Chapter Thirty.
“Then fare ye weel, my ain true love,
And fare ye weel a while.”
But Allison was in no such evil case as her friends were inclined to believe. She was growing strong again, and she had enough to do, and a will to do it, which to reasonable folk means content, if it does not quite mean happiness. She still lived in Mrs Robb’s house, and went to the infirmary every day, and took pleasure in her work, the best of pleasure,—knowing that she was doing something to soothe the pains of those whose portion in life seemed to be only suffering and sorrow.
In helping these, she helped herself also. She forgot her own sadness, when she saw the weary, pain-drawn faces brighten as she came near, and she felt her own courage revived, and her strength renewed, when any weak and hesitating word of hers had power to comfort the hearts of some whom care or poverty or ill-requited affection had made sick, or sour, or hopeless.
There were complaining and ingratitude to meet now and then, from some of them. But, poor souls! they needed help and comfort all the more, because of their unreasonable anger, or their querulous discontent. Her kindest words, and softest touches, and longest patience were for these. And when the cloud parted, and a light from Heaven shone in upon one sitting in darkness, or when, for a moment, the troubled and angry spirit was made to feel what the coming of God’s grace into the heart is like,—was not that enough to make her content?
Doctor Fleming, though he said little to her about herself or her health, still kept his eye upon her, and soon became quite satisfied about her. Mr Rainy, who sometimes saw her passing through the street, wondered when she would begin to tire of her self-imposed labour, and of getting her own will and be ready to listen to reason. But he acknowledged to himself, that, if one could judge by her look, she seemed well pleased with her work and her own ways thus far.
“She goes by, not seeming to see me or any other body, but her thoughts are good and pleasant thoughts, or I am mistaken. Still, I doubt, when she comes to stand face to face with ‘the next of kin,’ she may have a qualm of repentance for her foolishness. But a last will and testament is no’ to be lightly meddled with, and I will do my best for her.”
So he wrote to Mr Hume, asking him to use his influence with Allison. He wrote also to Mrs Esselmont, whom he had known long and well. He had known her best in her youth, when, as he said to himself, she had kept as firm a grip of the good things of this life as most folk. He assured her that there was no reason, either in law or in morals, why Allison Bain should not have and hold, and make a good use of all that her husband had left to her, and he believed that no one would be so well able to set all this before her as Mrs Esselmont, since, as he had heard, she had for some time taken an interest in the young woman; and then he added:
“She has both sense and discretion, except with regard to this one matter She has been living a repressed sort of life of late,—indeed from all that I can gather, she never has had any other kind of life, which goes far to account for her hesitation—I will not say refusal—to receive what is rightfully hers. I think that she is afraid of the responsibility, and that she is not sure of herself, or of doing well the duties of a higher station. But she would soon learn to have confidence in herself; and with the friendship and the countenance of Mrs Esselmont, she need care little for the favour or disfavour of any of the rest.”