“In whatever circumstances the Lord may place you—in peril, in toil, in striving with the world harder than that, in ease, and peace, and prosperity, if it be His will to give you these: with a single eye, and an honest heart, and in the strength of Him that saved you, you will resist sin. Archie Sutherland, you hold by your covenant? you plight me your word again?”
“Most earnestly—most truthfully. You trust me, Mrs. Catherine?”
“I trust you, Archie. The Lord uphold and strengthen you in your goings-out, and in your comings-in!” There was a pause.—”And have you gotten everything right, Archie? are you sure there is nothing wanting that you will need, or that I can get for ye?”
“Nothing,” said Archibald. “You are only too lavish in your kindness, Mrs. Catherine; you forget that I am but a poor adventurer now.”
“Hush!” said Mrs. Catherine. “Kindness is not a word to be between your mother’s son and me. Ay, Archie, you are an adventurer; mind it is no common errand you are going forth upon. To the like of you, hope is the natural breath and common air—the hopes of age are solemn ventures, our last and weightiest—when they fail, there is no new upspringing in the pithless soil that many hopes have withered and died upon, like September leaves. Archie, the last great hope of an aged woman is embarked in your labor. See—look where my first sun set—the darkness of its sinking is not out of my heart yet. You might have been of my own blood, boy; you might have borne the name of Sholto Douglas! Now the last of them all is on your head.—Archie Sutherland, be mindful of it; let me see you honorably home in your own land, before I go to another country.”
Archibald answered her almost incoherently: “If it was within the power of man—if any toil could accomplish it—”
The phæton was at the door; Andrew and Johnnie Halflin were placing the traveller’s trunks upon it, while Mrs. Euphan Morison, portly and broad, stood in the doorway superintending. The hour drew very near.
“And there is yet another thing,” said Mrs. Catherine.—”Archie, it happens whiles that prosperity is not in the power of man—if toil cannot accomplish it—if the blessing that maketh rich, comes not upon your labor, I charge you to spend no time in vain repinings, nor to be cast down beyond measure: mind at all times that my house is open to you—that if you have no other shelter in the wide world, under this roof there constantly remains for you a home. I say, mind this, Archie, as the last charge I lay upon you. If you are like to be overcome in your striving, come home; if your heart grows faint within you, and you find only weariness in your plans of merchandize instead of fortune, come home—you can come at no time when you will not be dearly welcome. Mind, Archie Sutherland, I say to you, mind! that let the world smile upon you or frown upon you as it lists, you have a home to come to—a household blythe to welcome you!”
The time had come at last. The hope of return in his heart bowed down under the heaviness of his farewell, Archibald seated himself in the vehicle, and seizing the reins, drove hastily away, not trusting himself to look back again. When he had reached the high road he paused once more, to answer the mute farewell waved to him from within the enclosure of Merkland, and then turned resolutely away—away from genial home, warm friends, affection, sympathy, to cold toil and friendless labor, an uncongenial atmosphere, a strange country. His heart swelled within him—his breast tightened—his eyes overflowed. Years must pass, with all their unknown vicissitudes, before he looked again upon those familiar faces—before he saw his own country again lie beautiful and calm beneath the sun. He quickened his pace, keeping time with the rapid current of his thoughts. For home—for friends—for country—all his labor, all his endurance, would be for these: was it for him to repine, or murmur, with his work and his reward before him? The remembrance stirred his spirit like a trumpet, and the home voice of the Oran stole in upon his thoughts chiming so hopefully and brave:
“Speed thy labor o’er land and sea,
Home and kindred are waiting for thee!”