_IN A SICK ROOM_.
When Roderick had written his letter he fell into a long and deep
sleep, and it was daylight before he awoke. He was calmer in mind than
he had been since he was taken ill, but it was the stillness of
exhaustion. His fevered thoughts had been labouring up and down a
never-ending gamut of feeling, like a prisoner tramping hopelessly up
a revolving wheel, ever the same mountain of misery and despair rising
before him, toil to surmount it as he might. He had climbed and
climbed unceasingly--purposeless and hopeless, unable to stop, till at
length, worn out, he had, as it were, fallen back in complete
prostration. His waking was like that of one who has fallen from a
height--stunned, the returning of far-ebbed consciousness was slow,
and he would, if he could, have pushed it back again, and returned to
oblivion.
He closed his eyes and turned from the light, courting the retreating
footsteps of beneficent sleep, but that gentle healer refused to be
detained, and he was awake. By-and-by he saw his letter carried away
to its address, and he set himself to wait patiently for the return of
his messenger, some time in the afternoon.
The rheumatic symptoms which had added greatly to his unrest, the day
before, were abated, and his medical adviser expressed strong hope of
being able to remove them altogether; but the distress in his chest
had increased, his breathing was laboured and painful, threatening to
develop into a serious attack.
The surgeon looked round the room, it was not a promising sick-room
for an affection of the lungs. The walls, where they could be seen
behind the book shelves, were stained with moisture; there was the
cold earthen floor beneath the carpet, and a pervading flavour of
mouldy dampness through the room, which seemed to grow only more
perceptible when more fuel was piled on the hearth. When the weather
was dry the windows could be opened, and with the help of a bright
fire, a moderately sweet atmosphere could be obtained after a time;
but whenever rain without necessitated the closing of the windows, the
stuffy savour of mouldiness again took possession of the place.
Roderick lay and waited. He tried to read, but his eyes soon grew
weary, and his thoughts would not fix themselves on the page, though
he tried one book after another. It pained his chest to converse, and
he could only possess his soul in patience, and wait Joseph's return.
But Joseph came not. Noon passed, the shadows crept round and
lengthened, but still no sign. It might be that Sophia required time
to consider his letter. In that there was at least this much of hope,
that if she had become engaged to the Englishman there would have been
no occasion for her to delay in saying so. He grew restless as the
afternoon advanced, and by evening was so flushed and increasingly
feverish that they gave him a composing draught, and so got him to
sleep.
In the morning he was dull and stupid for some hours, but gradually
the fumes of the night's potion dissipated. His first enquiry was what
letters or messages had come. There had been none. It seemed strange
that no member or office-bearer of his hitherto attached flock should
have come near him. Some of the more remote and scattered would not
know, but it was strange the villagers should hold aloof. Could they
have imagined that his illness might be infectious? and yet they were
not wont thus to avoid contagion. The very elders, part of whose duty
it was to visit the sick, had kept away; and although they might have
been expected to take some interest in seeing the pulpit filled, they
yet had allowed Saturday to pass without coming near him. Even Mr.
Sangster, the presiding elder had not come, although the illness had
been brought on in attending upon his wife, and he must have known all
about it. He would know also of the letter to Sophia. Could it be on
account of that that he did not come? Yet why? If he had other views
for the settlement of his daughter, why did he not say so? The silence
was getting unbearable.
Sunday proved to be rainy, greatly to Mrs. Sangster's relief. She
availed herself of the excuse to remain at home, her son and daughter
were both laid up with severe colds, and Mr. Wallowby was not inclined
to get himself wet. Mr. Sangster was therefore the sole occupant of
the phaeton, and he did not reach the village till the church hour had
arrived, and he had to hasten straight to the tent. There, with the
associates Roderick had named, he did his best to extemporize some
resemblance to a church service to the few shepherds (proof to rain
and tempest) and old women crouching under umbrellas, who alone,
defying the elements, had assembled as usual for their weekly meal of
doctrine.
The diet of public worship was got over as speedily as possible, and
at the conclusion a few parishioners knocked in passing to enquire
after the minister's health. They were so few, however, as to excite
the surprise of Mary, as well as her brother, and there had been no
elder or deacon among them.
In the end Mr. Sangster did appear, he was admitted to the sick-room,
and manifested the most cordial sympathy in Roderick's illness. He
explained that the previous day being a market in a neighbouring town,
he had gone thither, and had only got home a few minutes before
Roderick's message, requesting him to assist at public worship, had
been delivered.
He returned the heartiest thanks for Roderick's care of his wife, and
was in every way as friendly as possible, but he made no allusion to
the letter to Sophia or to the proposal which it contained, which is
not remarkable seeing he had not heard of it.
Roderick lay and listened. The free and friendly tone did not look as
if his suit had been received unfavourably, and yet it was alluded to
in no way whatever. He gathered courage at last to enquire for Sophia,
and was answered that she was laid up with a severe cold, but the
manner of the reply was the most simple and ordinary, and showed no
sign of an idea that more could be meant by the enquirer than met the
ear.
Roderick inferred that the old man was favourable to his suit, and
that the young lady was taking time to make up her mind. For the
moment, therefore, his hopes rose, his mind grew easier, his body more
at rest, and he spent a calmer evening and night than the preceding.
On Monday morning he was very hopeful. She had had a long Sunday
undisturbed by the possibility of doing anything else, for it had
rained steadily, to reflect on his petition, and she must surely
return him an answer to-day.
Neither message, letter, or visitor appeared, however. 'Ah well,' he
concluded at last, 'her father will no doubt bring it with him in the
evening, when he comes to be present at the meeting of Session.'
The evening came. Roderick's study had been transferred as far as
possible into a fitting meeting-place. The screen which closed off his
sleeping corner from the room was removed, the writing table and books
moved aside as well as might be, and a dozen chairs or more arranged
in front of his bed.
The clock over the fireplace marked the quarter to seven, but no one
came. It seemed strange that all that day no one should have come to
see him. He had lived in the completest harmony with his people, and
when in health had had some one always dropping in for a 'crack,' so
that it had often been difficult for him to secure the privacy
necessary to prepare his sermons. The sudden change was altogether
inexplicable to him. Every one seemed to stand aloof, and he seemed to
be put under a taboo by the entire population of the glen.
Mary went to the window. No one appeared to be coming, she then went
to the door, but the village street was deserted save by a few grimy
children tumbling in the gutter. Looking across the road, however,
where a lane ran down to the waterside, she descried one or two
figures standing. They stood well up to the wall of a house and were
nearly hidden from where she stood. Indeed she would have supposed
they were actually hiding themselves there and watching, but that she
could imagine no possible reason for such a proceeding.
While she stood looking, Peter Malloch came out of his door and walked
towards her. Here at any rate was one man coming to the meeting. It
was getting late, but then the village time would get astray
sometimes. It depended on the watch of the stage coach guard, a not
very accurate timekeeper, as its hands would sometimes be moved twenty
minutes forward or half an hour back that the coach might arrive at
its different stages in time, whereby its internal economy would
become deranged, and it would be sent for a fortnight to recruit at
the watchmaker's.
Farther down the street she now descried Ebenezer Prittie. No doubt it
was the clocks which were to blame. But no! When Peter Malloch reached
the corner of the lane, he stopped short for an instant, and then
hastily turned down it and disappeared. Ebenezer marched steadily
along till he came to the same point, but then he also stopped and
straightway vanished, like the other. What could it mean? Roderick was
restless and very ill. It would require all his strength to get
through the proceedings in the quietest way possible, and she could
not think of fretting him, neither could she say anything to Eppie
now.
That good soul had been rather tiresome as it was, for the past few
days. She was always kind and attentive, though a trifle more motherly
than Mary considered the circumstances to warrant, for she objected to
the old woman's view of her as a helpless young thing who needed to be
clucked over, and protected with beak and feather, like some unfledged
nurseling of the poultry yard. Of late Eppie's commiserating sympathy
and sad devotion had become nearly overpowering, as Mary could divine
no possible ground for anything so pathetic; things had appeared to be
going much as usual, the only unwonted circumstance having been her
own return home a day or two before in the Inchbracken dog-cart,
driven by Kenneth. Eppie must have got it into her head that she was
falling under the influence of those black persecutors, the Drysdales,
and that her soul was in danger; and that was too provokingly absurd
altogether and not to be tolerated.
Mary flushed slightly to think of it, though there came also a light
into her eye, as though in some aspects the idea was not so grievous
after all. But it must be put down, whether or no, and she had been
endeavouring to assume a deportment of severe and dignified distance,
which would put the old body back in her proper place. Poor child! Her
attempts at offended reserve were like the snaps of a toothless puppy,
they had small resemblance to biting, and were far more likely to
tickle the offending hand than to hurt it.
The next person to appear along the village street was Mr. Sangster.
He appeared to think he was late, and strode quickly along. He reached
the end of the lane. Would _he_ also turn down? No; Mary saw him wave
his hand in salutation, which showed that the others were still
concealed there, but he stepped briskly across, and, with a cordial
greeting to herself in passing, entered her brother's room.
He had scarcely done so, when, round the corner of the lane, there
came the whole Kirk-Session and Deacons' Court,--some ten or a dozen
persons in all,--like a crowd of urchins late for school. They hurried
forward in a sort of knot, each unwilling to go first, as though there
were an irate pedagogue to confront, yet no one wished to be last, as
if he expected the dominie's cane to descend on his shoulders. They
were all oppressed by the dreadful rumours in circulation, as to the
minister's iniquity, and all wished to wreak vengeance on the defiler
of their church. But how to set about it? Something vigorous and
memorable must be done; but what was it to be?
A posse of the lieges called out to assist in capturing some notorious
offender, half-a-dozen dogs holding a wild cat at bay--their fingers
tingle to collar, their fangs glance fiercely ready to throttle; they
stand all eager, all fierce, all cruel,--but who shall be the first to
lay hold? and what may not befall that impetuous individual? Knocking
down, braining, scratching of eyes out; even in the case of these
zealous Free-churchmen, flooring in some metaphorical but very actual
though imagined sense. No man was prepared to tackle the offender, yet
all were so sure of his wrong-doing, that each felt as if he were
bound to do it, if he should encounter him alone or first. But now
Auchlippie had gone in, he, the ruling elder, their official head, was
the proper person to do the undevised deed, or, if he did not, to bear
the 'wite' of leaving it undone.
Roderick brightened up on the entrance of Mr. Sangster, and looked
enquiringly in his face, but he did not venture to ask the question
that was so near his lips. Mr. Sangster was cordial even beyond his
wont, and answered his enquiries about the different members of his
family at full length; but he did not say what Roderick was so
impatient to hear; he could not, for his wife had told him nothing
about it.
The entrance of the elders and deacons made further personal converse
impossible. They walked up to the bed, took the sick man's hand one
after another, but could scarcely command their lips to frame the
ordinary inquiries after his health. Singularly to them, the minister
received them with perfect composure, and all his wonted friendliness,
while their eyes fell and wandered while the words died away upon
their lips. 'Who was the sinner?' Ebenezer Prittie very nearly
inquired aloud. Here were they, twelve just men and righteous, endowed
in their own sight and that of their neighbours with all the virtues
and christian graces in plenteous abundance, and yet this one
impenitent sinner, laid out before them, snared in the full bloom and
luxuriance of his iniquity, was able to outface them all, while they,
his judges and accusers could scarce look him straight in the face,
and had not a word to say.
The proceedings began in the usual manner. Roderick however, found he
could scarce even whisper the opening prayer, and he therefore
requested Mr. Sangster to act in his stead. They had been called
together to make the concluding arrangements as to their new church.
Widow Forester had come to terms about the ground, and they were
therefore to set to work with all the expedition in their power, to
raise the walls and secure a roof to shelter them, before the arrival
of the winter storms. The day before had given them warning if that
were needed, that the fine summer weather was drawing to a close, and
that in a very few weeks the season of cold and storm would be upon
them.
It was decided to commence work without any delay whatever, and that
on the Thursday they should hold a religious service to inaugurate the
work. Roderick had already bespoken the assistance of Mr. Dowlas, who
had agreed to come over from his own parish whatever day he might be
summoned. All therefore that had to be done was to notify him that
Thursday was to be the day, and that owing to Roderick's illness he
would have to assume the whole duty himself, instead of merely taking
part, unless on so short notice he could induce his neighbour Mr.
Geddie to accompany him.
No one present seemed disposed to speak unnecessarily, a somewhat
unusual circumstance, for the deacons especially, being new to office,
were prone to eloquence on ordinary occasions. Roderick accepted this
taciturnity as a mark of consideration for his weakness and felt
grateful. Indeed no more judicious mode of showing consideration could
have been devised, for he felt himself getting worse under the stir
and excitement very quickly. The meeting broke up as speedily as
possible, and he was left alone, for Mr. Sangster had been carried
away by the rest. He had been counting on another talk with him and
perhaps of yet hearing from him the thing he most desired, but his own
voice had entirely gone, so it was but natural his friend should not
think of remaining with him when he could not speak.
He lay back on his pillow and solaced himself by thinking all manner
of good of the men who had just left. The poor, the lower classes, who
are thought so gross and rude in their perceptions! What people could
have shown a more delicate intuition of what would be grateful to him
in his weakness, than those rough-spoken, hard-handed men? He had been
vexing himself with thoughts of their indifference and neglect, during
his illness, but see how considerate and forbearing they had been this
evening, notwithstanding the well known crotchets of this one and
that, which would certainly have been brought out on any other
occasion.
It was a beautiful thought, though not, in the circumstances a very
accurate one, and helped him much in dropping peacefully to sleep not
long after.