Far past the flickering lamp she gazed, and her eyes' light rose and
fell in unison with approaching steps.
"He's bye the gate," she cried; and joy held death at bay, for the words
chimed like cathedral bells.
Fearsome to behold was the awestruck face which Donald turned to mine,
and full of questioning dread, I doubt not, were the eyes that met his
own. Was this the doing of the Lord, or was it but the handiwork of
death, that wizard oculist, so often lending mystic vision to pilgrims
setting under darkness out to sea?
Leaving death and Elsie to their unequal conflict, we started with one
impulse to the window; but Donald was there before me, his eyes shaded
by his hands, burning through the dark a pathway to the gate.
"God be mercifu'," he muttered, and then turned swiftly towards the
stairs, for a hand was fumbling at the latch. I waited trembling, and I
heard no word; but the aroma of a soul's second spring stole sweet and
unafraid into the chamber of death.
* * * * *
I met them at the door as Donald said, "Yir mither's deein'," and there
broke from the rugged man beside him a low moaning sound, like to many
waters when some opposing thing hath at length been overswept. It was
quickly checked, and the silence of love and anguish took its place.
I drew Donald gently back and closed the door upon them twain, the
waiting mother and the wandering son, for there was never bridal hour
like to this.
"My mither, oh, my mither!" I heard him say; and Elsie spoke no word,
but the long ache was ended and the great wound was well.
'Twas but a moment again when a trembling voice called, "Faither, she's
wantin' ye."
We entered the love-lit room, and Elsie beckoned him swiftly to her
side.
"I maun be gaun sune," she whispered, and then followed some words too
low for my ears to catch.
Donald turned to me: "She wants to hae the sacrament dispensit till us
a'," and his face was full of dubious entreaty, for the kirk session of
St. Cuthbert's was sternly set against private administration.
The session and its rules were in that moment to me but as the dust.
Beyond their poor custody was a holy hour such as this. The little table
was quickly spread, the snow-white bread and the wine pressed by a
mother's priestly hands. I was about to proceed with the holy ordinance
when Elsie stopped me.
"Bide a meenit. Donal', get ye the token, the ane wee Elsie loved. My
hairt tells me she's no' far awa the noo. She'll e'en show forth the
Lord's deith alang wi' us. The Maister o' the feast is here, and why wad
He no' bring oor Elsie wi' Him? Wha kens but I'll gang hame wi' them
baith?"
Her husband, obedient to the seer's voice, passed quickly to an
adjoining room, and in an instant reappeared, bearing the well-worn
token in his hands, the same his dying child had fondly held; and I
heard again the low refrain which grief had taught him years ago:
"Christ an' oor Elsie--an' her mither." This last was new, learned in
sorrow's latest hour.
He handed it to his wife, who took it, turning her wan face to mine.
"There's only ane, but it'll dae us a'--let Robin haud it. Tak' it,
laddie; it's warm frae yir sister's haun'."
The wanderer's reverent hand received it, and holy memories, long
banished, flowed back into the heart that had not been their home since
the golden days of boyhood. Of his mother and his sister were they all,
and they laved that heart till it was almost clean, for they were in
disguise but memories of God, foreshadowing the Greater Incarnation.
"Noo we're ready, an' we're a' here. Raise the psalm, faither, the
sacrament ane," she said faintly--"tak' St. Paul's," and Donald's
quavering voice essayed--
"I'll of salvation take the cup,
On God's name will I call;
I'll pay my vows now to the Lord
Before His people all.
* * * * *
Dear in God's sight is His saints' death,
Thy servant, Lord"--
but the faltering voice refused.
I broke the bread and poured the wine, handing the sacred emblems first
to the dying one, so soon to take them new in the kingdom of God. Then
Donald partook, and buried his face in his hands. To Robin next I
proffered the holy symbols, but he drew back, stretching forth his hands
towards the bed.
"I daurna--I've wandered ower far," he said. "I hear the russlin' o' the
husks."
"Dinna fear, Robin," whispered his mother's lips. "We're a' but bairns
comin' back to oor Faither's hoose; God loves ye mair than either yir
faither or me,--I'm near the kingdom, an' I ken."
"My son, my laddie,"--it was his father's broken voice,--"let us tak'
the feast thegither. I'm a puir prodigal masel'--but the door is open
wide, an' we'll baith come hame to God."
"I'll tak' it frae ma mither's hands," said Robin.
I handed the elements to her, ordained from all eternity to minister to
the son she bore; with trembling hands she dispensed them to him, high
priestess unto God, her dying eyes distilling the very love which shed
its fragrance when the all but dying Saviour first brake the holy bread.
When we were through, Elsie's voice was heard saying to herself "Unto
Him who loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood," which
was followed by a long silence.
"Wull ye no' pronounce the benediction?" Donald said at last, for he was
by nature an ecclesiastic.
"Did you not hear it?" I replied.
The silence deepened, the breathing grew heavier, and we two stood
together looking down upon her face. Robin's was by his mother's.
Suddenly her eyes opened wide, fastening themselves upon her son.
"I'll sune win hame," she murmured gladly, "an' I want ye to say yir bit
prayer to me, Robin, afore I gang, the way ye did when ye were a
bairnie. Kneel doon, Robin, an' say it to me, an' we'll baith say it to
God, for I'm weary tae. 'Noo I lay me,' ye ken."
The strong man bowed beside his mother's bed, and the great anthem
began, the sobbing bass of the broken heart mingling with the feeble
dying voice--
"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray Thee Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray Thee Lord my soul to take."
Suddenly she pointed with uplifted hand: "Oh, faither, I see oor Elsie's
face--an' the token's in her haun', an' it's a' bricht wi' gowden licht.
She's biddin' us a' hame--me, an' faither, an' Robin----" and she passed
into the homeland bearing the prodigal's name with her up to God.
I gently closed her eyes. Donald stood long beside the bed; then, taking
his son into his arms, he said--
"Yir mither's bye the gate."