Part 19 (2/2)
”I--I'm sorry! I shouldna give way. I never lost a child before, you see, and Lizzie was such a one for her mother. I wrote to her only last night. She leaves two bairnies of her own, but they are so young.
They'll never remember her!” The pitiful trembling began again, whereupon George Elgood's hand held out a gla.s.s of water, and Margot took it from him to lift it to the quivering lips.
”They will need you all the more, and you must be strong for their sakes. That's what she would wish, isn't it?”
”Yes, yes. I must take care of the children. And Fred--poor Fred! but he hasn't loved her as I have done for nearly thirty years. Father, when can we get back?”
”I'll see, my dearie. I'll see! Leave all to me. I'll settle it all, and this good la.s.sie will pack your things. Ye need trouble for nothing, my la.s.s,--ye need trouble for nothing.”
He laid his broad hand on his wife's shoulder with a gesture infinitely tender, then turned and went stumbling out of the room, while Margot's eyes met the tear-drenched ones above her with a flash of enthusiasm.
”He is--_splendid_!”
Even at that moment Mrs Macalister showed a faint kindling of response.
”Didn't I tell ye? When a man's out of health ye canna judge. When he's in his usual, there's no one to touch Mr Macalister.”
With an instinctive movement Margot turned her head upward till her eyes met those of George Elgood, and exchanged a flash of mutual understanding. It heartened her like a drink of water in a thirsty land, for underlying the pity and the kindliness she recognised something else; something that existed for herself alone, and which seemed to bring with it an electric thrill of happiness.
Outside in the ”lobby” the Chieftain was looking up trains in his own _Bradshaw_, and arranging with Mrs McNab for the long drive to the station, while Mr Macalister was writing out a return message with trembling fingers.
”Come upstairs with me, dear!” said Margot gently. ”You shall lie on the bed while I do the packing. It's a long journey, and you must be as fresh as possible when you arrive. They will be waiting for you, you know, and expecting you to comfort them. You have told me how they all rely upon you. You wouldn't like to fail just when they need you most!”
Mrs Macalister raised herself feebly from her chair, but her poor face quivered helplessly.
”I'm a broken reed for any one to lean on. I can only remember that Lizzie's gone. There's no strength left in me. She was the flower of the flock. And me so far away!”
For the next hour the poor woman lay on the bed in her room, now sobbing in helpless paroxysms of grief, now relating pitiful, commonplace anecdotes of the dead daughter so dearly beloved, a dazed helpless creature, unable to do a hand's turn for herself, while her husband crept in and out, quiet, resourceful, comforting, full of unselfish compa.s.sion. Margot had hard work to keep back her own tears, as he clumsily pressed his own services upon her, picking up odd garments, folding them carefully in the wrong way, and rummaging awkwardly through the drawers.
The trap was to be ready to start by twelve o'clock, and ten minutes before the time Margot carried a sponge and basin of water to the bedside, bathed the poor, tear-stained face, brushed the straggling locks of grey hair, and helped to fasten bonnet and cloak. It was pathetic to see the helplessness into which grief had stricken this capable, bustling woman. She lifted her chin, to allow the strings of her bonnet to be tied by Margot's hands, and sat meekly while the ”dolman” was hooked. It was like dressing a big docile baby; like a child, too, the manner in which she clung to her husband's arm down the narrow stair.
Mrs McNab was standing below in the lobby, her hard face flushed to an unnatural red. She held a basket in her hand filled with dainty paper packages containing fruit, sandwiches, and cakes. Unable to voice her sympathy, she had put it into deeds, striving to ensure some comfort for the long journey ahead.
Mrs Macalister smiled a pitiful travesty of a smile in acknowledgment, and her friends pressed her hand, mercifully refraining from speech.
When it came to parting from Margot, however, that was a different matter. Mrs Macalister stooped from the seat of the trap to kiss the girl's cheek once and again.
”You're a guid la.s.sie,” she said, trembling. ”I would have been lost without you! The Lord bless you, my dear!”
”Ay! and she _shall_ be blessed!” added Mr Macalister's voice, deeply.
Margot thrilled at the sound of those words, and stood back on the path watching the departing wheels through a mist of tears. They had gone, those two good, loving, simple creatures, and in all likelihood she would never see them again; for a moment their lives had touched, but the currents had swept them apart; they were as s.h.i.+ps that had pa.s.sed in the night. To the end of time, however, she must be the better for the meeting, for in their need they had leant upon her, and she had been able to help. They had blessed her in patriarchal fas.h.i.+on, and the sound of their words still rang in her ears--
”The Lord bless you!”
”Ay! and she _shall_ be blessed?”
CHAPTER TWENTY.
<script>