Part 49 (2/2)

The navvies shrank back in half dread at the strange sight for a few minutes; and when, recovering, they would have advanced, Brace motioned them back, and he alone heard his father's words.

”At last--at last! what I have prayed for so long. At last! Oh Heaven!

I loved her too well to have sullied her even in thought!”

He stood motionless for a few minutes, and then, by a fierce effort, he started back into life.

”Let no hand but ours rest upon her, Brace,” he whispered; and then, of the woodwork near, a litter was hastily contrived, and on a bed of the heather and rush, amidst which she had loved to linger, the sleeping figure was slowly borne towards the village, till, as they neared the Park, Brace left his father to prepare those at the Castle for the awful visitation.

Book 2, Chapter x.x.xI.

AT ONE.

Two months elapsed, and Merland village had almost ceased talking about the grand funeral from the Castle--”the strange berryin'”--when, after twenty long years, Lady Gernon was borne to the family vault, with the Nortons, at Sir Murray's wish, for chief mourners. For he lay as he had been stricken down, a broken, helpless man, tended ever by his two old, faithful servants; McCray watching his every glance, and often and often sitting at his bedside, to read to him, in a strong Scottish tw.a.n.g, the news of the present and the future. But for a long while there was a strange, uneasy aspect in Sir Murray Gernon's face whenever Jane McCray was in the room. And that uneasy look was at last interpreted by the housekeeper, who, as she smoothed his pillow, asked him of his thoughts--for he had, as it were, questioned her with his eyes--while she held bottle and medicine-gla.s.s in her hand.

”She never but once tasted it,” said Jane McCray, ”I changed it every time.”

His words came now only in broken utterances, so that only his regular attendants could comprehend his wishes, but that time, plainly and loudly came the words:

”Thank G.o.d!”

Few knew the bitter fight that took place in that proud man's breast, as, humbled now, he saw clearly the way in which he had taken suspicion to his breast, nurturing it and preparing the soil for its lasting stay, until the foul roots had laced and interlaced--until it was like tearing his heart to pieces to drag them forth. But it had to be done, and he did it manfully, in those long hours, when he lay helpless and alone.

How he could read now the past by another light; his own weakness, the bitter sufferings of the true-hearted woman who had striven to bear the cross that had fallen to her lot. How all his wealth and possessions had been but so much dust and ashes, and his life, so far, one dreary blank. But there was the future!--and for awhile his face brightened, and he looked elate; there was his child--there was Philip Norton's child. Should not they possess the happiness that had never been his?

But then his brow became overcast, as he thought of how he would have to humble himself before his old rival and enemy.

It was a bitter fight; but help came, as Isa glided into the room, and knelt beside his pillow, placing her little hands in his; and the weak tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks, as he prayed for strength to root out the last foul thread that seemed to canker his breast. He could see it all now--all so plainly, that with him rested the happiness of many around; and as he took those hands and held them to his brow, he prayed earnestly as man ever yet prayed, that the past might be forgiven, and a new heart granted to his suffering breast.

That prayer must have been heard, for the next day Brace Norton and his father were at the Castle, seated by the sick man's bed, till Sir Murray made a sign to McCray, who whispered in Brace Norton's ear, and they two left the room.

No eye saw--no ear heard what took place in that bed-chamber; but when, at last, alarmed at the long silence, Brace and Isa stole in, Sir Murray's eyes were closed, and Captain Norton's head was bowed down, while Brace felt his heart leap and the tears rush to his eyes, as he saw that their right hands were tightly clasped together.

Captain Norton started to his feet as the young couple entered, but it was no display of shame at his weakness, for he clasped Isa directly to his breast, and Brace saw that the hand his father had dropped was feebly held out to him. And then, though no words were spoken, a strange peace, hitherto unknown, stole upon every heart there present.

Book 2, Chapter x.x.xII.

AFTER A LAPSE.

”I ha'e been thinking, Jenny,” said Alexander McCray, one afternoon, when, during intervals of taking pinches of snuff, he had mixed himself a tumbler of whisky and water, wherein floated the transparent discs of half a sliced lemon--”I ha'e been thinking, Jenny, if it wasna for Sir Mooray wanting my airm noo he's oop again, and liking it better than that three-wheeled chair thing, I'd give oop the stewards.h.i.+p, and go back to my gairden.”

”Nonsense!” said Mrs McCray, smiling.

”Weel, la.s.sie, ye may ca' it nonsense, but I ca' it soun' sense, for it's quite hairt-breaking to see the way that man neglects the floor-beds. There's no floors noo in the gairden like there was in my day.”

”Alexander!” exclaimed his wife, jumping up, and turning him round so that he could see through the low window out into the pleasure-grounds--”you are getting in the habit of talking nonsense!

Did you ever see such a flower as that in the grounds in your day?”

”Gude save us--no,” said Sandy, putting on his gla.s.ses, and a smile dawning on his rugged face--”Gude save us--no, la.s.sie! Ye're reet, for she's a bonnie floor, indeed; and look at the sweet tendrils of the thing, and how she clings to the brae stake that's goin' to support her.

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