A DARING VISIT.
Mercy soon learned that some sort of encounter had taken place
between her father's shooting party and some of the clan; also that
the chief was hurt, but not in what manner--for by silent agreement
that was not mentioned: it might seem to put them in the wrong! She
had heard enough, however, to fill her with anxiety. Her window
commanding the ridge by the castle, she seated herself to watch that
point with her opera-glass. When the hill-party came from behind the
ruin, she missed his tall figure amongst his people, and presently
discovered him lying very white on one of the carts. Her heart
became as water within her. But instant contriving how she could
reach him, kept her up.
By and by Christina came to tell her she had just heard from one of
the servants that the Macruadh was shot. Mercy, having seen him
alive, heard the frightful news with tolerable calmness. Christina
said she would do her best to discover before the morning how much
he was hurt; no one in the house seemed able to tell her! Mercy, to
avoid implicating her sister, held her peace as to her own
intention.
As soon as it was dark she prepared to steal from the house,
dreading nothing but prevention. When her dinner was brought her,
and she knew they were all safe in the dining-room, she drew her
plaid over her head, and leaving her food untasted, stole half down
the stair, whence watching her opportunity between the comings and
goings of the waiting servants, she presently got away unseen, crept
softly past the windows, and when out of the shrubbery, darted off
at her full speed. Her breath was all but gone when she knocked at
the drawing-room door of the cottage.
It opened, and there stood the mother of her chief! The moment Mrs.
Macruadh saw her, leaving her no time to say a word, she bore down
upon her like one vessel that would sink another, pushing her from
the door, and pulling it to behind her, stern as righteous Fate.
Mercy was not going to be put down, however: she was doing nothing
wrong!
"How is the Macruadh, please?" she managed to say.
"Alive, but terribly hurt," answered his mother, and would have
borne her out of the open door of the cottage, towards the latch of
which she reached her hand while yet a yard from it. Her action
said, "Why WILL Nancy leave the door open!"
"Please, please, what is it?" panted Mercy, standing her ground.
"How is he hurt?"
She turned upon her almost fiercely.
"This is what YOU have done for him!" she said, with right
ungenerous reproach. "Your father fired at him, on my son's own
land, and shot him in the chest."
"Is he in danger?" gasped Mercy, leaning against the wall, and
trembling so she could scarcely stand.
"I fear he is in GREAT danger. If only the doctor would come!"
"You wouldn't mind my sitting in the kitchen till he does?"
whispered Mercy, her voice all but gone.
"I could not allow it. I will not connive at your coming here
without the knowledge of your parents! It is not at all a proper
thing for a young lady to do!"
"Then I will wait outside!" said Mercy, her quick temper waking in
spite of her anxiety: she had anticipated coldness, but not
treatment like this! "There is one, I think, Mrs. Macruadh," she
added, "who will not find fault with me for it!"
"At least he will not tell you so for some time!"
The door had not been quite closed, and it opened noiselessly.
"She does not mean me, mother," said Alister; "she means Jesus
Christ. He would say to you, LET HER ALONE. He does not care for
Society. Its ways are not his ways, nor its laws his laws. Come in,
Mercy. I am sorry my mother's trouble about me should have made her
inhospitable to you!"
"I cannot come in, Alister, if she will not let me!" answered Mercy.
"Pray walk in!" said Mrs. Macruadh.
She would have passed Mercy, going toward the kitchen, but the
TRANCE was narrow, and Mercy did not move.
"You see, Alister, I cannot!" she insisted. "That would not please,
would it?" she added reverently. "Tell me how you are, and I will
go, and come again to-morrow."
Alister told her what had befallen, making little of the affair, and
saying he suspected it was an accident.
"Oh, thank you!" she said, with a sigh of relief. "I meant to sit by
the castle wall till the doctor came; but now I shall get back
before they discover I am gone."
Without a word more, she turned and ran from the house, and reached
her room unmissed and unseen.
The next was a dreary hour--the most painful that mother and son had
ever passed together. The mother was all this time buttressing her
pride with her grief, and the son was cut to the heart that he
should have had to take part against his mother. But when the doctor
came at length, and the mother saw him take out his instruments, the
pride that parted her from her boy melted away.
"Forgive me, Alister!" she whispered; and his happy kiss comforted
her repentant soul.
When the small operations were over, and Alister was in bed, she
would have gone to let Mercy know all she could tell her. But she
must not: it would work mischief in the house! She sat down by
Alister's bedside, and watched him all night.
He slept well, being in such a healthful condition of body that his
loss of blood, and the presence of the few shot that could not be
found, did him little harm. He yielded to his mother's entreaties to
spend the morning in bed, but was up long before the evening in the
hope of Mercy's coming, confident that his mother would now be like
herself to her. She came; the mother took her in her arms, and
begged her forgiveness; nor, having thus embraced her, could she any
more treat her relation to her son with coldness. If the girl was
ready, as her conduct showed, to leave all for Alister, she had
saved her soul alive, she was no more one of the enemy!
Thus was the mother repaid for her righteous education of her son:
through him her pride received almost a mortal blow, her justice
grew more discriminating, and her righteousness more generous.
In a few days the chief was out, and looking quite himself.