Part 7 (2/2)

”My boy, you must understand, G.o.d has called me--I am dying. In the morning I shall not see your dear eyes; I shall never touch your head again. Oh, dear, dear head--oh, soft curls!” She paused a minute and a little sob broke from her.

”Jeff, Uncle Hugh has been telling me about you the past few days. It has been a great happiness--a great comfort to know that you are so brave and truthful. There are faults, my darling, still; but I think, my own, that you will be a hero some day.” She smiled upon him with indescribable content. ”I have no fears for you. You will bear what is given you to bear patiently. You will not grieve your father--you will remember that--” Her voice failed.

”Oh, mother, stay with me. I can never be great or good without you--things are so hard. Only stay with me a little while. No one has ever loved me as you love me.”

A glow of light pa.s.sed over the sweet face.

”Darling, no one _will_ ever love you like I have loved you. Jeff, you have been a great happiness to me. By and by, when you come to me, I shall know, perhaps, that you have remembered all that I have said to you. Oh, doctor, the pain--again.”

She gasped for breath, and Mrs. Parsons lifted her up and put some cordial to her lips. When she spoke again she wandered a little:

”I was so happy in India--we were all so happy together. Dear husband--our little son--is growing up all that we could wish him--by and by--he will comfort you. I shall know--perhaps that you speak of me--sometimes.”

”Mother, you _shall_ know,” burst from Jeff. He spoke in a hoa.r.s.e way.

Only by a supreme effort could he choke back his sobs. Now he had raised himself and was gazing into the beloved eyes, which seemed to see some far-off vision.

”And, mother, I promise, when you are gone--I will be--all you wish. I will never, never forget--all my life through--and when--I see you again--I shall see you again, you know--you will know how much I have gone on loving you--and remembering. Oh, mother, can't I go with you?--must I wait here alone? You will never kiss me, never touch me--and when--I am a real hero--your voice will not praise me. Take me with you, mother, mother!” Then Jeff fell back unconscious, and was carried out of the room by Uncle Hugh, who was sobbing like a child.

The angel of death did not tarry. In the morning Jeff knew that his sweet mother had said her last ”good-night.”

Years have gone by, and Jeff Scott is a man now. He is reckoned a real hero in these days, one whose name has been a household word. He is a soldier like all the men of his race--a right gallant soldier who wears a V.C. upon his broad breast. He has seen much service, and done brave deeds by flood and field, under the roar of cannon, and in instant fear of death.

His fiery impetuous spirit is in a measure subdued, but still his rash acts of bravery have been reproved with a smile by his superior officers.

In one campaign he had swam a river under hot fire of the enemy, carrying despatches between his teeth--he had rallied his regiment by picking up the colours dropped by two wounded comrades, though his own right arm was shattered by a shot--he had defended the sick and wounded in a quickly thrown up fort with desperate bravery against a host of attacking enemies.

He seemed to hold his life only to spend it for others. No privations were hard to him. He bore with a smiling face heat or cold, and encouraged with a cheerful word dispirited soldiers.

”Sir,” said a gallant general, ”you have won a Victoria Cross three times over. I honour you for your heroic bravery. Your mother may be proud to hear of such a son.”

Ah! what a tender chord was touched by those words. In the darkness of the African night Jeff went out with a heavy heart from his tent, and, looking up at the silent stars, wondered if _she_ knew, if _she_ approved.

And when he went home, and was sent for to Osborne to receive his decorations from the Queen's hand, the honour heaped upon him seemed more than he could bear. When the greatest lady in the land spoke a few kind words of praise the tears started to his brave brown eyes.

Perchance the aspect of such a stripling moved her womanly heart to a special throb of sympathy, he looked so young to have achieved such deeds of valour.

But the applause of the world in general will never sound attractively in Jeff's ears; society will never claim him as one of her pet lions.

At Loch Lossie they speak of him with respectful admiration, and Aunt Annie no longer holds out any opinions against such a distinguished young man. She loses no opportunity of proclaiming her kins.h.i.+p to young Captain Scott. But Jeff only spends a short time occasionally in Scotland; most of his leave is generally pa.s.sed with his father.

The deep strong affection between father and son seems to become a closer bond as the years rolls on. They speak sometimes of the dead mother, and even now Jeff's voice hushes and his steady eyes are misty at the mention of her name or the recalling of her words. He loves her with a love that time has no power to weaken; he has kept all her sayings faithfully in his heart; her letters to him are his most cherished possessions.

The pa.s.sionate intensity of his nature has deepened and strengthened with his manhood. He never forgets. Oh, brave, true heart! oh, loyal breast! oh, faithful hero! guarding well the n.o.ble standard of courage and truth that was given you to guard in boyhood's days.

”Her little lad” that she loved so well is indeed ”one full of courage and great patience, and dauntless before difficulties; one who allows no fear to a.s.sail him, who fulfils his duty and _something over it_ under hard and difficult circ.u.mstances.”

<script>