David Fleming's Forgiveness Part 31

"And he seemed quite revived when he was awake last," Betsey added, as she came out of his room.

"Mr Maxwell, Jacob," said Elizabeth, "the strangest thing has happened.

Jacob, look at this," and she put into his hand the letter with the red seal on it, on which his eyes had been fixed since ever he came in.

He grew pale when he saw his father's name in the once familiar handwriting, and when he saw the money, and read the words to his father, written on the other side, he sat down suddenly without a word.

If Elizabeth had thought a moment, she might have hesitated about giving it to him while others were looking on. Betsey was glad that she had done it. Elizabeth took the letter which Jacob had laid down and gave it to Mr Maxwell:

"You have heard of Hugh Fleming, the lad who went wrong. Betsey can tell you more than I can. I found the letter among some old papers of my father's. I think he cannot have read it, for the seal was not broken. There must have been some mistake."

Mr Maxwell read it in silence.

"But it is this that has troubled us. A letter from Hugh to his father.

Think of it, Jacob. After all these years!"

Yes. After all these years! "Be sure your sin will find you out."

That is what Jacob was saying to himself. Even Betsey could have found it in her heart to pity the misery seen in his face.

"He can't be so cold-blooded as people suppose," thought she.

"Should it be given to his father at once? I think the worst part of the trouble to him has been the thought that his son was cut off so suddenly--that he died unrepenting."

Mr Maxwell looked at the folded paper and then at Jacob.

"It may trouble the old man, but I do not think we have a right to withhold it."

Elizabeth was about to say that she had looked at the note, but Betsey interrupted her:

"He was sorry for his sin--whatever it was. His written words to Uncle Gershom prove that. And if there is in it any kind of sorrow, or any proof that others were more guilty than he, it might comfort the old man."

"Will you take it to him by and by, Mr Maxwell?" said Elizabeth.

"If I am the best person to take it. But he has never spoken to me of his son."

"He has never spoken a word to any one but the mother. And I feel that there is comfort to him in this little letter, and you will be glad to carry him comfort, I know."

"Thank you. Well, I will take it at once. Some one will be up at this early hour with the grandmother. I will go now."

Elizabeth put the folded paper in her father's letter with the money and gave it to him.

"I will go too," said Jacob, rising.

"Had you better?"

Both Elizabeth and Betsey spoke these words with a little excitement.

He turned a strange look from one to the other. Whether it was of pain or anger, neither knew, and he went out with the minister. Elizabeth watching, saw them turn into the path that led a near way to the North Gore road.

"Oh, Betsey! I hope we have done right. G.o.d comfort the poor father by these words," cried Elizabeth, with a sudden rush of tears.

"Amen!" said Betsey, solemnly.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

FORGIVENESS.

The longed-for dawn came to Katie with a sudden chill and sinking of the heart that felt for a minute like the utter failure of bodily strength.

When she put the lamp out, and put aside the curtain so that the daylight fell on the two grey old faces lying on the same pillow, her heart beat hard with sudden fear.

How wan and sunken and spent they looked! What if they were both to die? The little gleam of red that had now and then, through all her illness, showed itself on grannie's cheeks was quite gone now, and she would never be whiter, Katie thought, as she bent down to catch the sound of her breath coming and going so faintly. The two wrinkled, toil-worn hands still clasped each other in sleep.

"They should go together," said Katie, with a sob, "but oh! not yet."

She was not experienced enough to know whether this motionless sleep, so different from the fitful, broken slumbers of the last few weeks, was a hopeful sign or not; if her strength could be kept up, the doctor had said, and so had Miss Betsey--and perhaps she ought to wake her and give her something. As she stood looking at her, her grandfather opened his eyes.

"Grannie's better, I think," said she, with a quick impulse to give him comfort. "She has been sleeping quietly, and her hand is cool and moist. If you'll bide still beside her, I'll go and get a drop of warm milk from Brownie, to be ready when she wakes."

If she had stayed a minute longer she must have cried at the sight of the old man's face as he raised himself up and bent over that other face so white and still. She did cry a little when she went out, and s.h.i.+vered in the chill of the September morning, but she did not linger over her task. When she came in she found her grandfather risen, and standing by the bed. Her grandmother was awake now.

"Are you there, Katie? Is your tea masket? Give a cup of tea to your grandfather now; it will refresh him; and I think I could take a cup myself."

"All right, grannie dear," said Katie, cheerfully; "and in the meantime take a little milk," and she held the cup to her lips. "And now, if you should fall asleep, it will be all the better till the tea be ready."

Katie smoothed the pillows and put the bedclothes straight, and touched her lips to the white cheek; then it was turned to rest on the thin hand and grannie fell asleep. Davie rose up at Katie's bidding, and went to get wood to kindle the fire. Katie let the curtain fall again over the open window, and softly closed the door, as she followed her grandfather out of the room.

"We'll let her sleep," said the old man, and he went out with slow, languid steps into the suns.h.i.+ne.

It was hardly suns.h.i.+ne yet, for though the light lay clear on the hill-tops, all the valley was in shadow, and the mist lay low along the course of Beaver River in great irregular ma.s.ses, white, but with great "splatches" of colour here and there where the sun touched it. The dew lay heavy on the gra.s.s, and the garden bushes and the orchard trees, and on Katie's flowers, and the sweet breath of green things came pleasantly to his sense as he sat down on his accustomed seat by the door.

Birds were chirping in the orchard trees, and there was the scarcely less pleasant sound of barn-door fowls near at hand. The sheep behind the pasture-bars sent their greeting over the dewy fields, and the cows in the yard "mowed" placidly as they stirred one another with soft, slow movements. How fair and peaceful the place looked! How full of calm and quiet, yet strong life!

The old man closed his eyes on it all. He was not thinking, he was hardly feeling. The night had brought broken slumbers, but not rest, and he was very weary. A wondering question, whether she could be going to die on such a day as this, pa.s.sed through his mind. It did not seem possible.

"And besides, she and he said she could not die till I had forgiven my enemy."

But he was too weary to go over it all again--the long heart-breaking story. He could only sit still with closed eyes, waiting.

And it was thus that the minister and Jacob Holt found him. They had said little to one another as they pa.s.sed through the dewy fields, and under the long shadows of the wayside trees together. Mr Maxwell at first had said a word as to the mission they had undertaken, and asked a question or two as to how they had better make it known, but Jacob had answered in monosyllables, or not at all.

The last part of their walk had been over the fields again, and they came suddenly upon Mr Fleming sitting at the door. Katie had seen them coming, and was standing at her grandfather's side, her hand laid on his shoulder, and she looked at them as they drew near with questioning, almost angry eyes. Mr Maxwell held out his hand to her.

"Is he sleeping, Katie?"

But as he spoke Mr Fleming looked up. He did not see Jacob for the moment. He held out his hand and tried to rise.

"No; sit still," and Mr Maxwell sat down beside him.

"It is kind of you to come so early. Katie thinks her--no worse this morning. But you must think her dying to come so soon again, and at this hour."