And so they waited. For a few days it did not seem impossible to Shenac
that Allister might come; and she watched each hour of the day and
night, starting and trembling at every sound. But he did not come, and
in a little while Hamish broke the tidings to his mother, how they had
heard that Allister was to have sailed on a certain day, but his Cousin
Evan having been taken ill, they were to wait for another ship; but they
would be sure to come soon.
Happily, the mother's mind rested more on having heard that her son was
well, and was coming some time, than on his being delayed; and she was
better after that. She fell back for a little time into her old ways,
moving about the house, and even betaking herself to the neglected
flax-spinning. But she was very feeble, going to bed early, and rising
late, and requiring many an affectionate stratagem on the part of her
children to keep her from falling into invalid ways.
It was a sad and weary waiting to them all, but to none more than to
Angus Dhu. If he had heard of his son's death, it would not have been
so terrible to him as the suspense which he often told himself need not
be suspense. There was no hope, there could be none, after the words
written by his son's trembling hands. He grew an old, feeble man in the
short space between the harvest and the new year. The grief which had
fallen on all the family when Evan's letter came gave way before the
anxiety with which they all saw the change in him. His wife was a
quiet, gentle woman, saying little at any time, perhaps feeling less
than her stern husband. They all sorrowed, but it was on the father
that the blight fell heaviest.
It was a fine Sabbath morning in October. It was mild, and not very
bright, and the air was motionless. It was just like an Indian-summer
day, only the Indian summer is supposed to come in November, after some
snow has fallen on brown leaves and bare boughs; and now the woods were
brilliant with crimson and gold, except where the oak-leaves rustled
brown, or the evergreens mingled their dark forms with the pervading
brightness. It was a perfect Sabbath day, hushed and restful. But it
must be confessed that Shenac shrank a little from its long, quiet,
unoccupied hours; and when something was said about the great
congregation that would be sure to assemble in the new kirk, she said
she would like to go.
"Go, by all means," said the mother; "and Hamish too, if you are able
for the walk. Little Flora can do all that is to be done. There's
nothing to hinder, if you would like to go."
There was nothing to hinder; the mother seemed better and more cheerful
than she had seemed for many days. They might very well leave her for a
little while; they would be home again in the afternoon. So they went
early--long before the people were setting out--partly that they might
have time to rest by the way, and partly that they might enjoy the walk
together.
And they did enjoy it. They were young, and unconsciously their hearts
strove to throw off the burden of care that had pressed so long and so
heavily upon them.
"It has seemed like the old days again," said Shenac as they came in
sight of the new kirk, round which many people had already gathered.
They were strangers mostly, or, at least, people that they did not know
very well; and, a little shy and unaccustomed to a crowd, they went into
the kirk and sat down near the door. It was a very bright, pleasant
house, quite unlike the dim, dreary old place they were accustomed to
worship in; and they looked round them with surprise and interest.
In a little time the congregation began to gather, and soon the pews
were filled and the aisles crowded with an eager multitude; then the
minister came in, and worship began. First the psalm was named, and
then there was a pause till the hundreds of Bibles or psalm books were
opened and the place found. Then the old familiar words were heard, and
yet could they be the same?
Shenac looked at her Bible. The very same. She had learned the psalm
years ago. She had heard it many a time in the minister's monotonous
voice in the old kirk; and yet she seemed to hear it now for the first
time. Was it the minister's voice that made the difference? Every word
fell sweet and clear and full from his lips--from his heart--touching
the hearts of the listening hundreds. Then the voice of praise arose
"like the sound of many waters." After the first verse Hamish joined,
but through it all Shenac listened; she alone was silent. With the full
tones of youth and middle age mingled the shrill, clear notes of little
children, and the cracked and trembling voices of old men and women,
dwelling and lingering on the sweet words as if they were loath to leave
them. It might not be much as music, but as praise it rose to Heaven.
Then came the prayer. Shenac thought of Jacob wrestling all night with
the angel at Jabbok, and said to herself, "As a prince he hath power
with God." Then came the reading of the Scriptures, then more singing,
and then the sermon began.
Shenac did not fall asleep when the text was read; she listened, and
looked, and wondered. There were no sleepers there that day, even old
Donald and Elspat Smith were awake and eager. Every face was turned
upward towards the minister. Many of them were unknown to Shenac; but
on those that were familiar to her an earnestness, new and strange,
seemed to rest as they listened.
What could it be? The sermon seemed to be just like other sermons, only
the minister seemed to be full of the subject, and eager to make the
truth known to the people. Shenac turned to her brother: she quite
started when she saw his face. It was not peace alone, or joy, or
triumph, but peace and joy and triumph were brightly blended on the
boy's face as he hung on the words of life spoken there that day.
"They with the fatness of thy house
Shall be well satisfied;
From rivers of thy pleasures thou
Wilt drink to them provide,"
repeated Shenac. And again it came into her mind that Hamish was
changed, and held in his heart a treasure which she did not share; and
still the words of the psalm came back:--
"Because of life the fountain pure
Remains alone with thee;
And in that purest light of thine
We clearly light shall see."
Did Hamish see that light? She looked away from her brother's fair face
to the congregation about them. Did these people see it? did old Donald
and Elspat Smith see it? did big Maggie Cairns, at whose simplicity and
queerness all the young people used to laugh, see it? Yes, even on her
plain, common face a strange, bright look seemed to rest, as she turned
it to the minister. There were other faces too with that same gleam of
brightness on them--old weather-beaten faces, some of them careworn
women's faces, and the faces of young girls and boys, one here and
another there, scattered through the earnest, listening crowd.
By a strong effort Shenac turned her attention to the minister's words.
They were earnest words, surely, but wherein did they differ from the
words of other men? They seemed to her just like the truths she had
heard before--more fitly spoken, perhaps, than when they fell from the
lips of good old Mr Farquharson, but just the same.
"For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a
good man some would even dare to die. But God commendeth his love
toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."
This was the text. It was quite familiar to her; and so were the truths
drawn from it, she thought. What could be the cause of the interest
that she saw in the faces of those eager hundreds? Did they see
something hidden from her? did they hear in those words something to
which her ears were deaf? Her eyes wandered from one familiar face to
another, coming back to her brother's always with the same wonder; and
she murmured again and again,--
"From rivers of thy pleasures thou
Wilt drink to them provide."
"He that drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never
thirst."
"That is for Hamish, I'm sure of that. I wonder how it all happened to
him? I'll ask him."
But she did not. The bright look was on his face when the sermon ended,
and while the psalm was sung. It was there when the great congregation
slowly dispersed, and all the way as they walked home with the
neighbours. It was there all day, and all the week; and it never left
him. Even when pain and sickness set their mark on his face, through
all their sorrowful tokens the bright look of peace shone still; and
Shenac watched and wondered, but she did not speak of it yet.
This was Shenac's first visit to the new kirk, but it was by no means
the last.
It would be out of place to enter here into any detailed history of this
one of those awakenings of God's people which have taken place at
different times in this part of the country; and yet it cannot be quite
passed over. For a long time all the settlers in that neighbourhood
worshipped in the same kirk; but when the time came which proved the
Church in the motherland--the time which separated into two bodies that
which had long been one--the same division extended to the far-away
lands where the Scottish form of worship had prevailed. After a time,
they who went away built another house in which they might worship the
God of their fathers; and it was at the time of the opening of this
house that the Lord visited his people.
A few of those to whom even the dust of Zion is dear, seeking to
consecrate the house, and with it themselves, more entirely to God's
service, met for prayer for a few nights before the public dedication;
and from that time for more than a year not a night passed in which the
voice of prayer and praise did not arise within its walls. All through
the busy harvest-time, through the dark autumn evenings, when the unmade
roads of the country were deep and dangerous, and through the frosts and
snows of a bitter winter, the people gathered to the house of prayer.
Old people, who in former years had thought themselves too feeble to
brave the night and the storm for the sake of a prayer-meeting, were now
never absent. Young people forsook the merry gatherings of singers and
dancers, to join the assemblies of God's people.
It was a wonderful time, all say who were there then. Connected with it
were none of those startling circumstances which in many minds are
associated with a time of revival. The excitement was deep, earnest,
and silent; there was in use none of the machinery for creating or
keeping up an interest in the meetings. A stranger coming into one of
those assemblies might have seen nothing different from the usual weekly
gatherings of God's people. The minister held forth the word of life as
at other times. It was the simple gospel, the preaching of Christ and
him crucified, that prevailed, through the giving of God's grace, to the
saving of many.
At some of the meetings others besides the minister took part. At first
it was only the elders or the old people who led the devotions of the
rest, or uttered words of counsel or encouragement; but later, as God
gave them grace and courage, younger men raised their voices in
thanksgivings or petitions, or to tell of God's dealings with them. But
all was done gravely and decently. There was no pressing of excited and
ignorant young people to the "anxious seats," no singing of "revival
hymns." They sang the Psalms from first to last--the old, rough
version, which people nowadays criticise and smile at, wondering how
ever the cramped lines and rude metre could find so sure and permanent a
place in the hearts and memories of their fathers. It is said now that
these old psalms are quite insufficient for all occasions of praise; but
to those people, with hearts overflowing with revived or new-found love,
it did not seem so. The suffering and sorrowful saint found utterance
in the cry of the psalmist, and the rejoicing soul found in his words
full expression for the most triumphant and joyful praise. They who
after many wanderings were coming back to their first love, and they who
had never come before, alike took his words of self-abasement as their
own. So full and appropriate and sufficient did they prove, that at
last old and experienced Christians could gather from the psalm chosen
what were the exercises of the reader's mind; and the ignorant, or those
unaccustomed to put their thoughts in words, found a voice in the words
which the Sabbath singing and family worship had made familiar to them.
After a time, when the number of inquirers became so numerous that they
could not be conveniently received at the manse or at the houses of the
elders, they were requested to stay when the congregation dispersed; and
oftentimes the few went while the most remained. Then was there many a
word "fitly spoken;" many a "word in season" uttered from heart to
heart; many a seeking sinner pointed to the Lamb of God; many a
sorrowful soul comforted; many a height of spiritual attainment made
visible to upward-gazing eyes; many a vision of glory revealed.
I must not linger on these scenes, wondrous in the eyes of all who
witnessed them. Many were gathered into the Church, into the kingdom,
and the name of the Lord was magnified. In the day when all things
shall be made manifest, it shall be known what wonders of grace were
there in silence wrought.
For a long time Shenac came to these meetings very much as Dan had
done--because of the interest she took in seeing others deeply moved.
She came as a spectator, wondering what it all meant, interested in what
was said because of the earnestness of the speakers, and enjoying the
clear and simple utterance of truth, hitherto only half understood.
But gradually her attitude was changed. It was less easy after a while
to set herself apart, for many a truth came home to her sharply and
suddenly. Now and then a momentary gleam of light flashed upon her,
showing how great was her need of the help which Heaven alone could
give. Many troubled and anxious thoughts she had, but she kept them all
to herself. She never lingered behind with those who wished for
counsel; she never even spoke to Hamish of all that was passing in her
heart.
This was, for many reasons, a time of great trial for Shenac. Day after
day and week after week passed, and still there came no tidings from
Allister or Evan, and every passing day and week seemed to her to make
the hope of their return more uncertain. The mother was falling into a
state which was more terrible to Shenac than positive illness would have
been. Her memory was failing, and she was becoming in many things like
a child. She was more easily dealt with in one sense, for she was
hardly ever fretful or exacting now; but the gentle passiveness that
assented to all things, the forgetfulness of the trifles of the day, and
the pleased dwelling on scenes and events of long ago, were far more
painful to her children than her fretfulness had ever been.
With a jealousy which all may not be able to understand, Shenac strove
to hide from herself and others that her mother's mind was failing. She
punished any seeming neglect or disrespect to their mother on the part
of the little ones with a severity that no wrong-doing had ever called
forth before, and resented any sympathising allusions of the neighbours
to her mother's state as an insult and a wrong.
She never left her. Even the nightly assembling in the kirk, which soon
began to interest her so deeply, could not beguile her from home till
her mother had been safely put to rest, with Hamish to watch over her.
All this, added to her household cares, told upon Shenac. But a worse
fear, a fear more terrible than even the uncertainty of Allister's fate
or the doubt as to her mother's recovery, was taking hold upon her. Her
determination to drive it from her served to keep it ever in view, for
it made her watch every change in the face and in the strength of her
beloved brother with an eagerness which she could not conceal.
Yes, Hamish was less strong than he had been last year. The summer's
visit to the springs had not done for him this year what it had done
before. He was thinner and paler, and less able to exert himself, than
ever. Even Dan saw it, and gave up all thoughts of going to the woods
again, and devoted himself to out-door matters with a zeal that left
Shenac free to attend to her many cares within.
At last she took courage and spoke to her brother about her fears for
him. He was greatly surprised, both at her fears and at the emotion
with which she spoke of them. She meant to be very quiet, but when she
opened her lips all that was in her heart burst forth. He would not
acknowledge himself ill. He suffered less than he had often done when
he went to the fields daily, though there still lingered enough of
rheumatic trouble about him to make him averse to move much, and
especially to brave the cold. That was the reason he looked so wan and
wilted--that and the anxious thoughts about his mother.
"And, indeed, Shenac, you are more changed than I am in looks, for that
matter."
Shenac made an incredulous movement.
"I am perfectly well," said she.
"Yes; but you are changed. You are much thinner than you used to be,
and sometimes you look pale and very weary, and you are a great deal
older-looking."
"Well, I am older than I used to be," said Shenac.
She rose and crossed the room to look at herself in the glass.
"I don't see any difference," she added, after a moment.
"Not just now, maybe, because you have been busy and your cheeks are
red. And as for being a great deal older, how old are you, Shenac?"
"I am--I shall be nineteen in September; but I feel a great deal older
than that," said Shenac.
"Yes; that is what I was saying. You are changed as well as I. And you
are not to fancy things about me and add to your trouble. I am quite
well. If I were not, I would tell you, Shenac. It would be cruel
kindness to keep it from you; I know that quite well."
Shenac looked wistfully in her brother's face.
"I know I am growing a coward," she said in a broken voice. "O Hamish,
it does seem as though our troubles were too many and hard to bear just
now!"
"He who sent them knows them--every one; and He can make his grace
sufficient for us," said Hamish softly.
"Ay, for you, Hamish."
"And for you too, Shenac. You are not very far from the light, dear
sister. Never fear."
"And in that purest light of thine
We clearly light shall see,"
murmured Shenac. They were ever coming into her mind--bits of the
psalms she had been hearing so much lately; and they brought comfort,
though sometimes she hesitated to take it to her heart as she might.
But light was near at hand, and peace and comfort were not far away.
Afterwards, Shenac always looked back to this night as the beginning of
her Christian life. This night she went to the house of prayer, from
which her fears for Hamish had for a long time kept her, and there the
Lord met her. Oh, how weary in body and mind and heart she was as she
sat down among the people! It seemed to her that not one of all the
congregation was so hopeless or so helpless as she--that no one in all
the world needed a Saviour more. As she sat there in the silence that
preceded the opening of the meeting, all her fears and anxieties came
over her like a flood, and she felt herself unable to stand up against
them in her own strength. She was hardly conscious of putting into
words the cry of her heart for help; but words are not needed by Him
from whom alone help can come.
God does not always choose the wisest and greatest, even among his own
people, to do his noblest work. It was a very humble servant of God
through whose voice words of peace were spoken to Shenac. In the midst
of her trouble she heard a voice--an old man's weak, quavering voice--
saying,--
"Praise God. The Lord praise, O my soul.
I'll praise God while I live;
While I have being to my God
In songs I'll praises give.
Trust not in princes;"
and so on to the fifth verse, which he called the key-note of the
psalm:--
"O happy is that man and blest,
Whom Jacob's God doth aid;
Whose hope upon the Lord doth rest,
And on his God is stay'd;"
and so on to the end of the 146th Psalm, pausing on every verse to tell,
in plain and simple words, why it is that they who trust in God are so
blessed.
I daresay there were some in the kirk that night who grew weary of the
old man's talk, and would fain have listened to words more fitly chosen;
but Shenac was not one of these. As she listened, there came upon her a
sense of her utter sinfulness and helplessness, and then an
inexpressible longing for the help of Him who is almighty. And I cannot
tell how it came to pass, but even as she sat there she felt her
heaviest burdens roll away; the clouds that had hung over her so long,
hiding the light, seemed to disperse; and she saw, as it were, face to
face, Him who came to bear our griefs and carry our sorrows, and
thenceforth all was well with her.
Well in the best sense. Not that her troubles and cares were at an end.
She had many of these yet; but after this she lived always in the
knowledge that she had none that were not of God's sending, so she no
longer wearied herself by trying to bear her burdens alone.
It was not that life was changed to her. _She_ was changed. The same
Spirit who, through God's Word and the example and influence of her
brother, made her dissatisfied with her own doings, still wrought in
her, enlightening her conscience, quickening her heart, and filling her
with love to Him who first loved her.
It would not have been easy for her, in the first wonder and joy of the
change, to tell of it in words, except that, like the man who was born
blind, she might have said, "One thing I know, that whereas I was blind,
now I see." But her life told what her lips could not, and in a
thousand ways it became evident to those at home, and to all who saw
her, that something had happened to Shenac--that she was at peace with
herself and with all the world as she had not been before; and as for
Hamish, he said to himself many a time, "It does not matter what happens
to Shenac now. All will be well with her, now and always."