But Shenac's work at home was not all done yet. Sitting that night by
the fireside with her brother, could she have got a glimpse of the next
few months and all they were to bring about, her courage might have
failed her; for sorrowful as some of the past days had been, more
sorrowful days were awaiting her--sorrowful days, yet sweet, and very
precious in remembrance.
A very quiet and happy week passed, and then Allister and his wife came
home. There was some pleasure-seeking then, in a quiet way; for the
newly-married pair were entertained by their friends, and there were a
few modest gatherings in the new house, and the hands of the two Shenacs
were full with the preparations, and with the arrangement of new
furniture, and making all things as they ought to be in the new house.
But in the midst of the pleasant bustle Hamish fell ill. It was not
much, they all thought--a cold only, which proved rather obstinate and
withstood all the mild attempts made with herb-drinks and applications
to remove it. But they were not alarmed about it. Even when the doctor
was sent for, even when he came again of his own accord, and yet again,
they were not much troubled. For Hamish had been so much better all the
winter. He had had no return of his old rheumatic pains. He would soon
be well again, they all said,--except himself; and he said nothing.
They were inclined to make light of his present illness, rejoicing that
he was no longer racked with the terrible pains that in former winters
had made his nights sleepless and his days a weariness. He suffered
now, especially at first, but not as he had suffered then.
All through March he kept his bed, and through April he kept his room;
but he was comfortable, comparatively--only weak, very weak. He could
read, and listen to reading, and enjoy the family conversation; and his
room became the place where, in the gloaming, all dropped in to have a
quiet time. This room had been called during the building of the house
"the mother's room," but when Hamish became ill it was fitted up for
him. It was a pleasant room, having a window which looked towards the
south over the finest fields of the farm, and one which looked west,
where the sun went down in glory, over miles and miles of unbroken
forest.
Even now, though years have passed since then, Shenac, shutting her
eyes, can see again the fair picture which that western window framed.
There is the mingling of gorgeous colours--gold, and crimson, and
purple, fading into paler tints above. There is the glory of the
illuminated forest, and on this side the long shadows of the trees upon
the hills. Within, there is the beautiful pale face, radiant with a
light which is not all reflected from the glory without--her brother's
dying face.
Now, when troubles come, when fightings without and fears within assail
her, when household cares make her weary, and the thought of guiding
wayward hearts and wandering feet makes her afraid, the remembrance of
this room comes back to her as the remembrance of Bethel or Peniel must
have come to Jacob in his after-wanderings, and her strength is renewed.
For there _she_ met God face to face. There she was _smitten_, and
there the same hand healed her. There she tasted the sweetness of the
cup of bitterness which God puts to the lips of those of his children
who humbly and willingly, through grace which he gives, drink it to the
dregs. The memory of that room and the western window is like the
memory of the stone which the prophet set up--"The stone of help."
"I will trust, and not be afraid."
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will
fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort
me."
The words seem to come again from the dear dying lips; and as they were
surely his to trust to, to lean on when nought else could avail, so in
all times of trouble Shenac knows that they are most surely hers.
But much sorrow came before the joy. March passed, and April, and
May-day came, warm and bright this year again; and for the first time
for many weeks Hamish went out-of-doors. He did not go far; just down
to the creek, now flowing full again, to sit a little in the sunshine,
with a plaid about his shoulders and another under his feet. It was
pleasant to feel the wind in his face. All the sights and sounds of
spring were pleasant to him--the gurgle of the water, the purple tinge
on the woods, the fields growing fair with a tender green.
Allister left the plough in the furrow, and came striding down the long
field, just to say it was good to see him there. Dan shouted, "Well
done, Hamish, lad!" in the distance; and little Flora risked being too
late for the school, in her eagerness to gather a bunch of spring
flowers for him. As for Shenac, she was altogether triumphant. There
was no cloud of care darkening the brightness of her loving eyes, no
fear from the past or for the future resting on her face. Looking at
her, and at his fair little sister tying up her treasures for him,
Hamish for a moment longed--oh, so earnestly!--to live, for their sakes.
Hidden away among Flora's most precious treasures is a faded bunch of
spring-flowers, tied with a thread broken from the fringe of the plaid
on which her brother sat that day; and looking at them now, she knows
that when Hamish took them from her hand, and kissed and blessed her
with loving looks, it was with the thought in his heart of the long
parting drawing near. But she did not dream of it then, nor did Shenac.
He watched with wistful eyes the little figure dancing over the field
and down the road, saying softly as she disappeared,--
"I would like to live a little while, for their sakes."
Shenac did not catch the true sense of his words, and mistaking him, she
said eagerly,--
"Ah, yes, if we could manage it--you and Flora and I. Allister might
have the lads; he will make men of them. I am not wise enough nor
patient enough. But you and Flora and I--it would be so nice for us to
live together till we grow old." And Shenac cast longing looks towards
the little log-house where they had lived so long and so happily.