THE INTERVIEW.
Having brought the Bible home with me, I had now the melancholy task to perform, of delivering it to his aged mother. Accordingly, when I had been a few days at home, I sought out her dwelling. She was absent when I first called; but I left the book, with a note, explaining the nature of my visit, and promising to return next day.
Agreeable to promise, having called at her house, I rapped at the door, but no one answered, and lifting the latch, to try whether it was locked, it opened, and I discovered the old woman sitting at a table, with the small Bible that I had brought, open before her, at the place which had been so particularly addressed to herself; her eyes were red with weeping, and she was so absorbed in grief, that she did not observe my entrance. Sensible that I had intruded rather abruptly, I attempted to withdraw; but she happened to lift up her head, and seeing a soldier in uniform, she rose hastily and came towards me: ‘Are you the kind lad that was here yesterday with this?’ (pointing to the Bible.) ‘I dinna ken how to be thankfu’ enough to you for being the bearer of my puir Willie’s dyin’ bequest. Come in an’ sit down. I was in a manner prepared for’t, by the kind considerate letter you sent me, and I thocht that I cou’d have borne’t wi’ some fortitude; but the sight o’ my dear laddie’s hand-writing and the lock o’ his hair, has opened a’ my wounds afresh. But I would be hard, hard hearted if I didna grieve for the loss o’ him that was aye sae guid and kind to me. Oh! the sight o’ that Bible brings things to my mind that maist dries up my heart a’ thegither; and if it wasna for the comfort that’s in’t, (that I hae always experienced) wad drive me out o’ my senses. It was bought on the day o’ my weddin’, and was carried wi’ me when I first entered the Lord’s house, after being joined heart an’ han’ wi’ a man that has left few like him behind. For twenty years, in joy an’ in trouble, it was my companion; and, alas! weel do I mind it, frae this book I read the blessed an’ faithfu’ promises o’ God to my dear husband in his last hours; an’ when the pangs o’ death were on him, an’ he held my han’ in his, takin’, as I thocht, an everlastin’ fareweel o’ me, when my heart was burstin’ wi’ grief, the assurance gi’en me there that I would again meet wi’ him, gied me consolation in the midst o’ my distress.
‘When my boy listed, and was leaving me, I gied him this Bible, charging him never to forget the reading o’t, for there he wad find comfort in the hour o’ trouble.’
‘And it gives me pleasure,’ said I, ‘to inform you that he followed your advice.’
‘O ay! I am sure he did,’ replied she, ‘I canna doubt but his heart was right.’
‘His listin’ was a sair heart-break to me, for he had aye been sae guid an’ sae kind, an’ was the only stay that I had. Did he ever tell you what was the reason o’ him listin’?’
‘No,’ said I.
‘No, no, he was owre proud-spirited for that, puir fellow; but he is no the first that a silly woman has driven to ruin; an’ it’s a waesome thocht to me that a heart like his shou’d hae been thrown awa’ on a worthless tawpy, that didna care a preen about him.’
Having expressed a wish to hear the story to which she alluded, she proceeded: