Allison Bain; Or, By a Way She Knew Not

by Margaret M. Robertson

The mother, who had consented to these new doings with misgiving, began, after a little, to see the change for the better that was being wrought in the child. Long before midsummer there was dawning a soft little gleam of colour on Marjorie’s cheek, not at all like the feverish tints that used to come with weariness or fretfulness or excitement of any kind. The movements of the limbs and of the slender little body were freer and stronger, and quite unconsciously, it seemed, she helped herself in ways on which she had never ventured before.

Her father saw the change too, though not so soon as her mother; but having seen it, he was the more hopeful of the two. And by and by they spoke to one another, saying if this thing could be done, or that, their Marjorie might be helped and healed, and grow strong and tall like the other bairns, and have a hopeful and happy life before her. But they paused when they had got thus far, knowing that the child was in God’s hands, and that if it were His will to bring about the fulfilment of their desire, He would also show a way in which it was to be done. Whether this might be or not, their little gentle darling would ay be, as she had ay been, the dearest blessing in their happy home.

“And may God bless Allison Bain, however it is to be.”

“Yes,” said the mother. “I think a blessing is already coming to her through the child.”

“Is she less sad, think you? She seems more at home among us, at least.”

“I cannot say that she is lass sad. But her sadness is no longer utter gloom and despair, as it seemed to be at first. And she says her prayers now, Marjorie tells me. I see myself that she listens to what you say in the kirk. I think it may be that she is just coming out of the darkness of some great sorrow which had at first seemed to her to end all. She is young and strong, and it is natural that her burden of trouble, whatever it may be, should grow lighter as the time goes by. Oh! she is sad still, and she is sometimes afraid, but she is in a better state to bear her trouble, whatever it may be, than she was when she came first among us. I sometimes think if some good and pleasant thing were to come into her life, some great surprise, that might take her thoughts quite off the past, she might forget after a little and get back her natural cheerfulness again.”

Mrs Hume ceased suddenly. For a moment a strong temptation assailed her. If ever man and wife were perfectly one in heart and thought and desires, these two were. As for the wife, no thought or wish of hers, whether of great things or of small, seemed quite her own till she had also made it his. Seeing the look which had come to her face, her husband waited for her to say more. But she was silent. She had no right to utter the words which had almost risen to her lips. To tell another’s secret—if indeed there were a secret—would be betrayal and a cruel wrong. Even to her husband she might not tell her thoughts, and indeed, if she had but known it, there was, as far as Allison Bain was concerned, no secret to tell.

But Robin, who was in the way of sharing with his mother most things which greatly interested himself, had told her about his morning run over the hills after John Beaton, and how he had found him “looking at nothing” on the very spot where, the day before, he had got his first look at Allison Bain, and how he had turned and run home again without being seen. Robin only told the story. He drew no inference from it, at least he did not for his mother’s hearing.

His mother did that for herself. Remembering John’s dazed condition at worship on the first night of his homecoming, it is not surprising she should have said to herself that “the lad’s time had come.”

And what of Allison? She had asked herself that question a good many times since John’s departure; but she owned that never, either by word or look, had Allison betrayed herself, if indeed she had anything to betray, and of that she was less assured as the days went on. But whether or not, it was evident, Mrs Hume assured herself, that Allison was “coming to herself” at last.