Part 14 (1/2)

CHAPTER XI.

THE WHITE-ROCK COVE AGAIN.

Aleck was a long time getting well. He had to be nursed and taken care of all through that winter, only gradually making little steps towards recovery.

It was quite a festival when he was first carried down-stairs; and then again when he was taken out in the carriage for a drive, lying at full length upon a sort of couch which we erected for him, and to which he declared, in my anxiety to make him comfortable, I had contributed all the sofa cus.h.i.+ons in the house.

The subject of the lost s.h.i.+p was forbidden for a long while; and I grew to thinking of it as a sort of formidable undertaking, though one upon which I was firmly bent--the confession to Aleck himself of my guilt in the matter.

But when at last I was permitted to approach the subject, I could only feel surprised that I had been for so long afraid of it. Aleck received my confession so quietly, instead of getting angry, and spoke so kindly and gently, that I could scarcely believe it was the same Aleck whose look of fiery indignation on that eventful morning of the 20th of September had so startled me.

In one way, indeed, he was _not_ the same; for the accident, and illness consequent on it, seemed in some peculiar manner to have rendered him far more lovable and thoughtful than he had been formerly; a trifle graver, perhaps--at least I thought so, until, when he grew quite strong again, his merry laugh would ring out as cheerily as ever--and more serious in his way of looking at things, but not less happy. That I was sure of; for all through the long weeks of confinement there was not a brighter place in the house than the place at the side of his couch--he was so uniformly cheerful, and seemed so thoroughly to enjoy every little plan that we were able to form for his amus.e.m.e.nt.

I told him I was quite surprised that he received my confession so gently; it would have been so natural if he had got angry. I remember his answer very well:--

”Why, you see, Willie, it seems quite a little thing to me now. I don't think I can exactly put what I mean into words; but you know when I thought I was dying, and eternity seemed quite near, everything else seemed so little--only, the wrong words I had used to you seemed much worse than I had thought they could. Old George's words came back to me so often, about the loss of the s.h.i.+p being a very little thing; whilst wrong words and angry feelings would appear more terrible than we ever fancied possible. I was dreadfully frightened until I felt quite sure I was forgiven. You can't think how glad I was when I got your message.”

”I wanted to tell you,” I said, ”when I came into your room that time; but I couldn't speak, though I nearly choked in trying to stop crying.”

”Well since then,” resumed Aleck, ”the feeling doesn't seem to have gone off. I don't mean I don't care for things, because you know I like everything very much--our games, and the books, and madrepores; but I feel as if before my accident G.o.d and heaven and the Bible were all being put by, and got ready, for the time when one was old and grown up, and I've felt so different since then. It was when I felt so frightened at the thought of what a naughty boy I was, and of all the bad things I had done, and began to tell Jesus about it--in my heart, you know, for I couldn't speak--and remembered he was so good and kind he never turned any one away, and so felt sure he had heard me, that I began to think so differently.”

At this point of Aleck's narration I broke in impetuously with--

”Oh, Aleck! for _you_ to be feeling like that--you, who had only felt angry--what would you have done if you had been me?” And then I proceeded, with feelings of unconcealed horror, to tell him of my misery during the few days succeeding the loss of the boat; the terrible walk home that morning; the lonely terrors of the nights; and my feelings at church with that verse always sounding in my ears, ”If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.”

Before I had finished my story Aleck had got hold of one of my hands, and was stroking it as if he had been a girl. ”You see,” I said, ”I was feeling rather like you, only I couldn't know I was forgiven, with that dreadful sin that no one knew of.”

”We had both done wrong,” Aleck replied; ”it doesn't much signify which of us was worst. Willie, do you know I want us always to do something together that we haven't done before.”

”What is it?” I inquired.

”I should like us to read a little bit of the Bible together every day, quite for our own selves; not like a lesson, you know, nor even having auntie to explain it to us, but just for our own selves, like when I have one of papa's or mamma's letters to read. I think it would help us to remember the really great things better, like auntie's text in my room.”

I need scarcely say that the habit--afterwards continued, whenever practicable, through our school-life--was at once begun. In fact, Aleck's merest wish was a law to me; for all through the winter months every opportunity of rendering him any service was hailed with delight.

I could never forget that his weakness and suffering were the result of my wicked behaviour, and could only comfort myself by doing all that in me lay to make his confinement as little wearisome as possible. Knowing his active, restless nature, I could fully appreciate what the trial must be, even with every alleviation, and often wondered he was able to bear it so cheerfully.

But when I ventured to express to my cousin these speculations of mine, he would laugh them off merrily.

”Why, Willie, how can I help being thankful and happy? Not to speak of uncle and aunt, who seem to be doing something for me every hour of the day; nor of old George, who toils up every morning to see me, though he used to tell me that it made his old bones ache--a fact he will never allow now; nor of Frisk, who sits upon my feet for hours, on purpose to keep them warm; I should like to know how I could help being cheerful, with your own dear old self giving up the greater part of your play-time to chess, or carpentry, or madrepores, and spending every penny of your pocket-money--No; it's of no use your stopping me to deny it. I've counted up, and you've spent every penny of your pocket-money--just as I was saying--in buying books, or tools, or things for me; waiting upon me, too, as if I were a prince and you my slave. Why, I'm perfectly afraid of admiring anything you have, lest I should find it done up in a parcel, and sent to me, like the ill.u.s.trated copy of 'Robinson Crusoe'

the other day!”

In this sort of grateful spirit, making much of all my little trifling acts of kindness, Aleck scarcely allowed us to feel that he was under-going any deprivation during the months that he lay on the sofa.

Once only I remember noticing a little cloud, that vanished again almost as soon as it appeared. One morning, after lessons were over, I came running into the study with my Latin exercise.

”Papa, Mr. Glengelly was so pleased with my exercise, he has sent me in to show it to you.”

My father looked over it, reading little bits aloud, and finding with surprise that, difficult though it was, there were no mistakes. From my father's table I flew to the sofa on which Aleck was lying, with Frisk at his feet as usual, the open copy-book in my hand. But in an instant I could see there was some trouble in my cousin's face.

”Aleck, dear Aleck,” I whispered anxiously, ”what is it? Have I done anything?”