Christine by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (the two towers ebook TXT) 📖

apron and sat down by the fireside to knit, and watch and listen.
By and by, the cat began to wash her face, and Mither was weel
pleased wi' the circumstance, for she said it was a sure sign
company was coming. So she went often to the door, and watched and
listened, but no company came, till sun down, when the Domine
called. Mither was so disappointed she couldna steady her voice,
her eyes were full o' angry tears, and she drove poor old Sandy
off the hearth, and into the cold, calling him a "lying prophet,"
and ither hard names, to which Sandy is not accustomed. Forbye,
she hasna gi'en him a drop o' milk since. Do write Mither a long
letter, full o' love and hope o' better days, and make some good
excuses to her, for your neglect. Christine can make them out o'
her ain loving heart.

CHRISTINE.

Indeed, Christine in this letter did small justice to Margot's indignant disappointment, and now that hope was over, she made no pretense of hiding her wrong and her sorrow. The Domine saw as soon as he entered the cottage, that Margot was in great trouble, and he more than guessed the reason, for he had been called to the town very early in the day, to meet an old friend on his way to the Maraschal College, where he filled a Professor's Chair in the medical department. Passing with this friend down the High Street, he had seen Neil with Roberta Rath on his arm, examining leisurely the attractive shop windows, while Reginald trailed at speaking distance behind them.

He kept still further behind. He had no desire to interfere. Neil had never sought his confidence, and he did not know--except through Christine's partial remarks--what the young man's private hopes and plans might be. So he listened to Margot's passionate complaints a little coldly, and she was quick to perceive it.

"You canna understand, Domine, what I suffer. Ye hae never had an ungratefu' bairn. And I'm feeling for his feyther too--the dear auld man, he'll be clean heart-broken!"

"No, no, Margot! A good heart that trusts in God, never breaks. It has no cause to break."

"It is eleven years, Domine, we hae all o' us been keepin' oursel's poor, for Neil's sake."

"The last eleven years, Margot, you have missed no good thing. God has been good to you, and to yours. I have seen! I have not forgotten!"

"Just a few kind words would hae paid for a' we hae pinched and wanted."

"There has been neither pinch nor want in your home, Margot."

"Ye don't ken a' things, Sir. My man has worked harder than he ought to hae worked."

"I think you may be mistaken, Margot. James Ruleson trusts in God. Why should he overwork himself?"

"To keep the roof o'er our heads, and find food for the bairns."

"Nay, nay, Margot! Prayer, and lawful work, keep the door safe, and the table spread."

"Oh Domine! If you feel that your love is slighted--that the bairn you love mair than yoursel' lightlies ye; if you feel that he's 'shamed o' you!" And Margot covered her face, and her words were lost in heart-breaking sobs.

"Margot, you must cease weeping. Will it do you any good to kill yourself? What will you say to your Maker in such case?"

"I willna be feared to say all that is in my heart to Him. He knows a mither's heart, and the griefs it tholes and carries. I canna expect you to know how love feels when it is scorned, and made little o'."

"I know something of that same sorrow, Margot. I gave the love of my life to one who scorned it. Only God knew my sorrow, but He was sufficient for my comfort. There is only one way of conquering wrongs against love, Margot."

Margot did not speak, and after a moment's pause, he asked, "Do you want to know that way?"

"No, Sir. If it is your way, I'm no able to follow it."

"Suppose you try. You think your youngest son has treated you badly?"

"Ay, I'm sure o' it, and he's treated his feyther and his brothers badly, and his one sister worse than a'. How can folk forget injuries that tread love under feet? They canna do it."

"They can. Do you want to know how? Do you want to know how I did it?"

"I couldna walk in your shoon, Sir. They're o'er big for me."

"Tell Mither, Sir. Tell her, she'll maybe find it easier than she thinks; and maybe I could help her;" and Christine went and stood by her mother's chair, and drew her mother's head close to her breast, and kissed her softly, as she whispered, "Ask the Domine what to do wi' wrangs ye canna bear, and canna pay back?"

"That's the sair part, Sir. Christine has touched the raw. If any man or woman in the village scorns or wrangs me, I can gie them as gude as they send--words or blows--and I wad do it! Yes, I would!"

"Have you given up your kirk membership, Margot?"

"No, Sir, I hae done naething yet, requiring me to do sae; but it's hard saying what I might be driven to, if somebody doesna mak' Jess Morrison quit meddling wi' my family affairs--the lying hizzy!"

"Margot! Margot! My friend Margot! You astonish me, you trouble me!"

"Weel, Domine, I'm very sorry to trouble you. I wad rather trouble the hale village than you. What do you want me to do?"

"Just to try for one month, my plan of treating any injustice, or injury, I receive."

"Weel then, what is your plan? I'm no promising to do what I'm vera sure is far oot o' my way, but if you had been injured on every side o' your heart, as I hae been, what would you do?"

"When I receive an injury, Margot, I think it calmly over, and I am sure to find some excuse for part of it--the rest I forgive."

"There's nae excuse in Neil's case, Sir."

"Yes, there are several. These Rath's promise much for his future. He may even be in love with Miss Rath, and a man in love isna a responsible creature. You hae told me, in the course of years, how much Norman's wife troubled you, and Norman could not prevent her. I have heard the same kind of story about Robert's and Allan's, and Alexander's wives. Men do not seem to be responsible, when they are seeking some woman for a wife. Take this into your thoughts, anent Neil. There were also unhappy money considerations. Evidently Neil is not ready to pay Christine's ninety pounds back, and he does not like to be questioned about it. He would rather keep out of the way. In both these cases, it is not Neil. It is first the girl, then the money. He does not despise you, he is only too considerate about Miss Rath. In the case of the money, he is perhaps counting on its use for his advancement in life, and he would rather not talk about it. He does not hate or scorn his own people, he is only looking out for his future love, and his future living. That is such a common and natural feeling, we need not wonder and weep over it. There must be other excuses to make, if I knew all about Neil's life and hopes, and for the rest of the faults against him--forgive them, as God forgives your faults against His long suffering love and patience."

"Mebbe that is the right way, but----"

"Right! Say that word to yourself, Margot. Say it till it rings like a shout in your soul, till you feel it in your hand like a drawn sword. It is a conquering word. Say it till your weak heart grows strong."

"Mither will feel better in a few days, Sir."

"To be sure she will. Neither joy nor sorrow leaves us where it found us. Poor Neil!"

"Why 'poor Neil,' Sir?"

"Because he cannot see beyond his limit, and his limit is self, and selfishness is utter loss. They conquer who endure. Live it down. Deserting our own is a cruel, silent treason even if they deserve it. It is a sin that our souls are ashamed of. Margot, your weakness tonight came o'er you in a moment when you were slack in Faith. You are naturally and spiritually a brave woman, Margot. What have you to fear?"

"I dinna want the lad I hae nursed at my breast to be ashamed o' me--that is my fear, Domine. I dinna want to lose his love."

"Does a man ever forget the mother who bore him? I can't believe it. When all other loves fade, that is green. It is nearly fifty years since I bid my mother 'good-by' for ever in this life. She is the dearest and sweetest mother to me yet. I remember her eyes, the touch of her lips, the soft caress of her hands, as if I had seen her yesterday. A man, however wicked, is not beyond hope, who yet loves his mother. Neil is not a bad boy. He will love you to the end."

"I fear, I fear, Domine, that----"

"No! You do not fear. You have nothing to fear. There was a noted preacher and poet, who shall tell you what your fear is. His name was Crashaw, and he was an Englishman, who died just about two hundred years ago and he says to a fearful soul:


"There is no storm but this
Of your own cowardice,
That braves you out.
You are the storm that mocks
Yourself, you are the rocks
Of your own doubt.
Besides this fear of danger, there's
No danger here,
And they that here fear danger,
Do deserve their fear."


"Ay, that's what you ca' poetry. I dinna understand a word o' it, but I can mind that David said, he didna fear, even in the dead-mirk-dale; but it's a far-back thought to King David, and when a mither is angry at her bairn, she feels as if the Lord, too, was like to lose sight o' her, and that earth and heaven are baith a' wrang."

"Well, then, Margot, when you feel as if the Lord was like to lose sight o' you, then you canna lose sight o' the Lord. Then, in the words of your Covenanters' Psalms, you be to cry out: 'How lang, O Lord! Will ye mind me nae mair? How long will ye hap yer face frae me?' And then, Margot, you mind how the few verses of doubt and fear, end--'the Lord he's wrought a' things neiborlie for me'. Now, Margot, I am not going to preach to you. Your own leal heart can do that. I will just say goodnight with one verse from that same dear old book o' psalms--'Let the words o' my mouth, an' the thought o' my heart, be for pleasure in yer sight, O Lord, my strength, and my hame bringer.' I leave blessing with you."

"You werna as kind as you should hae been to the Domine, Mither. He tried to comfort you," said Christine.

"That was