_ 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 shivered 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 sunshine.
It was hardly sunshine 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 masses, white, but with great "splatches" of colour here and there where the sun touched it. The dew lay heavy on the grass, 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, passed 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 passed 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."
"No. I am glad she is no worse. It was not that I thought her dying. I came for another reason."
"Well, you are kindly welcome anyway."
"I went to see Squire Holt this morning. No--he is not dying, though it cannot be long now."
"Ay! ay! Well, he is an old man, and he is ending a useful life."
He spoke dreamily in his utter weariness, looking away over the fields to the sunshiny hills beyond.
"I have something to give you, Mr Fleming," said the minister gently, "something which Miss Holt found among her father's papers."
"Well, well," said the old man, waiting quietly, almost indifferently, for what might be said.
"It is a letter, written long ago by one dead and gone, who was very dear to you."
A change came over her grandfather's face, but whether it was because of what Mr Maxwell had said, or because he saw Jacob Holt standing before him, and quite near him, Katie could not tell. Jacob moistened his dry lips, and tried twice to speak before a sound came.
"It is a letter--and before you read it--I beg you to forgive me for any harm I may ever have done--to you or yours."
The little Flemings had gathered about the door, but their mother drew them away into the house. Katie kept her place by her grandfather, and so did Davie, but he was out of sight in the porch. Mr Fleming rose, and stood face to face with his enemy; but when he spoke it was to Mr Maxwell that he turned.
"She said, she could never go--up yonder--till I have forgiven him--and I am an old man, now."
He tottered a little as he turned to Jacob, but he held out his hand:
"God forgive you. And God help me to forgive you. And God forgive me too, for I doubt it has been rebellion with me all this time."
"Amen," said Jacob, and then he moved away, and Mr Fleming sank down on the seat again. He seemed to have forgotten that there was anything more to be said, and after a moment's hesitation, Mr Maxwell put the letter into Katie's hand.
"The letter, grandfather," said she softly.
"Ay, the letter."
He took it, holding it out at arm's length that he might see, but when his eye rested on the familiar characters he uttered a sharp, inarticulate cry and let it fall. The blood rushed to his face till it was crimson, and then receding, left him pale as death.
"Grandfather, come into grannie," said Katie, putting her arms about him. "Davie, come and help our grandfather."
"Grannie's better, grandfather," said Davie; "come."
"But the letter," said the old man, faintly. "Oh, ay! Grandmother will like to see the letter!"
But he did not rise.
"The letter. Where's the letter?"
Jacob Holt stooped and lifted it from the grass where it had fallen, and Davie looked at him with amazed and angry eyes, as he opened it and taking out the folded slip of paper, offered it to him, while he kept the squire's letter and the money in his hand.
"Read that first," said Jacob hoarsely, and then he went away round the corner of the house out of sight, and Mr Maxwell followed him.
"Read it, Katie, lassie."
With trembling fingers Davie opened the letter and gave it to his sister. Kneeling beside him, Katie read:
"Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son."
There was more written, but she got no further, for a cry burst from his lips--whether of joy or pain they could not tell--and his head fell on Katie's shoulder.
"Whisht, Davie. Lay him down gently, and get a little water. Be quiet, man. Grannie will hear you."
For Davie had cried out in his terror at the sight of his grandfather's deathlike face. The cry brought out his mother, and Mr Maxwell and Jacob hurried back again. He was better in a minute, and they led him into the house, and made him lie down. In a little while Katie brought him some tea.
"Grannie bade me, grandfather, and you must take it you ken."
She knelt beside him, holding the cup for him, and by coaxing and entreating made him take a little food.
"And now you must just rest a while."
They had brought him into the front room "for quiet," Katie said, as he looked round in surprise; "rest and think about it," she whispered, hardly venturing to say more. Gradually it came back to him that something had happened. By this time breakfast was over, and worship, and Katie brought Mr Maxwell in and left him there.
Jacob Holt would not stay to breakfast, though Davie and his mother had asked him to stay. Before he went he gave the squire's letter to Davie.
"Give it to your grandfather, but do not read it," said he.
He had something to say to Mr Maxwell also.
"I don't know just how much Mr Fleming knows of what happened long ago. Hugh Fleming, after much entreaty from several of us, signed my father's name where he ought not. He alone had the skill to do it. It was to save--some of us from much trouble. He was not in the scrape. He was not to be benefited personally by it, except that he was persuaded that some foolish deed of his could be more easily kept from his father's knowledge if he helped to screen the rest by yielding. If he had stayed at home and met it, it would have been well; my father made no trouble about it. But he went away--and died. And you must tell his father--"
Jacob turned his back upon the minister for a full minute, and then without another word went away.
It was Mr Maxwell who read the letter to Mr Fleming after all. There were only a few lines more than Katie read: "I trust God has forgiven me, and that He will keep me safe from sin. Forgive me, dear father and mother and James."
And then his name and another line: "I will make up to you, dear father, for all you suffer now for me."
"And He has kept him safe," said the minister, "all these years."
Katie came now and then, and looked in, but she did not speak, except once to say that grannie was sleeping still. Even Katie never knew how the minister and her grandfather passed the long morning. It was noon when she went in and told them that dinner was nearly ready, and that grannie was awake and asking for them. Afterward Mr Maxwell told Miss Elizabeth something about it.
How as it gradually became clear to the father that his dear son's light had not gone out in darkness, but that he had repented of his sin, and confessed it, and had been as he trusted forgiven, his grief and shame and penitence were even deeper than his joy.
"To think that I should have been misdoubting the Lord all this time, as though He had broken His promise to me! And how patient He has been-- long-suffering and full of compassion. I have been hard on Jacob Holt. If God had dealt with me as I have in my heart dealt with him!"
The minister did not always know whether he was speaking to him, or to himself. By and by, when he got calmer, and "better acquainted" with the thought of the new joy, he told the minister, in broken words, the story of his love for his son, and the bitterness of his loss, and his wonder and sympathy grew as he listened.
What depths of woe the old man had sounded! With what agonies of bitterness and anger which had grown to be hatred almost, as the years went on, had he struggled. And he had sometimes yielded to the misery of doubt of God's care. He had thought the struggle vain.
He had never been quite at peace with himself through it all. God had never left him to an easy conscience, where Jacob Holt was concerned, even at his quietest time, and when things were at their best with him. He had never left him to himself, and now the evil spirit was cast out.
"The patience He has had with me. It is wonderful!" he said again and again. "And now I ask nothing but that He may do His will with me and mine," he added, as Katie came in.
"I think grannie is no worse, though she is very weak and cannot bear much," was Katie's gentle caution, lest she should be excited overmuch.
He did not answer her, but turned to Mr Maxwell and repeated his words:
"I ask nothing but that God may do His will with me and mine."
"That is always best," said the minister.
Katie looked from one to the other.
"Come, grandfather," said she.
He went slowly out, touching the door and the walls to steady himself by, and when he went in to grannie, Katie softly shut the door. There was no one to tell what was said there between the two. If Mr Fleming had needed anything utterly to break his heart with loving shame, and thankfulness, and sorrow, the glad serenity and trust of his dear old wife would have done it. He put restraint upon himself lest he should excite her beyond her strength, but she smiled at him.
"Joy seldom does harm, and I am better, though I am but weak and feckless. I'll soon mend now."
"And are you really better? I could almost find it in my heart to let you go to Him, nay, I canna say gladly, but God's will be done, whether you be to stay or go."
"Surely. And in His good time He'll take me, but no' just yet. You canna spare me yet."
The old man laughed a glad, tremulous laugh, but the tears were not very far from his eyes, and he patted gently the wrinkled hand, grown thin and limp.
"And you'll just go to your dinner with the minister and the bairns, and I'll rest myself a wee while, for, oh! I have little strength. But I'll soon have more."
After dinner Mr Maxwell came in to say a few words to Mrs Fleming, and "to give thanks," as she said, and then the old people were left alone together again. Whether they slept or not, grannie could not tell.
"But we didna think long, my dear," said she to Katie, with her faint, glad smile.
Mr Maxwell would have liked to lie all the afternoon on the orchard grass, with Davie and his mother sitting near, and Katie and the rest coming and going, as the work permitted, for it was sweet and restful there. But the old squire might wish to see him. He had visited him almost daily for a while, and so after a little he rose and said he must go.
"And grannie is better, but Miss Elizabeth will have no glad morning. Oh, if we could comfort her," said Katie, gravely.
"And don't you think that all that has comforted you all to-day, will comfort her also?" said Mr Maxwell.
"Miss Elizabeth has always rejoiced with the joyful, and sympathised with those who were in sorrow," said Katie's mother.
"And that is why she is loved so dearly," said Katie.
"And she was ay fond of grannie," said Davie.
"She will be comforted," said the minister.
And Miss Betsey had her wish. One day her mother and Cynthia came down, and Ben went over for Mr Fleming, and old Mrs Wainwright, and Deacon Stone, and two or three others, and the minister, and they all remembered their Lord together. The "cup of blessing" was passed from the trembling hands of Mr Fleming to the hands of Jacob Holt, which trembled also, and so the very last drop of bitterness passed out of the old man's heart forever.
The end was drawing near now, and the old squire, looking glad and solemn too, held his daughter's hand, and welcomed them all by name as they came, and bade them farewell as they went away, "hoping to see them again," he said, but knowing, as did they all, that it must be on "the other side." Mr Fleming stayed when the others went away, and Elizabeth gave him her seat by her father for a little while. They had not much to say to one another. In all their intercourse the squire had been the talker, but he was past all that now. But he was not past noticing the peaceful look that had already come to the face of his friend.
"You feel better, don't you? It has done you good?" meaning doubtless the communion they had enjoyed together with their Lord and Master.
Mr Fleming hardly knew what he meant, but he said gently, "Ay, it has done me good."
For a moment it came into his thoughts to speak to the squire about the letter, and the joy it had brought to him at last. But he was tired and his thoughts were beginning to wander, and he doubted whether he could make him understand.
"He'll ken where he is going," said he to himself, but to the dying man he said nothing but "Fare ye well; and the Lord be with you in the valley." And then he went away.
But not without a word from Elizabeth.
"Dear Mr Fleming," said she, holding his hand when they were at the door, "you must let me say how glad I am for you and for his mother."
"Ay, that you are, I am very sure."
"If only it had come--long ago," said Elizabeth.
A momentary shadow passed over his face.
"Ay. It seems strange to us. There is only one thing sure--His time is best."
Then Elizabeth sent her love to Mrs Fleming and to Katie, and her mother, and then she touched with her lips the old man's furrowed cheek, and some who saw him leave his old friend's house could not but wonder at the peaceful brightness of his face that day.
There was another day of watching and waiting, and then a few days of silence in the darkened house, and then the old squire was laid in his grave with such marks of honour as his fellow-townsmen could give. People from other towns, and from all the country round, came to Gershom that day, and many a kindly word was spoken of the dead, and many a tale told of good deeds done in secret, of friendly help and counsel given in time of need, and all agreed that a good man and true had gone to his rest from among them, and that not many like him were left behind.
And though all that great multitude could not see the open grave and Elizabeth and Clifton and Jacob at the head, and Betsey and her mother and Ben and all the rest standing near, no man left Gershom that day who had not heard how, when the first clods fell on the coffin-lid, and Jacob shuddered and grew white as death, old David Fleming, one of the bearers, went forward and gave him his arm to lean upon till the grave was filled and the last word spoken. Of course these strangers did not know all that this implied to both these men, but every one in Gershom knew and was glad for them both.
And then when all was over, and Mr Maxwell, in a voice that was not quite firm, had, in the name of the mourners, thanked the assembled friends for their presence and sympathy on the solemn occasion, Elizabeth and Clifton and Jacob went home with the feeling strong upon them that the old life was at an end forever, and it was truer for them all than either of them knew. _