It is all over. I have given him my book. My secret is out. He knows
now. I almost think he has known all along.
I had dressed even more carefully than usual, with nurse's Irish lace
about my neck as a collar, and my black hair brushed smooth in my
mother's manner, and when I went downstairs by help of my usual kind
crutch (it is wonderful how strong I have been to-day) everybody said
how much better I was looking.
Martin was there, and he took me into the garden. It was a little late
in the afternoon, but such a sweet and holy time, with its clear air and
quiet sunshine--one of those evenings when Nature is like a nun
"breathless with adoration."
Although I had a feeling that it was to be our last time together we
talked on the usual subjects--the High Bailiff, the special license,
"the boys" of the _Scotia_ who were coming over for my wedding, and how
some of them would have to start out early in the morning.
But it didn't matter what we talked about. It was only what we felt, and
I felt entirely happy--sitting there in my cushions, with my white hand
in his brown one, looking into his clear eyes and ruddy face or up to
the broad blue of the sky.
The red sun had begun to sink down behind the dark bar of St. Mary's
Rock, and the daisies in the garden to close their eyes and drop their
heads in sleep, when Martin became afraid of the dew.
Then we went back to the house--I walking firmly, by Martin's side,
though I held his arm so close.
The old doctor was in his consulting room, nurse was in my room, and we
could hear Christian Ann upstairs putting baby into her darling white
cot--she sleeps with grandma now.
The time came for me to go up also, and then I gave him my book, which I
had been carrying under my arm, telling him to read the last pages
first.
Although we had never spoken of my book before he seemed to know all
about it; and it flashed upon me at that moment that, while I thought I
had been playing a game of make-believe with him, he had been playing a
game of make-believe with me, and had known everything from the first.
There was a certain relief in that, yet there was a certain sting in it,
too. What strange creatures we are, we women!
For some moments we stood together at the bottom of the stairs, holding
each other's hands. I was dreadfully afraid he was going to break down
as he did at Castle Raa, and once again I had that thrilling, swelling
feeling (the most heavenly emotion that comes into a woman's life,
perhaps) that I, the weak one, had to strengthen the strong.
It was only for a moment, though, and then he put his great gentle arms
about me, and kissed me on the lips, and said, _silently_ but oh, so
eloquently, "Good-bye darling, and God bless you!"
Then I walked upstairs alone, quite alone, and when I reached the top he
was still at the bottom looking up at me. I smiled down to him, then
walked firmly into my room and up to my bed, and then . . . down, all
my strength gone in a moment.
* * * * *
I have had such a wonderful experience during the night. It was like a
dream, and yet something more than a dream. I don't want to make too
much of it--to say that it was a vision or any supernatural
manifestation such as the blessed Margaret Mary speaks about. Perhaps it
was only the result of memory operating on my past life, my thoughts and
desires. But perhaps it was something higher and more spiritual, and
God, for my comforting, has permitted me to look for one moment behind
the veil.
I thought it was to-morrow--my wedding day, and the day of Father Dan's
thanksgiving celebration--and I was sitting by my French window (which
was wide open) to look at the procession.
I seemed to see everything--Father Dan in his surplice, the fishermen in
their clean "ganzies," the village people in their Sunday clothes, the
Rechabites, the Foresters, and the Odd-fellows with their coloured
badges and banners coming round the corner of the road, and the mothers
with babies too young to be left looking on from the bridge.
I thought the procession passed under my window and went on to the
church, which was soon crowded, leaving numbers of people to kneel on
the path in front, as far down as the crumbling gate piers which lean
towards each other, their foundations having given way.
Then I thought Benediction began, and when the congregation sang I sang
also. I heard myself singing:
"_Mater purissima,
Ora pro nobis_."
Down to this moment I thought I had been alone, but now the Reverend
Mother entered my room, and she joined me. I heard her deep rich voice
under mine:
"_Mater castissima
Ora pro nobis_."
Then I thought the _Ora_ ended, and in the silence that followed it I
heard Christian Arm talking to baby on the gravel path below. I had
closed my eyes, yet I seemed to see them, for I felt as if I were under
some strange sweet anæsthetic which had taken away all pain but not all
consciousness.
Then I thought I saw Martin come close under my window and lift baby up
to me, and say something about her.
I tried to answer him and could not, but I smiled, and then there was
darkness, in which I heard voices about me, with somebody sobbing and
Father Dan saying, as he did on the morning my mother died:
"Don't call her back. She's on her way to God's beautiful paradise after
all her suffering."
After that the darkness became still deeper, and the voices faded away,
and then gradually a great light came, a beautiful, marvellous,
celestial light, such as Martin describes when he speaks about the
aurora, and then . . . I was on a broad white snowy plateau, and Martin
was walking by my side.
How wonderful! How joyful! How eternally glorious!
* * * * *
It is 4 A.M. Some of "the boys" will be on their way to my wedding.
Though I have been often ashamed of letting them come I am glad now for
his sake that I didn't try to keep them back. With his comrades about
him he will control himself and be strong.
* * * * *
Such a peaceful morning! There is just light enough to see St. Mary's
Rock. It is like a wavering ghost moving in the vapour on the face of
the deep. I can hear the far-off murmur of the sea. It is like the
humming in a big shell. A bird is singing in the garden and the swallows
are twittering in a nest under the thatch. A mist is lying over the
meadows, and the tree tops seem to be floating between the earth and the
sky.
How beautiful the world is!
Very soon the mist will rise, and the day will break and the sun will
come again and . . . there will be no more night.
[END OF THE NARRATIVE OF MARY O'NEILL]