A shudder ran through Ailie’s sensitive frame. ‘No,’ she cried, ‘no, no, never that. I’m His handmaid to do His pleasure. But oh, there’s nought can be done this night. The night’s for rest and thought and prayer. It may be the Lord will show His will to me too. And there’s my father and my mother,’ cried Ailie with a little gush of tears.
‘Let the dead bury their dead,’ said her extraordinary suitor, in a voice which seemed to ring round the house like a groan. And then he added with a tone of authority which struck chill to Ailie’s heart: ‘Hitherto you have been a law to yourself, and no man has been set over you; but the wife must take the Lord’s will through her husband who is her head.’
Ailie fell down on her knees trembling, and held fast by the sill of the window.
‘I am no man’s wife,’ she cried; ‘and I’m feared and bewildered, and see naething clear. Oh, for the Lord’s sake, gang away from me for this night!’
Mr. John turned his eyes which had been fixed on the pale opening in the clouds to her face. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ll go; the flesh can bear no more. Go on your knees to Him, and not to me. And He may make it clear to you if He thinks fit; but in light or in darkness I call on you to obey. Is His servant to stand still because there is no light?’
‘I’ll pray!’ cried Ailie, with a gasp. And he withdrew from the window, stumbling over the little flower-borders in the cottage-garden, and gazing vaguely up into the white break in the sky. His haggard, pale face fascinated her in its abstraction. She rose, and closed her window with nervous hands, still gazing at him; when suddenly another window opened—that of the attic over the cottage door.
‘Wha’s there?’ cried a voice. Instinctively Ailie shrank back, but yet kept her ear at the opening that she might hear. It was the voice of her mother, who had been roused by the conversation below.
‘Wha are ye, disturbing honest folk in the middle of the night, and what do you want here?’
‘It’s me,’ said Mr. John, raising his head listlessly. ‘I was sent to her with a word from the Lord.’
Old Janet Macfarlane uttered a hasty exclamation. ‘I’m meaning no reproach to you, Mr. John; but I wish your words would come in the day.’