"But, as for grieving, because Miss Graeme is going farther away, than
is perhaps pleasant to think about, when she is going of her own free
will, and with a good hope of a measure of happiness, that would be
unreasonable indeed."
"Now, if she were to hold up her hands, and say, `Now, lettest thou thy
servant depart in peace,' it would seem about the right thing to do,"
said Mr Snow, to himself, with a sigh. "When it comes to giving the
bairns up, willing never to see them again, it looks a little as if she
was done with most things, and ready to go--and I ain't no ways ready to
have her, I'm afraid."
The next words gave him a little start of surprise and relief.
"And we'll need to bethink ourselves, what bonny thing we can give her,
to keep her in mind of us when she will be far-away."
"Sartain!" said Mr Snow, eagerly.
"Not that I think she'll be likely to forget us," added his wife, with a
catch in her breath. "She's no of that nature. I shouldna wonder if
she might have some homesick thoughts, then, even in the midst of her
happiness, for she has a tender heart! But, if they love one another,
there is little doubt but it will be well with them, seeing they have
the fear of God before their eyes. And, she may come back and end her
days on this side of the sea, yet, who knows?"
"I shouldn't wonder a mite," said Mr Snow.
"But, whether or not, if she be well, and happy, and good, that is the
main thing. And whiles I think it suits my weakness and my old age
better to sit here and hear about the bairns, and think about them, and
speak to you about them and all that concerns them, than it would to be
among them with their youth and strength, and their new interests in
life. And then, they dinna need me, and you do," added Mrs Snow, with
a smile.
"That's so," said he, with an emphasis that made her laugh.
"Well then, let us hear no more about my worrying about Miss Graeme and
the bairns. That is the last thing I am thinking of. Sitting here, and
looking over all the road we have travelled, sometimes together,
sometimes apart, I can see plainly that we were never left to choose, or
to lose our way, but that, at every crook and turn, stood the Angel of
the Covenant, unseen then, and, God forgive us, maybe unthought of, but
ever there, watching over us, and having patience with us, and holding
us up when we stumbled with weary feet. And knowing that their faces
are turned in the right way, as I hope yours is, and mine, it is no' for
me to doubt but that He is guiding them still, and us as well, and that
we shall all come safe to the same place at last." She paused a moment,
because of a little break and quiver in her voice, and then she added,--
"Yes. `The Lord hath given me the desire of my heart' for the bairns.
Praise be to His name."