage of leniency, forgiveness, and mercy; dwelling on the Sergeant's sufferings and the sympathy of the parish with him, the n.o.ble testimony which the minister had already borne to truth and principle; and urged Mr. Porteous to gratify the Kirk Session by letting the case "tak' end": but all his pleadings were apparently in vain. The minister was not verily "given to change!" The case, he said, had been settled by the Session, and the Session alone could deal with it. They were at perfect liberty to reconsider the question as put by Mr. Smellie, and which he had perfect liberty to bring before the court. For himself he would act as principle and consistency dictated. And so Smellie returned to his room above the shop, and went to bed, wishing he had left the Sergeant and his bird to their own devices; and Mr. Porteous retired to his room above the study with very much the same feelings.

In the meantime one duty was clear to Mr. Porteous, and that was to visit the Sergeant. He was made aware of the highly contagious character of the fever, but this only quickened his resolution to minister as far as possible to the sick man and his family. He was not a man to flinch from what he saw to be his duty. Cowardice was not among his weaknesses. It would be unjust not to say that he was too real, too decided, too stern for that. Yielding to feelings of any kind, whether from fear of consequences to himself, physically, socially, or ecclesiastically, was not his habit. He did not suspect--nor would he perhaps have been pleased with the discovery had he made it--that there was in him a softer portion of his being by which he could be influenced, and which could, in favourable circ.u.mstances, dominate over him. There were in him, as in every man, holy instincts, stronger than his strongest logic, though they had not been cultivated so carefully. He had been disposed rather to attribute any mere _sense_ or feeling of what was right or wrong to his carnal human nature, and to rely on some clearly defined rule either precisely revealed in Scripture, or given in ecclesiastical law, for his guidance. But that door into his being which he had often barred as if against an enemy could nevertheless be forced open by the hand of love, that love itself might enter in and take possession.

Mr. Porteous had many mingled thoughts as one Sat.u.r.day evening--in spite of his "preparations"--he knocked at the cottage door. As usual, it was opened by Mary. Recognising the minister, she went to summon Mrs.

Mercer from the Sergeant's room; while Mr. Porteous entered, and, standing with his back to the kitchen fire, once more gazed at the starling, who again returned his gaze as calmly as on the memorable morning when they were first introduced.

Mrs. Mercer did not appear immediately, as she was disrobing herself of some of her nursing-gear--her flannel cap and large shawl--and making herself more tidy. When she emerged from the room, from which no sound came save an occasional heavy sigh and mutterings from Adam in his distress, her hair was dishevelled, her face pale, her step tottering, and years seemed to have been added to her age. Her eyes had no tear to dim their earnest and half-abstracted gaze. This visit of the minister, which she instinctively interpreted as one of sympathy and good-will--how could it be else?--at once surprised and delighted her.

It was like a sudden burst of sunshine, which began to thaw her heart, and also to brighten the future. She sat down beside Mr. Porteous, who had advanced to meet her; and holding his proffered hand with a firm grasp, she gazed into his face with a look of silent but unutterable sorrow. He turned his face away. "Oh! sir," at last she said, "G.o.d bless you!--G.o.d bless you for comin'! I'm lanely, lanely, and my heart is like tae break. It's kind, kind o' ye, this;" and still holding his hand, while she covered her eyes with her ap.r.o.n as she rocked to and fro in the anguish of her spirit, "the loss," she said, "o' my wee pet was sair--ye ken what it was tae us baith," and she looked at the empty cot opposite, "when ye used tae sit here, and he was lyin' there--but oh! it was naething tae this, naething tae this misfortun'!"

The minister was not prepared for such a welcome, nor for such indications of unbounded confidence on Katie's part, her words revealing her heart, which poured itself out. He had expected to find her much displeased with him, even proud and sullen, and had prepared in his own mind a quiet pastoral rebuke for her want of meekness and submissiveness to Providence and to himself.

"Be comforted, Mrs. Mercer! It is the Lord! He alone, not man, can aid," said Mr. Porteous kindly, and feelingly returning the pressure of her hand.

Katie gently withdrew her hand from his, as if she felt that she was taking too great a liberty, and as if for a moment the cloud of the last few weeks had returned and shadowed her confidence in his good-will to her. The minister, too, could not at once dismiss a feeling of awkwardness from his mind, though he sincerely wished to do so. He had seldom come into immediate contact, and never in circ.u.mstances like the present, with such simple and unfeigned sorrow. Love began to knock at the door!

"Oh, sir," she said, "ye little ken hoo Adam respeckit and lo'ed ye. He never, never booed his knee at the chair ye're sittin' on wi'oot prayin'

for a blessin' on yersel', on yer wark, an' on yer preaching. I'm sure, if ye had only heard him the last time he cam' frae the kirk"--the minister recollected that this was after Adam's deposition by the Session--"hoo he wrastled for the grace o' G.o.d tae be wi' ye, it wad hae dune yer heart guid, and greatly encouraged ye. Forgie me, forgie me for sayin' this: but eh, he was, and is, a precious man tae me; tho'

he'll no' be lang wi' us noo, I fear!" And Katie, without weeping, again rocked to and fro.

"He is a good man," he replied; "yes, a very good man is Adam; and I pray G.o.d his life may be spared."

"O thank ye, thank ye!" said Katie. "Ay, pray G.o.d his life may be spared--and mine too, for I'll no' survive him; I canna do't! nae mair could wee Mary!"

Mary was all the while eagerly listening at the door, which was not quite closed, and as she heard those words and the low cry from her "mother" beseeching the minister to pray, she ran out, and falling down before him, with m.u.f.fled sobs hid her face in the folds of his great-coat, and said, "Oh, minister, dinna let faither dee! dinna let him dee!" And she clasped and clapped the knees of him who she thought had mysterious power with G.o.d.

The minister lifted up the agonised child, patted her fondly on the head, and then gazed on her thin but sweet face. She was pale from her self-denying labours in the sick room.

"Ye maun excuse the bairn," said Katie, "for she haesna been oot o' the hoose except for an errand sin' Adam grew ill. I canna get her tae sleep or eat as she used to do--she's sae fond o' the guidman. I'm awfu' behadden till her. Come here, my wee wifie." And Katie pressed the child's head and tearful face to her bosom, where Mary's sobs were smothered in a large brown shawl. "She's no' strong, but extraordinar'

speerity," continued Katie in a low voice and apologetically to Mr.