Part 16

'You are so sweet when you obey one, and that half biscuit was pure, unadulterated virtue, Meg! How very "cowogated" it is to-night,' and he laughed as he tried to stroke my hair, and as I leaned over him he whispered,--

'Such a perfect little sister always, Jonathan.'

Then the agony again--suddenly his face convulsed and he gasped out,--

'Stand away, somewhere where you cannot see me.' And he hid his face as I obeyed him.

I don't know if I stood long there by the fire, with my back towards him, waiting, listening to the shuddering sobs that shook him. I could not even pray, I could not feel the everlasting arms were underneath, I only said in deep rebellion, 'This is not sent in love.' Once I heard him sigh as if in answer to a question, 'Yes, if you wish it, Sir.' And then a silence and the whisper of my name.

I was frightened at the exhausted look upon his face, and this time he took the brandy, and when the dear, pain-clouded eyes had cleared a little he whispered, and there were pauses in between the words now,--

'Sorry, darling--remember--your--funny char. Our Lady--of Ventre, Meg--you see, "it's--my inside!" he said apologetically, and tried to smile. 'Sponge me again--darling.'

Then he lay very quiet and tired, but presently grew a little stronger, and said without opening his eyes,--

'It's true about the everlasting arms, Meg. I confessed to my Redeemer and I'm shriven, tell daddy, don't forget. I had the Holy Communion, darling. The Padre here is such a good chap. He lighted two tall candles, but I couldn't blow 'em out, tell Aunt Amelia!' and his eyes were twinkling when he opened them. Then he was quiet again, and after a moment said,--

'He is so perfect if one even _tries_ to be dutiful. I do adore Him so.' And then, 'Tell me about the garden.'

I told him all about the flowers, and which of the roses were in bloom, and about Dame Nature making the scent, and what Toby had said about the stork.

'And is he coming, Meg?'

'Oh, Ross, I think I've heard the faintest far-off flutter of his wings.'

'Give him my love,' he whispered.

'Who, darling?' I inquired, thinking he hadn't understood.

'The little son,' he said.

Then he lay quiet, and as the day began to dawn his hands grew damp. The shadows seemed to deepen on his face, and in his eyes there was a strange and far-off look, as if he saw beyond the present time, and gazed out into eternity. It was a very lovely, wondering look.

'Oh, all the pain has gone and somebody called me then; was it the colonel, Meg?'

'But I could see the great change coming, and I said I didn't think it was the colonel.

'There, he's called again, kiss me, darling, quickly; are you ready, Sam?' he asked.

And then there broke a perfect glory on his face and in his eyes a look of deep adoring love as, turning rapturously to me, he said,--

'Why, Meg, I heard the Lord!'

And so I quickly kneeled, because only his dear, dying ears had heard the quiet entry of that radiant Presence in the room, as, with a little rapturous intaking of his breath, he raised himself and said,--

'Yes, coming, Sir,' and saw his 'Picture,' The Beatific Vision.

And so the sister found us when she came; and as I folded the dear, strong hands that never did an unkind act, across the quiet heart that did 'adore Him so,' and closed the eyes which never looked at me except in love, she said, gazing with misty eyes upon his peace-filled face,--

'We see many types; _he_ was a very gallant Christian gentleman.'

She took me to that little room I had first waited in.

'He left you very specially in my charge,' she said, 'because you've been so ill. He asked me to keep you if I could till some one came to fetch you home. There is a message just come through to say Sir Jasper Fotheringham will be here at noon in time to take you to----'

'Oh, will it be so soon?'

'It must, you see there are so many,' and her face grew very tired. 'So, will you let me take care of you till then? See if you can rest.' Presently when she went away, God gave me His great gift of tears.

When she came again, I asked for Sam, and, sitting down beside me on the couch, she said,--

'I hardly know how to tell you, but just at dawn he died. He had been very ill all night and wandering in his mind, and suddenly he called, 'Quite ready, Master Ross,' and--passed.'

But, not alone. Who dares to say that such a thing was chance, that such a perfect happening was mere coincidence? I think his faithful heart answered his earthly master's call, and the two walked up the starry way together, with that sweet and gracious Presence in between.

Just before Uncle Jasper arrived the sister asked me if I would like to see one of Ross's men. So the sergeant came of whom I had often heard; he was very broken up. I asked him to tell me anything he could about the end. I will try and put it down in his own words.

'We all knew how devoted Brown was to the captain. We didn't exactly hate him ourselves, ma'am, but he was Brown's own personal property, according to his view. He never would accept promotion as he wanted to go on being his servant, and there was always trouble if any one wanted to have a hand at cleaning up the captain's things or making him a bit more comfortable, if you can be comfortable in hell, if you'll excuse the word, ma'am. We used to call him Brown's Archbishop, if you'll not think it a liberty for me to name it, ma'am?'

'Go on,' I said, 'I love to hear it.'

'Well, we was in a trench that night, with orders to hold on no matter what it cost. The Germans got the range and we was pretty well wiped out before they rushed it. We was all dead beat and wore out for want of sleep. After they had rushed it, Captain Fotheringham got some of the wounded and the last remaining men, only five, I think, together where the trench was narrowest, and he told us again what the orders was, and how we must still hold on, as time was everything, and that if we could even now keep them back a bit the reliefs might come up and so save a lot of lives. I could see he thought we hadn't got a dog's chance by the kindness in his face. He put us men behind him, me next to him, in case he fell, so that I could take command, and the two corporals behind me, and Brown, being the only private, was at the back, the last. We waited, we could hear the Huns coming down the trench, doing their devil's work they was, killing the wounded as they lay. Suddenly Brown pushed past me and the others and went and stood in front of Captain Fotheringham.

'"Get behind me Brown," said the captain, thinking, I suppose, he hadn't understood the order. He was not the type of officer men disobey deliberate, ma'am. But Brown said,--

'"I will not, sir."

When the captain saw that Brown did not intend to move, all the kindness went out of his eyes and his face hardened, and with a kind of fury he said,--

'"Are you mad, Brown? Get behind me."

'"I will not, sir," said Brown again.

'The captain looked at him--you know how his eyes go when he's very angry?

'"You refuse the order, Brown?"

'"Yes, I do, Master Ross."

'Then the captain's face suddenly softened and he said,--

'"The last one, after all the years, Sam?"

'"No, _because_ of all the years," said poor old Brown.

'Then we saw the Germans coming round the bend and the captain moved a step or two forward where the trench was slightly wider, and for the only time in all his soldier life he changed an order.

"Oh, you funny old ass, Sam, you can stand beside me, then."

'"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," said Brown; you know his funny way, ma'am.

'Never saw such shooting, absolutely deadly, first one shot and then the other, till there was a pile of Germans blocking up the trench, and just as the reliefs came up a shell came over and got them both.'

The sergeant's voice broke and he cried quite unashamedly.

Oh, can't you see them facing one another? Sam, with his life's devotion in his eyes, defying Ross. King's Regulations and the Hickley Woods striving for the last mastery: and then Sam, since he might not save his master, glad that at least he could stand beside his life-long friend and comrade, in that great and last adventure--taking equal odds.

Then Uncle Jasper came, and we left them lying side by side in that quiet spot that is for ever England, with just a little wood-encircled cross to mark the place.

Then we went back to Devonshire, to my old home, and I think my heart is broken. I am acquainted with grief now, as daddy said I would be, but I do not know _His_ love. I am rebellious, I can only feel His mastery in my pain. I am not 'courteous,' as Ross was, or 'dutiful' like father, for I have told that Man of Sorrows--the Master of the Universe--that He has been very cruel to me.

*CHAPTER II*

'All which I took from thee I did but take Not for thy harms. But just that thou mightst seek it in my arms.' _Hound of Heaven._

It seems such a coincidence that Ross just missed him after all, for when we arrived at the Manor House I found my father! He had landed the day before and heard the news from dear Aunt Constance. What a homecoming for him! He is little changed, more bowed, perhaps, and he looks older. His face seems more aloof, as if he had not only caught a glimpse of that 'most holy thing,' but, like Sir Galahad, had 'achieved the quest.'

He held his hand out to me as I went in, and said, 'My little girl.' Then the others left us for awhile together. I do not think the years out in that Mission have been easy ones, he looks as if he, like his Lord, had suffered being tempted, and he sorrows deeply for his son. He is so unselfish, so thoughtful, talks about the things that interest Uncle Jasper, and takes away that terrible blank feeling. He even laughs a little, though I don't think that his eyes have really smiled. There is a hurt look in them, as there was when mother died.

Every one is very sweet to me, but I am the most wretched woman on this earth! No, not because of Ross. How could I be for him, after seeing his face when he said 'Coming, Sir.' Although I know that I shall never lose the ache to hear his voice and see him in the flesh again, yet I could be at peace were it not for one thing. It is my soul that's wrong. It has been ever since that time I stood beside the fire doubting the love of God, and, oh, for months before. Doubt is 'perilous stuff'--'it weighs upon the heart.'

I am not sleeping very well, and as I lie awake at night I think sometimes of all the others who are grieving, too, and because I share the same sorrowful 'experience'--because there is inscribed upon my heart, as upon theirs, a list of names: I find myself 'linked up' again--bound indissolubly to each of them by a great sorrow, common to us all.

We have been in Devonshire a month now, and still we do not talk of going back to Surrey. It is lovely to be staying with Aunt Constance, and I am trying to be brave and cheerful, and to go out in the village as I used to do. The Gidger loves the dear old cottage folk, and they love her, and it is perfect having father.

The Hickley Woods are just as beautiful, only my heart breaks when I walk about in them.

It has turned hot, even I am warm enough and don't need fires at night. This evening there was a most gorgeous sunset, the sky was all ablaze with emerald and blue and gold. The distant hills had a bloom on them such as there is sometimes on bunches of purple grapes.

I saw father alone in the garden after dinner, and I felt I wanted to tell him what I hoped about the little son, so I went and stood beside him, and slipped my arm through his, and we wandered out into the woods as we have done many times before.

After I had told him, father said, with a very tender look upon his face,--

'And so The Shepherd Beautiful is giving you another of His lambs to mind.'

I thought it was such a perfect name for Him, it appealed to me more at that moment than any of the other lovely ones that daddy calls Him by. After a little while father said,--

'Shall I tell you something, darling, that I have never told any one before?'

'Please, father.'

'It was many years ago, quite soon after I was married. Your mother and I were walking over the downs. They were all "trimmed" with sheep. She was so amused at the lambs, because she thought they were dreadfully impertinent to their mothers sometimes, and then she said with a sweet look in her eyes,--

'"Anthony, The Shepherd Beautiful is going to give us one of His lambs to mind."

'Instead of being pleased I got in a sudden panic about it, as husbands do sometimes, and your mother laughed at me and shook my arm, and looked round at all the sunny grasslands filled with sheep and said,--

'"Oh, Anthony, don't grieve for me, because it's only like walking in a sunny meadow dappled with shade. When I come to the shadow at the end, I know that if I just walk round the corner, I shall find the Shepherd Beautiful doling out lambs. Oh, Anthony" (and she shook my arm again) "wouldn't it be amusing if the morning I got there He was a bit absent-minded or got muddled with His counting, and doled me out two instead of one to mind. Oh, I would run away so fast with them lest He should ask for one of them back.'"

Then, after a pause, father added,--

'And you see, darling, He was a "bit absent-minded" that morning, and now He's just asked for one of them back.'

'Oh, father,' I exclaimed, with a sudden rush of tears, 'and the one He's asked for back was always called "the lamb"!'

And then the horror of that 'perilous stuff' swept over me, and all the despair and doubt and misery of the last few months surged up like a great flood that presently would overwhelm me, and I cried,--

'But, oh, daddy! He isn't _my_ Shepherd Beautiful, I can't find His love; I can only see some one who has been very cruel to me.'

And father put his arm round me as he used to do when I was little and frightened in the woods, and the evening sun streamed down upon his face, and deepened the aloof look that he wore, and he gazed out over the fields of lilies that were tinted now with gold and rose.

'Yet, it is He who clothes the woods you love so every spring, my darling.'

And as I looked at all the colour and the harmony, the flowers, the sunlight, and the dappled shade, the woods soothed and quietened me. And the old 'washed' feeling came, and the rebellion went, and a great longing to understand God's ways came in my heart instead.

'Oh, but the world's pain, father, and all the grief brought by the war.'

'God calls the world that way sometimes, Meg.'

'But does He never call except through pain?'

'Some very perfect souls can feel Him "in the summer air or in dewy garden green," or in the song of birds, but to many it is only "when the sharp strokes flesh and heart run through, in all their incommunicable pain"--God speaks Himself.'

'And does He always call when He sends pain, father?'

'It has so large a place in God's economy, my darling, that we may find in it another Sacrament. When the Great High Priest gives the bread of tears, the wine of separation, there is, in these visible things, His inward call to come closer to Himself. Oh, little daughter, when you can find His love in nothing else, look at Calvary, for there the perfect Saviour deigned to stoop to a last service--"Love's epitome."'

And so I 'looked' at Him upon His cross, as daddy bade me, and realised for the first time that as God's justice has been satisfied, there is nothing left but His love for me.

I saw, all in a moment, that if God loved me enough to give His Son, and if His Son loved me enough to give His life, He will not keep back any other gift. He is all love, so all He sends to me is Love. He cannot help Himself.

I am all broken up to think that I so nearly missed a gift of love because He sent it veiled to me in pain.

Out in the Hickley Woods I found Him. Down the paths of my life I suddenly saw the way of His feet, and my soul rushed out to meet Him.

At last I know the lesson that Ross learned by pain. I see what Charlie saw only when he was blind. I understand what father has known since mother died. Oh, the wonder and the utter perfection of this 'experience.' It links me up with all the others down the centuries who having found _Him_ 'in a mist of tears' can _glory_ in their pain. If only I could pass the lovely comfort of it on to some of those whose hearts are wounded, as mine is, inexpressibly and beyond all telling, by this awful war:--

He only takes away the ones we love if, in His all wise love, He sees He must. If we accept the atonement that He made, and love Him, and are dutiful to Him about the ones He takes. He will always give instead that incomparably more lovely, priceless, perfect, altogether lovely one--Himself.

And now this funny old book is finished. As I write the words my room grows dark, because the sun is hidden for a moment by a cloud of rain. Yet all the tender plants out in the woods will be the stronger for the storm, when it has passed.

I look into the future, and I see that there remains for me one last 'experience.'

Some day, perhaps when I am very old, I shall walk down a valley shadowed with dark wings. Beside me will be one--that mighty one--whose face is cold and quiet, majestic and inexorable. I shall not fear him as the darkness deepens in that vale, for all around, by reason of the Passion of my Lord, there will be a song of triumph sung:--

'Oh death! where is thy sting? And where thy victory?'

And at the end of that dark night I, too, shall find the morning. I shall greet Ross again. I shall see mother, and the others who have gone before. I shall in one ecstatic moment, find myself--'linked up' with God.

LONDON AND GLASGOW: COLLINS' CLEAR-TYPE PRESS.