"Choosing to walk in the shadow,
Patient and not afraid."
Allison had need of rest, greater need than she knew. The first days
after her long watch and service came to an end were passed in utter
quiet. No one came to disturb her, either with question or counsel.
Mr Rainy, of course, took the management of affairs into his hands; and
if he could have had his own way, everything which was to be done, and
the manner of doing it, would have been submitted to her for direction
or approval. It would, to him, have seemed right that she should go at
once to Blackhills, to await in the forsaken house the coming home of
its dead master.
But Doctor Fleming had something to say about the matter. He would not
allow a word to be spoken to her concerning any arrangement which was to
be made.
"You know that you have full power to do as you think fit with regard to
the burial, and all else that may require your oversight. Any reference
which you would be likely to make to Mistress Allison, would be a mere
matter of form, and I will not have her disturbed. Man! ye little ken
how ill able she is to bear what ye would lay upon her. As to her even
hearing a word about going up yonder, it is out of the question. Leave
her in peace for a while, and you will have the better chance of getting
your own way with her later."
"As you say, doctor, it is a mere matter of form. But forms and
ceremonies cannot ay be dispensed with. She might like to have her ain
say, as is the way with women. However, I can wait till later on, as
you advise."
So Allison was left in quiet. Brownrig was carried to his own house,
and for a few days his coffin stood there in the unbroken silence of the
place.
Then his neighbours gathered to his burial, and "gentle and simple"
followed him to his grave. As the long procession moved slowly on, many
a low-spoken word was exchanged between friends concerning the dead man
and his doings during the years he had been in the countryside. His
strong will, his uncertain temper, his faithful service to an easy and
improvident employer, all were discussed and commented upon freely
enough, yet with a certain reticence and forbearance also, since "he had
gone to his account."
It was a pity that he had become so careless about himself of late, they
said. That was the mild way in which they put it, when they alluded to
"the drink" which had been "the death of him." And who was to come
after him? Who was to get the good of what he had left?
Allison Bain's name was spoken also. Had she been wrong to go away?
Had she been right? If she had accepted her lot, might she have saved
him, and lived to be a happy woman in spite of all? Who could say? But
if all was true that his man Dickson was saying, she had helped to save
him at last.
In silence they laid him down within sight of the grave where Allison
had knelt one sorrowful day, and there they left him to his rest.
Allison was worn and spent, but she was a strong woman and she would
soon be herself again, she said, and her friends said so also. They did
not know that Doctor Fleming had, at this time, some anxiety about her.
He remembered the first days of his acquaintance with her, and the dull
despair into which she had fallen, before he sent her to Nethermuir, and
he would not have been surprised if, after the long strain upon mind and
body through which she had passed, the same suffering had fallen upon
her again. Therefore it was that he used both his authority as a
physician and his influence as a friend, to prevent any allusion to
business matters; and though he was guarded in all that he said to Mr
Rainy on the subject, he yet said enough to show him the propriety of
letting all things remain as they were, for a time.
So Allison was left at peace,--in the quiet little house which she was
beginning to call her home. She had been asked, and even entreated by
Mrs Hume, to come to the manse for a while. Mrs Beaton had written to
say how glad it would make her if Allison would come to her for a week
or two. But remembering the misery of her first months in Nethermuir,
Allison hesitated at first, and then refused them both. She was better
where she was, she said, and in a few days she would be ready for her
work again.
She did not say it to them, and she hardly confessed it to herself, but
she shrank from the thought of the eyes that would be looking at her,
and the tongues that would be discussing her, now that her secret was
known. For of course it could not be kept. All her small world would
know how who she was, and why she had come to take refuge in the manse.
They would think well of her, or ill of her, according to their natures,
but that would not trouble her if she were not there to hear and see.
So she stayed where she was, and as she could not do what she would have
liked best, she made up her mind to go back to the infirmary again.
She would have liked best to go away at once to her brother in America,
and some of her friends were inclined to wonder that she did not do so.
But Allison had her reasons, some of which she was not prepared to
discuss with any one,--which indeed she did not like to dwell upon
herself. She had been asked to come to the home of the Haddens to stay
there till her brother was ready for her. When she was stronger and
surer of herself, she would accept their kind invitation, and then she
would go to Willie--it did not matter where. East or West, far or near,
would be all the same to her in that strange land, so that she and
Willie might be able to help one another.
"And, oh! I wish the time were only come," said she.
Since this must be waited for, she would have liked well to ask kind
Doctor Thorne, who had called her "a born nurse," to let her come to
him, that she might be at his bidding, and live her life, and do some
good in the world. The first time that Doctor Fleming had come to see
her, after her long labour and care were over, it had been on her lips
to ask him to speak to the good London doctor for her. But that was at
the very first, and the fear that Doctor Fleming might wonder at her for
thinking of new plans, before the dead man was laid in his grave, had
kept her silent. After that she hesitated for other reasons. London
was faraway, and the journey was expensive, and it would only be for a
year at most, and possibly for less, as whenever her brother said he was
ready for her she must go. So there was nothing better for her to do
than just to return to her work in the infirmary, and wait with
patience.
"And surely that ought to be enough for me, after all I have come
through, just to stay there quietly and wait. I ought to ken by this
time--and I do ken--that no real ill can come upon me.
"Pain? Yes, and sorrow, and disappointment. But neither doubt, nor
fear, nor any real ill can harm me. I may be well content, since I am
sure of that. And I _am_ content, only--whiles, I am foolish and
forget."
She was not deceiving herself when she said she was content. But she
must have forgotten--being foolish--one night on which Doctor Fleming
came in to see her. For her cheeks were flushed, and there were traces
of tears upon them, as he could see clearly when the light was brought
in. She might have causes for anxiety or sorrow, of which he knew
nothing. But he would have liked to know what had brought the tears
to-night, because he, or rather Mr Rainy, had something to say to her,
and he at least was doubtful how she might receive it.
_Was_ he doubtful? Hardly that. But he was quite sure that what was to
be said, and all which might follow, would be a trouble to Allison, and
the saying of it might be put off, if she had any other trouble to bear.
"Are you rested?" said he. "Are you quite strong and well again?"
"Yes, I am quite well and strong."
"And cheerful? And hopeful?"
"Surely," said Allison, looking at him in surprise.
"Oh! I see what you are thinking. But it is only that I had a letter
to-night. No, it brought no ill news. It is from--my Marjorie. I
don't know--I canna tell why it should--"
"Why it should have made the tears come, you would say. Well, never
mind. I am not going to ask. You are much better and stronger than you
were, I am glad to say."
"Yes, I am quite well and cheerful,--only--"
But a knock came to the door, and Allison rose to open it.
"It is Mr Rainy. He has come to speak about--business. But he will
not keep you long to-night."
Mr Rainy had never come much into contact with Allison Bain. She was
to him "just a woman, like the lave." He had no wife, and no near kin
among women, and it is possible that he knew less of the sex than he
thought he did. He did not pretend to know much about Allison, but he
knew that several people, whose sense and judgment he respected, thought
well of her. She was tall and strong, and had a face at which it was a
pleasure to look, and, judging from all that he had heard about her, she
might be freer than most, from the little vanities and weaknesses usual
to her kind. She was a reasonable woman, he had heard, and that he
should have anything to do to-night, except to explain how matters
stood, and to suggest the time and the manner of certain necessary
arrangements, he had not imagined.
He came prepared to be well received, and he did not for a moment doubt
that he should make good his claim to be heard and heeded in all that
concerned the affairs which Brownrig had left in his hands. So he
greeted Allison with gravity suited to the occasion, yet with a
cheerfulness which seemed to imply that he had pleasant news to tell.
Allison received him with a quietness which, he told himself, it cost
her something to maintain. But he thought none the less of her for
that.
"No woman could stand in _her_ shoes this night, and not be moved, and
that greatly. And not one in ten could keep a grip of herself as she is
doing--no, nor one in fifty," said he to himself. Aloud he said: "I
ought, perhaps, to have given you longer time to consider when you could
receive me. But the doctor informed me that you had been at the
infirmary to-day, and as he was at liberty he suggested that you would
doubtless be willing to see us to-night. There are certain matters that
must be attended to at once."
"For the present I come home early," said Allison. "The evening is the
only time I have to myself."
"Yes. For the present, as you say. Ahem! You are aware, perhaps, that
for years I was employed by--by Mr Brownrig in the transaction of so
much of his business as was in my line. And you know that during his
last illness I was often with him, and was consulted by him. In short,
the arrangement of his affairs was left to me."
This was but the introduction to much more. Allison listened in
silence, and when he came to a pause she said quietly:
"And what can I have to do with all this?"
Mr Rainy looked a little startled.
"You are not, I should suppose, altogether unaware of the manner in
which--I mean of the provisions of your husband's will?"
"I know nothing about it," said Allison.
"Then let me have the pleasure of telling you that by this will, you
are, on certain conditions, to be put in possession of all of which Mr
Brownrig died possessed. There are a few unimportant legacies to
friends." He mentioned the names of several persons, and then went on
with his explanations.
Allison understood some things which he said, and some things she
neither understood nor heeded. When he came to an end at last, she did
not, as he expected, ask what was the condition to which he had
referred, but said:
"And what will happen if I say that I can take nothing?"
Mr Rainy looked at her in astonishment.
"That is easily told," said he, with a queer contortion of his face.
"The property of the deceased would go to the next of kin."
Then Mr Rainy waited to hear more,--waited "to see what it was that she
would be at," he said to himself.
"And it is your place to settle it all, to see that all is put right as
it should be?"
"Yes, that is my place, with the help of one or two others. Your friend
Doctor Fleming has something to do with your affairs, under the will."
"What you have to do will be to put the will aside, as if it had never
been made. I hope it will not add to the trouble you must have to
settle everything without it."
"Are you in earnest?" asked Mr Rainy gravely.
"Surely, I am in earnest."
"Do you mean to say that you refuse to receive the property which your
husband left to you? Is it because of the condition? No, it cannot be
that, for I named no condition. And indeed it is hardly a condition.
It is rather a request."
Allison asked no question, though he paused expectant.
"The condition--if it can be called a condition--is easy enough to
fulfil. It is to take possession of a fine house, and live in it--a
while every year, anyway, and to call yourself by your husband's name.
Is that a hard thing to do?"
Allison grew red and then pale.
"I have nothing to say about any condition. With no condition my
decision would have been the same. What you have to do must be done
with no thought of me."
"But what is your reason? What would you have? You were friends with
him. You were good to him all those long months. You had forgiven him
before he died."
"I think I had forgiven him long before that time. I came to him
because I was sorry for him, and he, too, had something to forgive. I
wished to be at peace with him before he died, for his sake and for my
own."
"What more need be said? You had forgiven one another, and he wished to
make amends. Give me a reason for this most astonishing resolution."
"I can give you no reason, except that I cannot take what you say he has
left to me. I have no right to it. It should go to those of his own
blood."
There was more said, but not much, and not another word was spoken by
Allison. Doctor Fleming, who had been silent hitherto, said something
about taking longer time to consider the matter--that there was no need
for haste. She should take time, and consult her friends. But he did
not seem surprised at her decision, and indeed "spoke in a half-hearted
kind of a way, which was likely to do little ill, little good in this
strange matter," Mr Rainy declared, with an echo of reproach in his
voice, as they left the house together.
"Is she a' there, think ye? It canna surely be that she refuses to be
beholden to him, because of the ill turn he did her when he married her?
She forgave him, and that should end all ill thoughts. Yes, she had
forgiven him; no one could doubt that who saw her as you saw her. And
no one would think of casting up to her that she served him with any
thought of what he had to leave behind him. But she might think so, and
I daresay she has her ain pride, for all her gentle ways. You must have
a word with her, doctor. It is easy seen that your word would go far
with her. As for me, I canna follow her, nor understand her, unless it
is that she has a want or a weakness about her somewhere."
"No," said the doctor, "it cannot be explained in that way."
"Well, what would she have? Man! think ye what many a woman would give
for her chance! A house of her own, and wealth, no responsibilities, no
incumbrances, and not a true word to be spoken against her. Why! it
would be the beginning of a new life to her. With her good looks, and
the grip she has of herself (her self-possession), she would hold her
own--no fear of that. And no one has a right to meddle with her. There
is her brother, but it is hardly likely he will trouble her. And she is
the stronger of the two, and she has had experience since the old days.
I canna fathom it--unless there be somebody else," said Mr Rainy,
standing still in the street. "Doctor, can you tell me that? I think I
would have heard of him, surely. And he would be a queer lad that would
object to her coming to him with her hands full. And there is not a
word said about her not marrying again. No, it must just be that she is
a woman of weak judgment."
They had walked a long way by this time, and now they turned into
another street, and soon came to Mr Rainy's door.
"Come in, doctor, come in. You surely must have something to say about
this strange freak, though I own I have not given you much chance to say
it. Come in if you can spare the time. It's early yet."
The doctor went in with him, but he had not much to say except that he
was not altogether surprised at Mistress Allison's decision. Indeed he
owned that he would have been surprised had she decided otherwise.
"But what, I ask, in the name of common sense, is the reason? You must
know, for you seem to have foreseen her refusal."
"I do not believe she herself could find a reason, except that she
cannot do this thing. The reason lies in her nature. She came to him,
as she says, because she was sorry for him, and because she wished that
they might forgive one another before he died. And I daresay she
thought she might do him some good. And so she did. May God bless her!
But as to what he had, or what he might do with it, I doubt if the
thought of it ever came into her mind, till you spoke the word
to-night."
Mr Rainy shook his head.
"I don't say that it is altogether beyond possibility. She seems to be
a simple-minded creature in some ways, but she's a woman. And just
think of it! A free life before her, and all that money can give--I
mean of the things dear to women--even to good and sensible women--gowns
and bonnets and--things. It couldna but have come into her mind."
"But even if she has thought of all these things, she refuses them now."
"Yes, she does that, but why? It may be that she hasna confidence in
herself. But that would come. There is no fear of a fine, stately
woman like her. It is a pity that the poor man didna get to his own
house to die."
"Yes, it was Brownrig's sole reason for wishing to go, that all might be
made easier for her. He was eager to see her in the possession of all
he had to give. It was too late, however. He failed rapidly, after he
told me his wish. Still, I do not think that her being there would have
made any difference in the end."
"Do you mean that she would have said the same in those circumstances,
and that she will hold out now? That she will go her own ways, and earn
her bread, and call herself Allison Bain to the end of her days? No,
no! she will come round. We'll give her time, and she'll come round,
and ken her ain mind better. A year and a day I'll give her, and by
that time she will be wiser and less--less, what shall I call it? Less
scrupulous."
"There are, doubtless, folk ready to put in a claim for a share of what
is left, should she refuse."
"There is one man, and he has a family. I have had my eye on him for a
while. He knows his connection with Brownrig. I don't think he is
proud of it. But he will have no scruples about taking all that he can
get, I daresay. The will, as it stands, is not to be meddled with. I
hope he may have to content himself with his five hundred pounds."
Doctor Fleming smiled.
"I should say that he stands a fair chance of taking that and all else
besides. Time will show."
"I think, doctor," said Mr Rainy gravely, "if you were to give your
mind to it, you could make her see her interest, and her duty as well."
"I am not so sure of that. Nor would I like to say, that to take _your_
way, would be either her interest or her duty."
"Nonsense, man! Consider the good a woman like that might do. I think
I'll send a letter to her friend Mr Hume. He can set her duty before
her, as to the spending of the money. They are good at that, these
ministers. And there is Mrs Esselmont! If she were to take up Allison
Bain, it would be the making of her. And she might well do it. For
John Bain came of as good a stock as any Esselmont of them all. Only of
late they let slip their chances--set them at naught, I daresay, as
Mistress Allison is like to do. Yes, I'll write to Mrs Esselmont. She
has taken to serious things of late, I hear, but she kens as weel as
anither the value of a competence to a young woman like Allison Bain."
"Does Mistress Allison know anything of this nephew of Brownrig's?"
"All that she knows is that there are folk who can claim kinship with
her husband."
"Well, I hope he is a good man if this money is to go to him, as I
cannot but think it may."
Mr Rainy said nothing for a moment, but looked doubtfully at the
doctor.
"He is an unworldly kind of a man," said he to himself, "and though he
has not said as much, I daresay he is thinking in his heart that it is a
fine thing in Allison Bain to be firm in refusing to take the benefit of
what was left to her. And if I were to tell who the next of kin is, it
might confirm her in her foolishness. But I'll say nothing to him, nor
to Mrs Esselmont."
Then he added aloud:
"Speak you a word to her. She will hear you if she will hear any one.
Make her see that it is her _duty_ to give up her own will, and take
what is hers, and help other folk with it. She is one of the kind that
thinks much of doing her duty, I should say."
Doctor Fleming smiled.
"Yes, that is quite true; if I were only sure as to what is her duty, I
would set it before her clearly. I will speak to her, however, since
you wish it, but I will let a few days pass first."
That night Robert Hume looked in upon Allison, as was his custom now and
then. Marjorie's letter lay on the table.
"There is no bad news, I hope?" said he as he met Allison's glance.
"No. Marjorie would like me to come `home,' as she calls it. Or, if
that canna be, she would like to come here."
"She could hardly come here, but you should go to the manse. You _must_
go when spring comes."
"I would like to go for some reasons. But--I would like to see my
Marjorie, and the sight of your mother would do me good, and yet I canna
think of going with any pleasure. But I may feel differently when the
spring comes."
"You went back to your auld wives too soon," said Robin.
"No, it is not that. If I am not fit to go to them, what am I fit for?"
And, to Robert's consternation, the tears came into her eyes.
"Allie," said he, "come away home to my mother."
But when Allison found her voice again, she said "no" to that.
"I havena the heart to go anywhere. My auld wives are my best friends
now. I must just have patience and wait."
"Allison," said Robert gravely, "would you not like to come with me to
America?"
Allison looked at him in astonishment.
"With you! To America!"
"Yes, with me. Why not? They have fine colleges. I could learn to be
a doctor as well there as here, at least I could learn well enough. And
then there is your brother, and--John Beaton. The change is what you
need. You wouldna, maybe, like to go by yourself, and I could take care
of you as well as another."
This hold and wise proposal had the effect of staying Allison's tears,
which was something.
"And what would your father and mother say to that, think ye?" said
Allison with a smile.
"I dinna--just ken. But I ken one thing. They would listen to reason.
They ay do that. And a little sooner or later, what difference would it
make? For it is there I am going some time, and that soon."
"And so am I, I hope--but not just yet. I couldna go to a strange land,
to bide among strange folk, until--I am fitter for it. If my brother
had a house of his own, I might go."
"But when your brother gets a house of his own, he'll be taking a wife,"
said Robert gravely.
"Surely! I would like that well."
"Oh! it will come whether you like it or no. If he canna get one, he'll
get another--there's no fear."
"Ah! but if he canna get the right one, he should take none. And he
would ay have me."
Robin might have had his own thoughts about that matter. He said
nothing, however, but that night he wrote a letter to his mother. He
wrote about various matters, as once every week it was his duty and
pleasure to do. And when he had said all else that was to be said, he
added, that Allison Bain whiles looked as she used to look in her first
days in Nethermuir--as though she had lost all her friends, and as
though she might lose herself next.
"I told her to-night that her best wisdom would be to come away with me
to America. I meant, of course, that I would go with her if she was
afraid to go by herself. For they say there are fine colleges in
America, and I could keep on with my work there. Allison is getting no
good here, among her auld wives."
Mrs Hume smiled at Robert's proposal, and so did the minister, but they
both looked grave at his account of Allison.
"It is a pity that she refuses to come here for a few weeks," said Mr
Hume.
"Yes, it might do her good. Still it would not be as it was at first.
It was because her hands were busy and her days full, that she was
helped then. It would be different now. And more than that, she seems
quite to shrink from the thought of it. We will wait a while, and all
that may pass away."