“My friend,” said the doctor, bending forward and taking his hand, “I see what your thought is, and I honour you for it. Wait a day or two more before you make your plans to go, and then, if it is possible for you to have your wish, you shall have it, and all shall be made as easy and safe for you as it can possibly be made. You are right in thinking that you will never—be a strong man again. And after all, it can only be a little sooner or later with you now.”
“Av, I ken that well. It is vain to struggle with death.”
“And you are not afraid?”
“Whiles—I am afraid. I deserve nothing at His hand, whom I have ay neglected and often set at naught. But, you see, I have His own word for it. Ready to forgive—waiting to be gracious—I am sorry for my sins—for my lost life—and all the ill I have done in it. Do you think I am over-bold just to take Him at His word? Well—I just do that. What else can I do?”
What indeed! There was nothing else to be done—and nothing else was needed.
“He will not fail you,” said the doctor gently.
“And you’ll speak to—my wife? for I am not sure—that she will wish to go—home.” And then he closed his eyes and lay still.
In the meantime Allison had taken her way to the sands, and as she went she was saying to herself:
“I can but go as I am led. God guide me, for the way is dark.”
It was a mild November day, still and grey on land and sea. The grey sea had a gleam on it here and there, and the tide was creeping softly in over the sands. Allison walked slowly and wearily, for her heart was heavy. She was saying to herself that at last, that which she feared was come upon her, and there was truly no escape.