"It is the most painful part of a pastor's duty to administer reproof,
and more especially to members of his flock whose years should have
brought them wisdom and self-control."
Annie clasped her hands on her knees, and looked meekly in his face.
"I should have hoped," Mr Ruthven went on, "that a Christian woman of
your standing, and one who is blest, as you yourself have been known to
acknowledge, with a life of peace, would have had compassion on a most
suffering sister, and have rather striven to alleviate her sorrows, and
to soften her occasional self-reproach for what she amiably calls her
infirmities of sensibility, than have wounded and upbraided her, and
treacherously cut off her frail chance of release from a most unjust
captivity."
"I!--I wound and upbraid Lady Carse!"
"Now, do not compel me to remind you of what you ought to know full
well--the deceitfulness of the human heart. Listen to me."
Again Annie looked gently in his face.
"I left that poor lady, already overwhelmed with misfortune, prostrated
anew by your attack of this afternoon. I left her dissolved in tears--
shaken by agitation; and I resolved that my first act of duty should be
to remonstrate privately--observe, I say privately--against the
heartlessness which could pour in drops of bitterness to make the
already brimming cup overflow. Now, what have you to say?"
"I should wish to know, sir, what part of my conduct it is that is
wrong. If I knew this, I am sure--"
"If you knew! My good woman, this blindness and self-satisfaction
appear to show that this life of peace, which you yourself acknowledge
yours has been, has gone somewhat too far--has not been altogether
blessed to you. If you are really so satisfied with yourself as to be
unable to see any sin within you--"
"Oh, sir! Do not think me impatient if I make haste to say that I never
harboured such a thought. It makes me sink with shame to think of my
ever having possibly such a thought. What I asked for, sir, was to know
my sin towards Lady Carse, that I might make reparation if I could,
and--will it please you, sir, to tell me--"
"Tell me, rather, what sin you are conscious of; and we shall then get
at the bottom of this last offence. Come, let me hear!"
Annie looked down, hesitated, blushed deeply, and said she supposed it
was owing to her not being accustomed to the blessing of having a pastor
that she found it so difficult to open her heart now that the blessing
was given for which she had so often prayed. She would strive to
overcome the difficulty. After a pause she said her chief trouble about
her state of mind was that some of her trust and peace seemed to have
left her.
"Ah! the moment it is put to the test!" said Mr Ruthven.
"Just so, sir; that is what I said to myself. As long as I lived alone,
out of the sound of any voice but Rollo's, I thought my peace was
settled, and that I was only waiting for the better peace which is to
come hereafter. Then, when Rollo was away, and my mind was searching
doubtfully after him, where he might be, and whether safe or killed, I
could always find rest, and say to myself that he was in God's hand, to
die _now_ or to live to close my eyes. But now, sir, there is a sadness
come over me; though I am obliged to your dear children for many
cheerful hours--I would not forget that. But as for my own child, when
I hear his voice merry from behind your garden wall, when I have been
longing for days to see his face--or when your children tell me things
that he has said, just while my ear is pining for his voice, I find
myself less settled in mind than I was--much less settled, sir, than I
think a Christian woman ought to be."
"And this indicates more than you tell me," observed Mr Ruthven. "What
can you have done to drive your son from his home and from his mother's
side? Some mistake there must be, to say the very least--some fatal
mistake, I will call it, for I would not be severe--some awful mistake.
Eh?"
"Perhaps so, sir." And she smothered a sigh.
The minister then gave her, at some length, his views on education,
insisting much on the duty of making young people happy at home; ending
with saying that no young man could, he thought, expect much comfort in
the society of a mother who could be so reckless of anybody's peace as
she had shewn herself that afternoon. He hoped she would take what he
said in good part. It was not pleasant to him to deal rebuke but he
must not shrink from it; and he rose to go.
"Certainly, sir," said Annie, rising too, and holding by the bed to
steady herself. "But, sir, if you would please to tell me particularly
what you think I have done so wrong to-day--Sir, you would not have me
let my son be made a smuggler?"
"You should--Nothing can be clearer than that you should--I wonder you
need to be told that you should have spoken to me. Instead of which,
you went quietly and told Macdonald."
"I am sure, sir, I thought you knew all about it."
"What of that? I am here at hand, to be your adviser--not to be treated
with disrespect. I leave you now to think over what I have said. I
trust the result will be that you will make what reparation you can to
Lady Carse: though it is foolish to talk of reparation; for the mischief
done is, I fear, irreparable. I leave you to think of this. Good
evening!"
Annie thought of all that had passed; and of a few other things. She
thought that while it was clear that a pastor might take a wrong view of
the state of mind and conduct of one of his flock, it was a privilege to
know, at least, what view he took. He was faithful, as far as plain
speaking went: and that was much. And then, it is so rarely that any
censure is uttered for which there is absolutely no foundation, that it
is usually profitable to receive it. While feeling that "it is a small
thing to be judged of man's judgment," it may be a great thing to know a
man's unfavourable opinion of us. She would soon recover from this
conversation; and then, if she had obtained any wisdom from it, it would
be, after all, the marking blessing of this day. She was not aware of
another: that Mr Ruthven had been somewhat touched by what she had said
of Rollo--his eyes somewhat opened.
Once more her mind rested on the idea now become so prominent with her.
"The sabbath is coming round again," she thought. "It pleases God to
give us a complete blessing then. It is His word that is spoken then--
His judgment that we are judged by. Nothing comes between us and Him
then. There is always the sabbath now to think of."
Tired as she was, or as she thought herself till she found herself
enjoying the repose of the moonlight shore, there was one more walk
necessary before Annie could try to sleep.
The sea was calm, and there was scarcely any wind. If the smuggling
vessel had approached the island in any part, it could hardly have got
away again. She had not seen it from her hill-side; but she must be
satisfied that it was not on the northern shore. The western was safe
enough, from its being overlooked from Macdonald's farm.
Annie had just reached the longest and widest stretch of beach when the
large moon rose out of the still waters. There was not even the
slightest veil of mist obscuring the horizon; and the fluctuation of the
water-line was distinct upon the clear disk of the moon. The gush of
quivering light which instantaneously reached from the horizon to her
feet illumined Annie's heart no less than the scene around her. The
ripple of the little waves which played upon the pebbles was music to
her ear. In a tranquil and hopeful spirit she thought of her errand,
and looked steadily over the whole expanse of the sea, where, under the
broad moonlight, and a sky which had at this season no darkness in it,
there was certainly no vessel in sight.
Pursuing her walk northwards, she perceived a small dark object lying on
the silvery sands. When she reached it, she found it was a little cask,
which the smell declared to contain rum. By the smell, and the cask
being light, it was clear that some of the spirit had been spilled.
Annie found a small hole, beside which lay a quill. She feared that
this told too plainly of the neighbourhood of smugglers, and her heart
sunk. She went on, and immediately saw another dark object lying on the
beach--a person, as she thought. It was a woman, in the common country
clothing, sound asleep. Annie hastened to wake her, thinking it unsafe
to sleep under the moon's rays. To her extreme surprise she found it
was Lady Carse.
She could imagine the lady to have come down in hope of meeting a
smuggling vessel. She would not have wondered to meet her wandering
among the coves; but that on such an errand, at such a time, she should
be asleep, was surprising.
Annie tried gentle means to rouse her, which would enable her to slip
away as the lady awoke, sparing her the pain of her presence. She
rattled the pebbles with her foot, coughed, and at last sang--but all
without causing the lady to stir. Then the widow was alarmed, and
stooped to look closer. The sleeper breathed heavily, her head was hot,
and her breath told the secret of her unseasonable drowsiness. Annie
shrank back in horror. At first she concluded that much of Lady Carse's
violent passion was now accounted for. But she presently considered it
more probable that this was a single instance of intemperance, caused by
the temptation of finding a leaking cask of spirit on the sands, just in
a moment of disappointment, and perhaps of great exhaustion. This
thought made Annie clear what to do.
She went back to the cask, made the hole larger with a stone, and poured
out all the rum upon the sand. The cask was now so light that she could
easily roll it down to the margin of the tide, where she left it, half
full of sea-water. Having thus made all safe behind her, she proceeded
to the coves, where she found, not any signs of a vessel, but one of
Macdonald's men on the watch. From him she learned that Macdonald had
gone out to look for the smuggling boat; had seen it, and turned it
back; and that the smuggling crew had been obliged to throw overboard
some of their cargo to lighten their vessel for flight. Macdonald
thought they would hardly venture hither again for some time to come.
This was good news; but there was better; Rollo was not with the
smugglers. He was out fowling this afternoon. Perhaps by this time he
might be at home.
Annie's errand was finished; and she might now return and rest.
Macdonald's man spoke of his hope of some goods being washed up by the
next tide. Annie told him nothing of the cask, nor of what she had done
with the rum. She commended him to his watch, and left him.
Lady Carse was still sleeping, but less heavily. She roused herself
when spoken to, started up, and looked about her, somewhat bewildered.
"I took the liberty, madam, of speaking to you, to waken you," said
Annie; "because the moon is up, and was shining on your head, which is
considered bad for the health."
"Really," said Lady Carse, "it is very odd. I don't know how I could
think of falling asleep here. I suppose I was very tired."
"You look so now, madam. Better finish your sleep at home. And first,
if I may advise you, you will throw some salt water on your head, and
drink some fresh at the spring, when we come to it. The people here say
that bathing the head takes away the danger from sleeping under the
moon's rays."
Lady Carse had no objection to do this, as her head was hot; and now
Annie hoped that she would escape detection by the Ruthvens, so that she
alone would know the secret. Both drank at the spring, and after that
it might be hoped that there would be little more smell of spirits about
the one than the other.
When they passed the cask, now beginning to float in the rising tide,
Lady Carse started. It was clear that she now remembered what had made
her sleep. "There is a cask!" said she, in her hurry.
"Yes, a cask of sea-water," Annie quietly observed. "I emptied out the
bad stuff that was in it, and--"
"You did! What right had you?"
"It was contraband," said Annie. "Macdonald saw the cargo thrown over:
nobody would have claimed it, and plenty would have helped themselves to
what is unfit to drink. So I poured it out upon the sand."
"Very free and easy, I must say," observed Lady Carse.
"Very," Annie agreed; "but less of a liberty than some would have taken,
if I had left it to tempt them. I threw away only what is some man's
unlawful property. Others would have thrown away that which belongs to
God, and is very precious in His eyes--the human reason, which he has
made but a little lower than the glory of the angels."
Lady Carse spoke no more--not even when they reached their own doors.
Whether she was moody or conscience-stricken, Annie could not tell. All
the more anxious was she to do her part; and she went in to pray that
the suffering lady might be saved from this new peril--the most fearful
of the snares of her most perilous life. Annie did not forget to pray
that those who had driven the sufferer to such an extremity as that she
could not resist even this means of forgetting her woes, might be struck
with such a sense of their cruelty as to save their victim before it was
too late.