It would not have been easy for her, in the first wonder and joy of the change, to tell of it in words, except that, like the man who was born blind, she might have said, “One thing I know, that whereas I was blind, now I see.” But her life told what her lips could not, and in a thousand ways it became evident to those at home, and to all who saw her, that something had happened to Shenac—that she was at peace with herself and with all the world as she had not been before; and as for Hamish, he said to himself many a time, “It does not matter what happens to Shenac now. All will be well with her, now and always.”
Chapter Fourteen.
After long waiting, Allister came home. Shenac and Hamish had no intention of watching the going out of the old year and the coming in of the new; but they lingered over the fire, talking of many things, till it grew late. And while they sat, the door opened, and Allister came in. They did not know that he was Allister. The dark-bearded man lingering on the threshold was very little like the fair-faced youth who had left them four years ago. He made a step forward into the room, and said,—
“This is Hamish, I know; but can this be our little Shenac?” And then they knew him.
It would be vain to try to describe the meeting. The very happiest meeting after years of separation must be sorrowful too. Death had been among them since Allister went, and the bereavement seemed new to the returned wanderer, and his tears fell as he listened to the few words Hamish said about his father’s last days.
When the first surprise and joy and sorrow were a little abated, Shenac whispered,—
“And Evan—Hamish, should we go to-night to tell Angus Dhu that Allister has come home?”
“What about Evan, Allister?” said Hamish.