Up in Ardmuirland Part 11

"Now Ariel goes a-singing, by the olden Dark yews, where flitter-mice were wont to cling.

All the world is turning golden, turning golden In the spring."

(_Nora Hopper--"April"_)

"Guess the latest news, Ted," said my brother, coming in from parochial visits.

I shook my head.

"I'm no hand at riddles."

"Well, there's a marriage to come off in our parish before long, if matters can be satisfactorily arranged."

"A marriage!" That roused me; it would be the first function of the kind I had seen in Ardmuirland. For our lads usually fetched partners from elsewhere, and maidens being accustomed to migrate to service in the south, found mates there--even as the swallows.

"I thought that would fetch you!" cried Val triumphant. "And now give a guess."

But I racked my brains to no purpose.

"It's not Widow Lamont, and it's not Robina----"

"Why not?" he asked. But I saw he was quizzing.

"It's a widow," he said. "I'll tell you that much."

Even then I was nonplussed.

"Ted, you've no imagination! Is Christian Logan too old?"

"Christian Logan! Of course not! Who's the happy man?"

"He's not altogether happy yet," returned Val. "There are obstacles in the way at present. Do you know the Camerons of Redbank Farm at all?"

"Camerons of Redbank! Why, they're Protestants!"

"Tell me something I don't know already," he retorted.

"I can say very little about them. There are two brothers, I believe--one very middle-aged and the other less so. I may have pa.s.sed the time of day with one or the other."

"Well, it's the less middle-aged one--Lachlan by name--who wants to marry Christian. It's all right about religion. He's ready to make all the necessary promises, and moreover, remarked quite spontaneously that he intended coming to church with his wife after they were married--a most unusual undertaking in these cases. He's evidently merely ignorant of everything Catholic; not bigoted, really. With a wife like Christian, he is most likely to enter the Church himself eventually."

"But what are these almost insurmountable obstacles?"

"Chiefly financial. It seems that the elder brother is the actual tenant of Redbank, and Lachlan is little better than a farm-servant at present. It would be scarcely possible for the poor chap to support a wife and three of a ready-made family on the wages of a mere plowman--except, of course, in the style of a common laborer, and he is far above that. The best way out of the difficulty would be for Christian to manage the house at Redbank, instead of a paid housekeeper; but the old brother is bitter against Catholics, and more opposed to young children in the house. Hence these tears! Don't you think there are rather respectable obstacles to be overcome?"

"Quite. So what did you suggest?"

"Cameron himself suggested what I think a reasonable solution: to try for some situation as farm bailiff or manager. He is thoroughly up to it all, for he has been practically managing things at Redbank for the last year or two, and has plenty of experience in farm work."

"He ought to be able to find something of the sort. Could the factor at Taskerton do anything for him, do you think? Christian has already lost a husband in the service of the estate, and it would be but rest.i.tution to provide her with another."

"The idea struck me, too, though not in precisely the same terms," said Val with an amused laugh. "I am thinking of writing to him about the matter."

"You are really satisfied with the man, then?"

"Decidedly so! He struck me as being a very decent sort of fellow. He has a straight-forward, pleasant manner with him, and is altogether superior to an ordinary crofter. It would be a good match for Christian. Poor soul! She deserves a better lot than she enjoys at present."

"What's his age, do you suppose?"

"Forty-six. Quite a lad, for these parts!"

"Things look all right, certainly," was my summing up.

Val wrote to the factor, but the result was not over-promising. He knew of nothing suitable at present. But he would keep the case in mind, and write at once should he hear of anything available.

Both Val and I were keen on getting the matter settled, and often talked it over together, discussing ways and means. But the weeks slipped by, and we found ourselves no nearer to a solution of the difficulty. We little dreamed of the quarter from which it was eventually to come!

One day as we sat at breakfast Elsie brought in a telegram for Val. It was a somewhat unusual occurrence; for we were a good way from the office, and, porterage being expensive, we had carefully instructed our ordinary correspondents that we preferred the humbler post-card, as a rule. When a telegram did arrive, therefore, it generally presaged something of unusual importance. I saw Val's face change as he read it. He pa.s.sed it over to me as he rose to write a reply. This is what I saw:

"Gowan dying wants to see you come immediately."

It was signed by a Glasgow doctor, and sent from one of the chief hotels of the city.

I followed Val to his den, where he was writing the answer.

"Would you mind my coming with you?" I asked.

"I should like it of all things," was his reply.

In less than half an hour we had started, and before night had arrived at our destination.

It always seems to me that one feels one's personal insignificance more keenly in a big city than anywhere else. The hurry and bustle on all sides witness to the self-interest which rules every individual of the crowd, to the exclusion of any sincere concern for others. The feeling was accentuated when we reached the hotel. There all was brightness and movement; in the brilliantly lighted dining-room guests were eating, drinking, chatting, and enjoying life; in the hall and on the staircases attendants were moving swiftly about, visitors were coming and going. Each one's pleasures, comforts, and advantages were the business of the hour. Yet in some chamber overhead a momentous crisis was at hand for one poor, lonely man, who had to leave behind him this scene of busy life, to enter upon an eternity of weal or woe. Upon the pa.s.sing moments everything depended for him; he had to prepare to meet his G.o.d. Around him things were taking their usual course; it mattered little to the majority of the people under that roof whether he lived or died, and less still how his soul would fare in that pa.s.sage. Yet the things which made up the present happiness of the crowd were those which he had labored so strenuously to procure--ease, enjoyment, freedom from care--the companions of wealth. For these he had bartered not only the toil and stress of his best years, but something infinitely more precious; part of the price had been the favour of his G.o.d! Now he had to part with all these gains, willing or unwilling; would he have the grace to sue for the mercy which might still be his for the asking?

We had ascertained that Gowan still lived, though there was no hope for his recovery, and were ascending the staircase to our rooms when we encountered a priest coming down. He regarded Val with evident interest, then stopped and accosted him. He proved to be one of the neighboring parochial clergy, who had just been visiting the dying man.

Val invited him to our room, and there we learned the circ.u.mstances of the case.

Gowan had been in Glasgow about a fortnight, having come thither immediately after landing in Liverpool. He was seriously ill when he arrived at the hotel, and was compelled to take to his bed at once. A doctor was sent for, and found him suffering from heart disease, which had already reached an advanced stage. In spite of every attention the patient became rapidly worse. He would not infrequently fall into fits of unconsciousness, which were the prelude to a state of coma in which he would eventually pa.s.s away from life.

To the man's credit, be it said, he at once asked for a priest when he became aware of his danger, and had afterward desired to see Val. All the Sacraments had been administered, and Gowan lay in a weak state, hovering between life and death. I could not but think of the lasting grat.i.tude of Christian Logan and her children, which had led them to remember this man daily in their prayers; who could tell how great a part those prayers had had in securing for him the grace to make his peace with G.o.d at the eleventh hour?

Val went in alone to Gowan's room; it was not for me to take any part in such an interview. It was not long before he was back again in our own apartment. Gowan's reception of him had been all that could have been desired. The man expressed sincere sorrow for his ill behavior, and begged Val's forgiveness. But what was still more satisfactory was his message to Christian and her children. He asked pardon for his unkindness in deserting them; they would soon see, he said, how dear they were to him.

"He has made his will in their favor," was Val's summing up of the matter. "He was just explaining that fact when he had another bad attack quite suddenly, and I came away, after summoning the nurse."

That conversation, short as it was, proved to be the last in which the dying man was to take part with my brother. He pa.s.sed away a short time after, having never recovered consciousness. The Catholic nurse had sent for Val a few minutes after he had rejoined me. We both went to the sick-room, and my brother had said the prayers for the dying, followed by those for the repose of his soul when Gowan ceased to breathe.

The funeral was over and we had been back in Ardmuirland for some weeks before any tidings arrived about the dead man's affairs. All arrangements as to payment of expenses and the like were carried out by a Glasgow lawyer, who had been empowered to act for Gowan's agent in America. The most thorough search had failed to discover anything in the shape of a will among the dead man's effects in Glasgow, and it was supposed to be in the keeping of the American lawyer. When tidings did arrive, they were such as to fill us with consternation. The will in the lawyer's possession was dated more than two years before, after Gowan's return to America from Ardmuirland. Its terms, moreover, by no means tallied with the information given by the dying man to Val; for in it there was no mention of the Logans at all, everything being bequeathed to the Freemason's lodge of which Gowan had been a member.

Val was puzzled, but not convinced.