Part 24 (2/2)

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, wis.h.i.+ng 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 suns.h.i.+ne, 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.

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