Isobel had fallen, and lay gasping and sighing on the bed. She knew nothing of what had happened to her; she did not yet know herself—did not know that her faithless lover lay on the floor by her bedside.
When the mother entered, she saw nothing—only heard Isy’s breathing. But when her husband came with a candle, and she saw her son on the floor, she forgot Isy; all her care was for James. She dropped on her knees beside him, raised his head, held it to her bosom, and lamented over him as if he were dead. She even felt annoyed with the poor girl’s moaning, as she struggled to get back to life. Why should she whose history was such, be the cause of mishap to her reverend and honoured son? Was she worth one of his little fingers! Let her moan and groan and sigh away there—what did it matter! she could well enough wait a bit! She would see to her presently, when her precious son was better!
Very different was the effect upon Peter when he saw Isy coming to herself. It was a miracle indeed! It could be nothing less! White as was her face, there was in it an unmistakable look of reviving life! When she opened her eyes and saw her master bending over her, she greeted him with a faint smile, closed her eyes again, and lay still. James also soon began to show signs of recovery, and his father turned to him.
With the old sullen look of his boyhood, he glanced up at his mother, still overwhelming him with caresses and tears.
“Let me up,” he said querulously, and began to wipe his face. “I feel so strange! What can have made me turn so sick all at once?”
“Isy’s come to life again!” said his mother, with modified show of pleasure.
“Oh!” he returned.
“Ye’re surely no sorry for that!” rejoined his mother, with a reaction of disappointment at his lack of sympathy, and rose as she said it.
“I’m pleased to hear it—why not?” he answered. “But she gave me a terrible start! You see, I never expected it, as you did!”
“Weel, ye are hertless, Jeemie!” exclaimed his father. “Hae ye nae spark o’ fellow-feelin wi’ yer ain mither, whan the lass comes to life ’at she’s been fourteen days murnin for deid? But losh! she’s aff again!—deid or in a dwaum, I kenna!—Is’t possible she’s gaein to slip frae oor hand yet?”