Katie was brought into deep waters. She had never taken it home to herself that Adam might die. Their life had hitherto been quiet and even--so like, so very like, was day to day, that no storm was anticipated to disturb the blessed calm. And now at the prospect of losing him, and being left alone in the wide, wide wilderness, without her companion and guide; her earthly all--in spite of the unearthly links of faith and love that bound them--lost to her; no one who has thus suffered will wonder that her whole flesh shrunk as from the approach of a terrible enemy. Then it was that old truths lying in her heart were summoned to her aid to become practical powers in this her hour of need. She recalled all she had learned as to God's ends in sending affliction, with the corresponding duties of a Christian in receiving it. She was made to realize in her experience the gulf which separates knowing from being and doing--the right theory from the right practice. And thus it was that during a night of watching she fought a great battle in her soul between her own will and God's will, in her endeavour to say, not with her lips, for that was easy, but from her heart, "Thy will be done!" Often did she exclaim to herself, "Na, God forgie me, but I canna say't!" and as often resolved, that "say't she wad, or dee". At early morn, when she opened the shutters, after this long mental struggle, and saw the golden dawn spreading its effulgence of glory along the eastern sky, steeping the clouds with splendours of every hue from the rising sun of heaven, himself as yet unseen; and heard the birds salute his coming--the piping thrush and blackbird beginning their morning hymn of praise, with the lark "singing like an angel in the clouds"--a gush of holy love and confidence filled her heart, as if through earth and sky she heard the echo of her Father's name. Meekly losing herself in the universal peace, she sank down on her knees, beside the old arm-chair, and with a flood of quiet tears, that eased her burning heart, she said, "Father! Thy will be done!"
In a short time she rose with such a feeling of peace and freedom as she had never hitherto experienced in her best and happiest hours. A great weight of care seemed lifted off as if by some mighty hand; and though she dared not affirm that she was now prepared for whatever might happen, she had yet an assured confidence in the goodness of One who would prepare her when the time came, and whose grace would be sufficient for her in any hour of need.
The interest felt by the parish generally, on the Sergeant's dangerous state becoming known, was great and sincere. In the presence of his sufferings, with which all could more or less sympathise--whether from their personal experience of sorrow, from family bereavements, or from the consciousness of their own liability to be at any moment visited with dangerous sickness--his real or supposed failings were for the time covered with a mantle of charity. It was not for them to strike a sorely wounded man.
Alas! for one that will rejoice with those who rejoice, many will weep with those who weep. Sympathy with another's joy is always an unselfish feeling; but pity only for another's suffering may but express the condescension of pride towards dependent weakness.
But it is neither gracious nor comforting to scrutinise too narrowly the motives which influence human nature in its mixture of good and evil, its weakness and strength. We know that we cannot stand such microscopic examination ourselves, and ought not, therefore, to apply it to others. Enough that much real sympathy was felt for Adam. Some of its manifestations at an earlier stage of his illness were alluded to by Miss Thomasina in her conversation with Mr. Smellie. It was true that Mrs. Gordon had called in her carriage, and that repeatedly, to inquire for him--a fact which greatly impressed those in the neighbourhood who had treated him as a man far beneath them. Mr. Gordon, too, had been unremitting in quiet attentions; and Mrs. Mercer was greatly softened, and her heart delivered from its hard thoughts of many of her old acquaintances, by the kind and constant inquiries which day by day were made for her husband. Little Mary had to act as a sort of daily bulletin as she opened the door to reply to those who "speered for the Sergeant"; but no one entered the dwelling, from the natural fears entertained by all of the fever.
Many, too, spoke well of the Sergeant when he was "despaired of", who would have been silent respecting his merits had he been in health. Others also, no doubt, would have waxed eloquent about him after his burial. But would it not be well if those who act on the principle of saying all that is good about the dead, were to spend some portion of their charity upon the living? Their post-mortem store would not be diminished by such previous expenditure. No doubt it is "better late than never"; but would it not be still better if never so late? Perhaps not! So far as the good man himself is concerned, it may be as well that the world should not learn, nor praise him for, the many premiums he has paid day by day for the good of posterity until these are returned, like an insurance policy, in gratitude after he is screwed down in his coffin.
CHAPTER XXVIII
MR. PORTEOUS VISITS THE SERGEANT
But what was the minister thinking about during the Sergeant's illness? Miss Thomasina had told him what had taken place during her interview with Smellie. Mr. Porteous could not comprehend the sudden revolution in the mind of his elder. But his own resolution was as yet unshaken; for there is a glory often experienced by some men when placed in circumstances where they stand alone, that of recognising themselves as being thereby sufferers for conscience' sake--as being above all earthly influences, and firm, consistent, fearless, true to their principles, when others prove weak, cowardly, or compromising. Doubts and difficulties, from whatever source they come, are then looked upon as so many temptations; and the repeated resistance of them, as so many evidences of unswerving loyalty to truth.
"I can never yield one jot of my principles," Mr. Porteous said to Miss Thomasina. "The Sergeant ought to acknowledge his sin before the Kirk Session, before I can in consistency be reconciled to him!" And yet all this sturdy profession was in no small degree occasioned by the intrusion of better thoughts, which because they rebuked him were unpleasant. His irritation measured on the whole very fairly his disbelief in the thorough soundness of his own position, and made him more willing than he had any idea of to be reconciled to Adam.