Salted with Fire Part 20

When they had all breakfasted, the soutar and Maggie in the kitchen, and Isy and the bairnie in the ben en', Maggie took her old place beside her father, and for a long time they worked without word spoken.

"I doobt, father," said Maggie at length, "I haena been atten'in til ye properly! I fear the bairnie 's been garrin me forget ye!"

"No a hair, dautie!" returned the soutar. "The needs o' the little are stude aye far afore mine, and _had_ to be seen til first! And noo that we hae the mither o' 'im, we'll get on faumous!--Isna she a fine cratur, and richt mitherlike wi' the bairn? That was a' I was concernt aboot!

We'll get her story frae her or lang, and syne we'll ken a hantle better hoo to help her on! And there can be nae fear but, atween you and me, and the Michty at the back o' 's, we s' get breid eneuch for the quaternion o' 's!"

He laughed at the odd word as it fell from his mouth and the Acts of Apostles. Maggie laughed too, and wiped her eyes.

Before long, Maggie recognized that she had never been so happy in her life. Isy told them as much as she could without breaking her resolve to keep secret a certain name; and wrote to Mr. Robertson, telling him where she was, and that she had found her baby. He came with his wife to see her, and so a friends.h.i.+p began between the soutar and him, which Mr.

Robertson always declared one of the most fortunate things that had ever befallen him.

"That soutar-body," he would say, "kens mair aboot G.o.d and his kingdom, the hert o' 't and the w'ys o' 't, than ony man I ever h'ard tell o'--and _that_ heumble!--jist like the son o' G.o.d himsel!"

Before many days pa.s.sed, however, a great anxiety laid hold of the little household: wee Jamie was taken so ill that the doctor had to be summoned. For eight days he had much fever, and his appealing looks were pitiful to see. When first he ceased to run about, and wanted to be nursed, no one could please him but the soutar himself, and he, at once discarding his work, gave himself up to the child's service. Before long, however, he required defter handling, and then no one would do but Maggie, to whom he had been more accustomed; nor could Isy get any share in the labour of love except when he was asleep: as soon as he woke, she had to encounter the pain of hearing him cry out for Maggie, and seeing him stretch forth his hands, even from his mother's lap, to one whom he knew better than her. But Maggie was very careful over the poor mother, and would always, the minute he was securely asleep, lay him softly upon her lap. And Maggie soon got so high above her jealousy, that one of the happiest moments in her life was when first the child consented to leave her arms for those of his mother. And when he was once more able to run about, Isy took her part with Maggie in putting hand and needle to the lining of the more delicate of the soutar's shoes.

CHAPTER XXV

There was great concern, and not a little alarm at Stonecross because of the disappearance of Isy. But James continued so ill, that his parents were unable to take much thought about anybody else. At last, however, the fever left him, and he began to recover, but lay still and silent, seeming to take no interest in anything, and remembered nothing he had said, or even that he had seen Isy. At the same time his wakened conscience was still at work in him, and had more to do with his enfeebled condition than the prolonged fever. At length his parents were convinced that he had something on his mind that interfered with his recovery, and his mother was confident that it had to do with "that deceitful creature, Isy." To learn that she was safe, might have given Marion some satisfaction, had she not known her refuge so near the manse; and having once heard where she was, she had never asked another question about her. Her husband, however, having overheard certain of the words that fell from Isy when she thought herself alone, was intently though quietly waiting for what must follow.

"I'm mis...o...b..in sair, Peter," began Marion one morning, after a long talk with the cottar's wife, who had been telling her of Isy's having taken up her abode with the soutar, "I'm sair mis...o...b..in whether that hizzie hadna mair to dee nor we hae been jaloosin, wi Jamie's attack, than the mere scare he got. It seems to me he's lang been broodin ower something we ken noucht aboot."

"That would be nae ferlie, woman! Whan was it ever we kent onything gaein on i' that mysterious laddie! Na, but his had need be a guid conscience, for did ever onybody ken eneuch aboot it or him to say richt or wrang til 'im! But gien ye hae a thoucht he's ever wranged that la.s.sie, I s' hae the trowth o' 't, gien it cost him a greitin! He'll never come to health o' body or min' till he's confest, and G.o.d has forgien him. He maun confess! He maun confess!"

"Hoot, Peter, dinna be sae suspicious o' yer ain. It's no like ye to be sae maisterfu' and owerbeirin. I wad na lat ae ill thoucht o' puir Jeemie inside this auld heid o' mine! It's the la.s.sie, I'll tak my aith, it's that Isy's at the bothom o' 't!"

"Ye're some ready wi' yer aith, Mirran, to what ye ken naething aboot! I say again, gien he's dene ony wrang to that bonnie cratur--and it wudna tak ower muckle proof to convince me o' the same, he s' tak his stan', minister or no minister, upo the stele o' repentance!"

"Daur ye to speyk that gait aboot yer ain son--ay, and mine the mair gien _ye_ disown him, Peter Bletherwick!--and the Lord's ain ordeent minister forbye!" cried Marion, driven almost to her wits' end, but more by the persistent haunting of her own suspicion, which she could not repress, than the terror of her husband's threat. "Besides, dinna ye see," she added cunningly, "that that would be to affront the la.s.s as weel?--_He_ wadna be the first to fa' intil the snare o' a designin wuman, and wad it be for his ain father to expose him to public contemp?

_Your_ pairt sud be to cover up his sin--gien it were a mult.i.tude, and no ae solitary bit faut!"

"Daur _ye_ speyk o' a thing like that as a bit faut?--Ca' ye leein and hypocrisy a bit faut? I alloo the sin itsel mayna be jist d.a.m.nable, but to what bouk mayna it come wi ither and waur sins upo the back o'

't?--Wi leein, and haudin aff o' himsel, a man may grow a cratur no fit to be taen up wi the taings! Eh me, but my pride i' the laddie! It 'ill be sma' pride for me gien this fearsome thing turn oot to be true!"

"And wha daur say it's true?" rejoined Marion almost fiercely.

"Nane but himsel; and gien it be sae, and he disna confess, the rod laid upon him 'ill be the rod o' iron, 'at smashes a man like a muckle crock.--I maun tak Jamie throuw han' _(to task)_!"

"Noo jist tak ye care, Peter, 'at ye dinna quench the smokin flax."

"I'm mair likly to get the bruised reed intil my nakit loof _(palm)_!"

returned Peter. "But I s' say naething till he's a wee better, for we maunna drive him to despair!--Eh gien he would only repent! What is there I wadna dee to clear him--that is, to ken him innocent o' ony wrang til her! I wad dee wi thanksgivin!"

"Weel, I kenna that we're jist called upon sae far as that!" said Marion. "A la.s.s is aye able to tak care o' hersel!"

"I wud! I wud!--G.o.d hae mercy upo' the twa o' them!"

In the afternoon James was a good deal better. When his father went in to see him, his first words were--

"I doobt, father, I'm no likly to preach ony mair: I've come to see 'at I never was fit for the wark, neither had I ever ony ca' til't."

"It may be sae, Jeemie," answered his father; "but we'll haud awa frae conclusions till ye're better, and able to jeedge wi'oot the bias o' ony thrawin distemper."

"Oh father," James went on, and to his delight Peter saw, for the first time since he was the merest child, tears running down his cheeks, now thin and wan; "Oh father, I hae been a terrible hypocreet! But my een's come open at last! I see mysel as I am!"

"Weel, there's G.o.d hard by, to tak ye by the han' like Enoch! Tell me,"

Peter went on, "hae ye onything upo yer min', laddie, 'at ye wud like to confess and be eased o'? There's nae papistry in confessin to yer ain auld father!"

James lay still for a few moments; then he said, almost inaudibly--

"I think I could tell my mother better nor you, father."

"It'll be a' ane whilk o' 's ye tell. The forgiein and the forgettin 'ill be ae deed--by the twa o' 's at ance! I s' gang and cry doon the stair til yer mother to come up and hear ye." For Peter knew by experience that good motions must be taken advantage of in their first ripeness. "We maunna try the speerit wi ony delays!" he added, as he went to the head of the stair, where he called aloud to his wife. Then returning to the bedside, he resumed his seat, saying, "I'll jist bide a minute till she comes."

He was loath to let in any risk between his going and her coming, for he knew how quickly minds may change; but the moment she appeared, he left the room, gently closing the door behind him.

Then the trembling, convicted soul plucked up what courage his so long stubborn and yet cringing heart was capable of, and began.

"Mother, there was a la.s.s I cam to ken in Edinburgh, whan I was a divinity student there, and--"

"Ay, ay, I ken a' aboot it!" interrupted his mother, eager to spare him; "--an ill-faured, designin limmer, 'at micht ha kent better nor come ower the son o' a respectable wuman that gait!--Sic like, I doobtna, wad deceive the vera elec'!"

"Na, na, mother, she was nane o' that sort! She was baith bonny and guid, and pleasant to the hert as to the sicht: she wad hae saved me gien I had been true til her! She was ane o' the Lord's makin, as he has made but feow!"

"Whatfor didna she haud frae ye till ye had merried her than? Dinna tell me she didna lay hersel oot to mak a prey o' ye!"

"Mother, i' that sayin ye hae sclandert yersel!--I'll no say a word mair!"

"I'm sure neither yer father nor mysel wud hae stede i' yer gait!" said Marion, retreating from the false position she had taken.

She did not know herself, or how bitter would have been her opposition; for she had set her mind on a distinguished match for her Jamie!

"G.o.d knows how I wish I had keepit a haud o' mysel! Syne I micht hae steppit oot o' the dirt o' my hypocrisy, i'stead o' gaein ower the heid intil't! I was aye a hypocrite, but she would maybe hae fun' me oot, and garred me luik at mysel!"

He did not know the probability that, if he had not fallen, he would have but sunk the deeper in the worst bog of all, self-satisfaction, and none the less have played her false, and left her to break her heart.

If any reader of this tale should argue it better then to do wrong and repent, than to resist the devil, I warn him, that in such case he will not repent until the sorrows of death and the pains of h.e.l.l itself lay hold upon him. An overtaking fault may be beaten with few stripes, but a wilful wrong shall be beaten with many stripes. The door of the latter must share, not with Judas, for he did repent, although too late, but with such as have taken from themselves the power of repentance.

"Was there no mark left o' her disgrace?" asked his mother. "Wasna there a bairn to mak it manifest?"

"Nane I ever heard tell o'."

"In that case she's no muckle the waur, and ye needna gang lamentin: _she_ 'll no be the ane to tell! and _ye_ maunna, for her sake! Sae tak ye comfort ower what's gane and dune wi', and canna come back, and maunna happen again.--Eh, but it's a' G.o.d's-mercy there was nae bairn!"

Thus had the mother herself become an evil councillor, crying Peace!