‘Would you have me say I had spoken a lie in the Lord’s name?’ he cried, and let his wife’s hands fall, turning away from them with the old fiery glow blazing up in his eyes.
Then at once, and as by a spell, Ailie fell into the stillness and apathy from which she had been momentarily roused. Her husband turned away and went to another window to read his letters, leaving her relapsed into her old attitude, her hands again crossed in her lap, her eyes gazing out upon the bright, unvarying landscape. Isabel stood by her almost as motionless as she, looking at her with an anxiety which seemed to deprive her of all power of speech. What could she say? What was there in Heaven or earth that could comfort this forlorn creature? How hopeless she looked, abstracted from all the life that surrounded her! Mr. John returned to them before Isabel could find a word to say. He went forward to his wife and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
‘Farewell, Ailie,’ he said; ‘if I should, as you say, perish by the sword, this will be the end of all between us—and, perhaps, it would be best for you.’
‘Farewell,’ she said, dreamily; ‘farewell!’ It seemed at first as if she was about to let him go without even a look. But at last a little stir of life moved her. ‘We’ve been no blessing to each other,’ she said; ‘neither you to me, nor I to you. And my heart’s dead and the Spirit gone from me; but you were never an ill man to me, John Diarmid. It’s right Isabel should know. The will o’ the Lord—if it was the will o’ the Lord—hasna been blessed to you or to me. But you were never ill to me; you would have been good to me if——’
‘If——’ said Mr. John. ‘We will enter into that subject no more. But farewell, Ailie. I think we will never meet in this world again.’ Then he turned to Isabel and took both her hands into his. ‘I do not care for my life,’ he said, ‘no more than she does. It is for God’s service to do what He likes with. But so long as she lives will you be good to her? Neither for her sake nor mine, but for——’
‘O, hush!’ cried Isabel, ‘there should be no other name spoken of here. Why should you go away? Ailie, you are his wife, tell him to stay. And you are not old that you should part. Oh, Mr. John, look at me! Is it well to be alone in the world at my age, and at her age? Stay and take care of her yourself. She is your wife. Ailie, take his hand and make him stay!’
She stood impetuous between the two, holding a hand of each, trying, with her young energy, to draw the sombre, passionate, disappointed man and the abstracted, visionary wife to each other.
‘God will not bless you if you part,’ cried Isabel. ‘Oh, look at me that am a widow! What would I give to have my good man to be my help and protection? Ailie, speak to him, and he will stay.’
Mr. John was the first to free himself from her hand.
‘I cannot stay,’ he said, ‘not even if she wanted me as much as now she wants to be free of me. I have my use in the world, though not the use I once thought. Farewell! the chances are I will never see Loch Diarmid again.’