In the early morning the minister and his wife drove over to see him, and leaving his wife with Kirsty, the minister passed at once into Macdonald Dubh's room. But, in spite of all his reasoning, in spite of all his readings and his prayers, the gloom remained unbroken except by occasional paroxysms of fear and remorse.
“There is no forgiveness! There is no forgiveness!” was the burden of his cry.
In vain the minister proclaimed to him the mercy of God. At length he was forced to leave him to attend the “Question Meeting” which was to be held in the church that day. But he left his wife behind him.
Without a word, Mrs. Murray proceeded to make the poor man comfortable. She prepared a dainty breakfast and carried it in to him, and then she sat beside him while he fell into a deep sleep.
It was afternoon when Macdonald Dubh awoke and greeted her with his wonted grave courtesy.
“You are better, Mr. Macdonald,” she said, brightly. “And now I will make you a fresh cup of tea”; and though he protested, she hurried out, and in a few moments brought him some tea and toast. Then, while he lay in gloomy silence, she read to him, as she did once before from his Gaelic psalm book, without a word of comment. And then she began to tell him of all the hopes she had cherished in connection with the opening of the new church, and how that day she had felt at last the blessing had come.
“And, O, Mr. Macdonald,” she said, “I was glad to hear you cry, for then I knew that the Spirit of God was among us.”
“Glad!” said Macdonald Dubh, faintly.
“Yes, glad. For a cry like that never comes but when the Spirit of God moves in the heart of a man.”
“Indeed, I will be thinking that He has cast me off forever,” he said, wondering at this new phase of the subject.