“No doubt, no doubt; that is true,” said Mr. Charles, acquiescing solemnly.
It was a thing incumbent on him in his representative position as the only man of the house.
“I don’t think my father means to repine,” said Marjory. “His heart is just broken; he never thought of it—never expected such a thing as that he should live, and poor Tom be taken away!”
“And the heir, too,” said the Doctor. “The ways of the Lord are very inscrutable. Just those lives that seem to us most valuable are taken. When I look round upon the world,” added Dr. Murray, “and see how many people are struck just in the way that was most unexpected, most unlikely! But he has other children left, and you must do what you can to keep him from brooding. My dear Miss Marjory, a great deal is in your hands.”
“I can do so little,” said Marjory, with tears. “My poor father! his heart is broken. There does not seem anything that we can do.”
“You must tell him to be resigned,” said Dr. Murray. “I am very sorry that he is out. I should have been glad if I had been able to speak a word of comfort to my old friend and respected heritor. You must remind him how much we have all to bear. Not one of us is without his cross. Sometimes it falls heavier on one than on another. It is his turn to-day, and it may be ours to-morrow; but none of us escape. The only one thing certain is that there must have been need of it. This mysterious and terrible dispensation has not been sent without some good end.”
“No doubt, no doubt; it must be for a good purpose,” said Mr. Charles.
“I cannot say how sorry I am that Mr. Heriot is not in,” continued the Doctor. “I might have timed my visit differently. I had not thought it likely that he would be well enough to go out.”
“He has gone down to the rocks,” said Marjory, feeling that her father was put on his defence. “It is not a day to tempt any one. I think the moaning of the sea soothes him. He cannot bear conversation; we are none of us capable of much—”
“My poor child! as if anything was to be expected,” said kind Mrs. Murray, drawing her aside. “I would not even have had the Doctor come so soon. I thought I might have come myself first, to give you a kiss, my dear. Oh! May, I know what it is! Tell your father my heart just bleeds for him. I’m glad he’s out to take the air, though it’s a dreary, dreary day; but, perhaps, in grief like his, a dreary day is the best. When it’s bright, Nature seems to have no heart. The Doctor thought it was his duty to come, though it’s so soon. And, my dear, tell me, has any change been thought of? what are you going to do?”