“Jan hath done his part well, Peter, and I wish that he could see us this night. It hath been a day of blessing to this house, and I am right happy to have been counted in it.”
Then he went away, but that night Margaret and her son once more slept in their old room under Peter Fae’s roof. It affected her to see that nothing had been changed. A pair of slippers she had forgotten still stood by the hearthstone. Her mother’s Bible had been placed upon her dressing table. The geranium she had planted, was still in the window; it had been watered and cared for, and had grown to be a large and luxuriant plant. She thought of the last day she had occupied that room, and of the many bitter hours she had spent in it, and she contrasted them with the joy and the hope of her return.
But when we say to ourselves, “I will be 293 grateful,” it is very seldom the heart consents to our determination; and Margaret, exhausted with emotion, was almost shocked to find that she could not realize, with any degree of warmth, the mercy and blessing that had come to her. She was the more dissatisfied, because as soon as she was alone she remembered the message Tulloch had given her. It had remained all day undelivered, and quite forgotten. “How selfish I am,” she said wearily, but ere she could feel sensibly any regret for her fault she had fallen asleep.
In the morning it was her first thought, and as soon after breakfast as possible she went to Dr. Balloch’s. He seemed shocked at the news, and very much affected. “We have been true friends for fifty years, Margaret,” he said; “I never thought of his being ill, of his dying—dying.”
“He does not appear to fear death, sir.”
“No, he will meet it as a good man should. He knows well that death is only the veil which we who live call life. We sleep, and it is lifted.”
“Wilt thou see him to-day?”
“Yes, this morning. Thirty-eight years ago 294 this month his wife died. It was a great grief to him. She was but a girl, and her bride-year was not quite worn out.”
“I have never heard of her.”
“Well, then, that is like to be. This is the first time I have spoken of Nanna Tulloch since she went away from us. It is long to remember, yet she was very lovely, and very much beloved. But thou knowest Shetlanders speak not of the dead, nor do they count any thing from a day of sorrow. However, thy words have brought many things to my heart. This day I will spend with my friend.”