But I must go back again to the June days when Shenac's peace was new.
The light came in through the western window, not from the sun, but from
the glory he had left behind; and with his face upturned towards the
golden clouds, Hamish sat gazing, as if he saw heaven beyond.
"Ready and waiting!" thought Shenac--"ready and waiting!"
For a moment she thought she must have spoken the words aloud, as her
brother turned and said,--
"I have just one thing left to wish for, Shenac. If I could only see
Mr Stewart once again."
"He said he would come, dear, in August or September," said Shenac,
after a moment's pause.
"I shall not see him, then," said Hamish softly.
"He might come sooner, perhaps, if he knew," said Shenac. "Allister
might write to him."
"I so long to see him!" continued Hamish. "I do love him so, Shenac
dear--next to you, I think. Indeed, I know not which I love best. Oh,
I could never tell you all the cause I have to love him."
"He would be sure to come," said his sister.
"I want to see him because I love him, and because he loves me, and
because--" He paused.
"Have you anything to say to him that I could tell him afterwards? But
he will be sure to come."
"You could write and ask him, Shenac."
"Yes; oh yes. Only Allister could do it better," said Shenac; "but I
could let him know that you are longing to see him again."
But it was Hamish himself who wrote--two broken lines, very unlike the
letters he used to take so much pains to make perfect. But the
irregular, almost illegible, characters were eloquent to his friend; and
in a few days there came an answer, saying that in a day or two business
would bring him within fifty miles of their home, and it would go hard
with him if he could not get a day for his friend. And almost as soon
as his letter he himself came. He had travelled all night to accomplish
it, and must travel all night again; but in the meantime there was a
long summer day before them.
A long, happy day it was, and long to be remembered. They had it mostly
to themselves. All the morning Mr Stewart sat beside the low couch of
Hamish, and spoke or was silent as he had strength to listen or reply.
On the other side sat Shenac, never speaking, never moving, except when
her brother needed her care.
Once, when Hamish slumbered, Mr Stewart, touching her bowed head with
his hand, whispered,--
"Is it well?" And Shenac answered, "It is well. I would not have it
otherwise."
"And afterwards?" said her friend.
"I cannot look beyond," she murmured.