Ranald had no desire to be a farmer, and indeed, when the mortgage was paid there would not be much left.
“He will be my son,” said Macdonald Bhain to his brother; “and my home will be his while I live.”
So in every way there was quiet preparation for Macdonald Dubh's going, and when at last the day came, there was no haste or fear.
It was in the afternoon of a bright September day, as the sun was nearing the tops of the pine-trees in the west. His brother was supporting him in his strong arms, while Ranald knelt by the bedside. Near him sat the minister's wife, and at a little distance Kirsty.
“Lift me up, Tonal,” said the dying man; “I will be wanting to see the sun again, and then I will be going. I will be going to the land where they will not need the light of the sun. Tonal, bhodaich, it is the good brother you have been to me, and many's the good day we have had together.”
“Och, Hugh, man. Are you going from me?” said Macdonald Bhain, with great sorrow in his voice.
“Aye, Tonal, for a little.” Then he looked for a few moments at Kirsty, who was standing at the foot of the bed.
“Come near me, Kirsty,” he said; and Kirsty came to the bedside.
“You have always been kind to me and mine, and you were kind to HER as well, and the reward will come to you.” Then he turned to Mrs. Murray, and said, with a great light of joy in his eyes: “It is you that came to me as the angel of God with a word of salvation, and forever more I will be blessing you.” And then he added, in a voice full of tenderness, “I will be telling her about you.” He took Mrs. Murray's hand and tremblingly lifted it to his lips.
“It has been a great joy to me,” said Mrs. Murray, with difficulty steadying her voice, “to see you come to your Saviour, Mr. Macdonald.”