When the news that young Duncan had been shot was brought to Ben Nevis, the effect on his father was much more severe than might have been expected, considering their respective feelings towards each other.
It was late in the evening when the news came, and the old man was seated in what he styled his smoking-room, taking his evening glass of whisky and water.
This was so very unusual a request that Elspie was somewhat alarmed by it, as well as surprised—all the more so that the old man left the room without finishing either his pipe or glass. Still, she did not suppose that anything serious would come of it. A night’s rest, she thought, would do away with the evils of the shock.
“Dear father,” she said, as she kissed him at parting, “do believe that God is waiting to be gracious: that He really means it when He says, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden2, and I will give you rest.’ And, consider—we have no reason to suppose that dear Duncan’s wound is very dangerous.”
“Goot-night, Elspie,” was all the reply.
Next morning McKay did not make his appearance at the usual breakfast-hour, and, on going to his room, they found him lying speechless in his bed, suffering under a stroke of paralysis3.
He soon recovered the power of speech, but not the use of his limbs, and it became evident ere long that the poor man had received a shock which would probably cripple him for life. Whatever may have been his secret thoughts, however, he carefully concealed5 them from every one, and always referred to his complaint as, “this nasty stiff feeling about the legs which iss a long time of goin’ away—whatever.”
In a few days, Fergus returned from the plains, bringing his brother in a cart, which had been made tolerably easy by means of a springy couch of pine-branches. They did not tell him at first of his father’s illness, lest it should interfere6 with his own recovery from the very critical condition in which he lay. At first he took no notice of his father’s non-appearance, attributing it to indifference7; but when he began slowly to mend, he expressed some surprise. Then they told him.
Whatever may have been his thoughts on the subject, he gave no sign, but received the information—as, indeed, he received nearly all information at that time—in absolute silence.
Fortunately, the bullet which struck him had passed right through his side, so that he was spared the pain, as well as the danger, of its extraction. But, from his total loss of appetite and continued weakness, it was evident that he had received some very severe, if not fatal, internal injury. At last, very slowly, he began to grow a little stronger, but he was a very shadow or wreck8 of his former self. Nevertheless, the more sanguine9 members of the family began to entertain some faint hope of his recovery.
Of course, during these first days of his weakness his sister Elspie nursed him. She would, if permitted, have done so night and day, but in this matter she had to contend with one who was more than a match for her. This was Old Peg10, the faithful domestic.
“No, no, dearie,” said that resolute11 old woman, when Elspie first promulgated12 to her the idea of sitting up all night with Duncan, “you will do nothin’ of the sort. Your sainted mother left your father an’ Fergus an’ yourself to my care, an’ I said I would never fail you, so I can’t break my promise by letting you break your health. I will sit up wi’ him, as I’ve done many a time when he was a bairn.”
It thus came to pass that Elspie nursed her brother by day, and Old Peg sat up with him at night. Of course the duties of the former were considerably13 lightened by the assistance rendered by various members of the family, as well as friends, who were ever ready to sit by the bedside of the wounded man and read to or chat with him. At such times he was moderately cheerful, but when the night watches came, and Old Peg took her place beside him, and memory had time to commence with him undisturbed, the deed of which he had had been guilty was forced upon him; Conscience was awakened14, and self-condemnation15 was the result. Yet, so inconsistent is poor humanity that self-exculpation warred with self-condemnation in the same brain! The miserable16 man would have given all he possessed17 to have been able to persuade himself that his act was purely18 one of self-defence—as no doubt to some extent it was, for if he had not fired first Perrin’s action showed that he would certainly have been the man-slayer. But, then, young McKay could not shut his eyes to the fact that premeditation had, in the first instance, induced him to extend his hand towards his gun, and this first act it was which had caused all the rest.
Often during the wakeful hours of the night would the invalid19 glance at his nurse with a longing20 desire to unburden his soul to her, but whenever his eye rested on her calm, wrinkled old visage, and he thought of her deafness, and the difficulty of making her understand, he abandoned his half-formed intention with a sigh. He did not, indeed, doubt her sympathy, for many a time during his life, especially when a child, had he experienced the strength and tenderness of that.
After attending to his wants, it was the habit of Old Peg to put on a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles and read. Her only book was the Bible. She read nothing else—to say truth, at that time there was little else to read in Red River. The first night of her watch she had asked the invalid if he would like her to read a few verses to him.
“You may if you like, Peg,” he had replied. “You know it iss little I care for releegion, for I don’t believe in it, but you may read if you like—it may amuse me, an’ will help to make the time pass—whatever.”
Thus the custom was established. It was plain that the old woman counted much on the influence of the simple Word of God, without comment, for every time she opened the Bible she shut her eyes and her lips moved in silent prayer before she began to read.
The invalid was greatly tickled21 with this little preliminary prayer, and would have laughed aloud if he had not been too weak to do so. As time went on, however, he became interested in the Gospel narratives22 in spite of himself, and he began to experience some sort of relish23 for the evening reading—chiefly because, as he carefully explained to Elspie, “the droning o’ the old wumman’s voice” sent him to sleep.
Meanwhile the other invalid—Duncan senior—progressed as slowly as did his son. The nursing of him was undertaken chiefly by Jessie Davidson—the sympathetic Jessie—who was established as an inmate24 of Ben Nevis pro4 tem, for that very purpose. She was ably seconded—during part of each day—by Billie Sinclair, between whom and the old Highlander25 there grew up at that time a strong friendship. For many weeks poor old McKay was confined to his bed, and then, when allowed to rise, he could only walk across his room with the aid of the strong arm of his stalwart son Fergus. To sit at his open window and look out at his garden was his principal amusement, and smoking a long clay pipe his chief solace26. Like Duncan junior, old Duncan was quite willing to hear the Bible read to him now and then, by Jessie Davidson and more especially by Little Bill; but the idea of deriving27 any real comfort from that book never for a moment entered his head.
One day Elspie came to him and said:
“Daddy, Dan wants to see you to-day, if you feel well enough.”
“Surely, my tear. It iss not the first time he will be seein’ me since I got the stroke.”
“He has brought you a present—something that he has made—which he hopes will be useful to you.”
“What is it, Elspie?”
“You shall see. May I tell him to come in and bring it with him?”
“Surely, my tear. Let him come in. It iss always goot for sore eyes to see himself—whatever.”
“What in all the world iss that?” said the old man to Little Bill, who happened to be his companion at the time.
“It sounds like wheels, I think,” said Billie.
The door opened as he spoke29, and Dan Davidson entered, pushing before him an invalid chair of a kind that is familiar enough in the civilised world, but which was utterly30 unknown at that time in those regions.
“Goot-mornin’, Tan; what hev you got there? Iss it a surprise you will be givin’ me?”
“It is a chair, sir, which will, I hope, add a good deal to your comfort,” said Dan. “I made it myself, from the memory-model of one which I once saw in the old country. See, I will show you how it acts. Push me along, Jessie.”
Dan sat down in the chair as he spoke, and his sister Jessie, who entered at the moment, pushed him all about the room with the greatest ease.
“Well, well!” said the amused invalid. “Ye are a clever man, Taniel. It iss a goot contrivance, an’ seems to me fery well made. Could Little Bill push it, think ye? Go an’ try, boy.”
Little Bill found that he could push Dan in the chair as easily as Jessie had done it.
“But that is not all,” said Dan. “See—now I will work the chair myself.”
So saying he laid his hands on the two large wheels at either side—which, with a little wheel behind, supported the machine—and moved it about the room, turned it round, and, in short, acted in a very independent manner as to self-locomotion.
“Well, now, that iss goot,” exclaimed the pleased invalid. “Let me try it, Tan.”
In his eagerness the poor man, forgetting for a moment his helpless condition, made an effort to rise, and would certainly have fallen off the chair on which he was seated if Elspie had not sprung to his assistance.
“Come, there’s life in you yet!” said Dan as he assisted the old man into the wheel-chair. “Put your hands—so. And when you want to turn sharp round you’ve only to pull with one hand and push with—”
“Get along with you,” interrupted the old man, facetiously31 giving the chair a swing that caused all who stood around him to leap out of his way: “will you hev the presumption32 to teach a man that knew how to scull a boat before you wass born? But, Taniel,” he added, in a more serious tone, “we must hev one like this made for poor Tuncan.”
As this was the first reference which McKay had made to his younger son since his illness—with the exception of the daily inquiry33 as to his health—it was hailed as an evidence that a change for the better was taking place in the old man’s mind. For up to that period no one had received any encouragement to speak of, or enter into conversation about, Duncan junior.
“You are right,” returned Dan. “I have been thinking of that, and have even laid in the wood to make a similar chair for him. But I fear he won’t be able to use it for some time to come. Elspie was thinking, if you don’t object, to have your bedroom changed to one of the rooms on the ground floor, so that you could be wheeled into the garden when so inclined.”
“Yes, daddy,” said Elspie, taking up the discourse34; “we can put you into the room that corresponds with Duncan’s room at the other end of the house, so that you and he will be able to meet after your long illness. But there is another contrivance which Dan has been making for us—not for you, but for Old Peg. Tell daddy about it, Dan.”
“Like the chair,” said Dan, “it is no novelty, except in this out-o’-the-way place. You see, I have noticed that Old Peg is rather deaf—”
“Well, Tan,” interrupted old McKay with a benignant smile, “it iss not much observation that you will be requirin’ to see that!”
“Just so. Well, I also observed that it gives Duncan some trouble to speak loud enough to her. So I have invented a sort of ear-trumpet—a tin pipe with an ear-piece at one end and a mouth-piece at the other, which I hope may make things easier.”
“Hev ye not tried it yet?” asked McKay.
“Not yet. I’ve only just brought it.”
“Go down, lad, an’ try it at wanse, an’ let me know what the upshot iss.”
Down they all went accordingly, leaving Duncan senior alone.
They found Old Peg in the act of administering beef-tea refreshment—or something of that sort—to the invalid. Peter Davidson and Archie Sinclair were there also, paying him a visit.
“Hallo, Little Bill!” said Archie as his brother entered. “You here! I guessed as much. Your passion for nursing since you attended Dan is outrageous35. You do more nursing in this house, I do believe, than Elspie and Jessie and Old Peg put together. What d’ee mean by it, Bill? I get no good of you at all now!”
“I like it, Archie, and I’m training myself to nurse you when you get ill or old!”
“Thank ’ee for nothin’, Little Bill, for I don’t mean to become either ill or old for some time to come; but, I say, are they goin’ to perform an operation on Old Peg’s head?”
This was said in consequence of Elspie shouting to the old woman to let her put something into her ear to cure deafness.
“Cure deafness!” she exclaimed, with a faint laugh, “nothin’ will ever cure my deafness. But I can trust you, dearie, so do what you please.”
“Shut your eyes, then.”
“And open your mouth!” said Archie to Little Bill in a low voice.
Old Peg did as she was bid. Dan, approaching behind her, put the small end of the tube into her right ear—which was the best one—and Elspie, putting her mouth to the other end, spoke to her in her soft, natural voice.
The effect was amusing. Old Peg dropped into her chair as if paralysed, and gazed from one to another in mute amazement36.
“Eh! dearie. Did I ever think to hear the sweet low voice o’ Elspie like as it was when she was a bairn! Most amazin’!” she said. “Let me hear’t again.”
The operation was repeated, and it was finally found that, by means of this extemporised ear-trumpet, the poor creature once more became a conversable member of society. She went about the house the remainder of that day in a quite excited state, asking questions of everybody, and putting the end of the instrument to their mouths for an answer. Archie even declared that he had caught her alone in the back-kitchen shoving the cat’s head into the mouth-piece of the instrument, and pinching its tail to make it mew.
It was two days after the occurrence of these incidents that the old woman was seated by Duncan’s bedside, gazing through her tortoise-shell glasses at the well-thumbed Bible, when her patient, who had been very restless, looked up and spoke.
“Can I do anything for ye, dearie?” said Old Peg, putting the trumpet-end into her ear, and handing the mouth-piece to Duncan.
“You—you hear much better now, Old Peg?” said the sick man, in his natural voice.
“Ay, much, much better; thanks to the Lord—and to Mr Daniel.”
“If Daniel had not thought of it,” said the invalid, quite gravely, “do you think that the Lord would hev sent the machine to you?”
“He might or He might not,” returned the old woman, promptly37. “It’s not for me to say, nor yet to guess on that point. But this I do know for certain—if the Lord hadna’ thought upon Mr Daniel, then Mr Daniel wouldna’ have been here to think upon me.”
Duncan made no reply, and for some time remained quite silent. Then he spoke again.
“Peg, what wass it that you would be reading to me last night—something about a malefactor38, I’m thinking.”
“Ay, it was about the robbers that was crucified on each side o’ the Lord. One o’ them reviled39 the Lord as he was hangin’ there, the other found forgiveness, for he was led to see what a lost sinner he was, and repented40 and confessed his sins.”
“That is fery strange,” said Duncan, after a few moments’ thought. “Do you think, Peg, that the robber that was forgiven wass a—a murderer?”
“I have little doubt o’t,” answered Peg, “for I’ve heard say that they think very little o’ human life in them Eastern countries. But whatever he was, the blood of Jesus Christ was able to cleanse41 him.”
“Ay, but if he was a murderer, Peg, he did not deserve to be forgiven.”
“My bairn,” said the old woman, with something of motherly tenderness in her tone, “it’s not them that deserve to be forgiven that are forgiven, but them that see that they don’t deserve it. Didna’ this robber say that he was sufferin’ for his sins justly? That, surely, meant that he deserved what he was getting, an’ how is it possible to deserve both condemnation an’ forgiveness at the same time? But he believed that Jesus was a king—able and willing to save him though he did not deserve it, so he asked to be remembered, and he was remembered. But lie down now, bairn, an’ rest: Ye are excitin’ yoursel’, an’ that’s bad for ye.”
A week or so after the conversation above recorded, Dan brought a wheel-chair for Duncan, similar to the one he had made for his father. As Duncan had been getting out of bed for several days before, Dan found him dressed and sitting up. He therefore lifted him into the chair at once, and wheeled him out into the garden, where a blaze of warm sunshine seemed to put new life into the poor invalid.
It had been pre-arranged that old McKay should be brought down that same day to his new room, and that he should also be wheeled into the garden, so as to meet his son Duncan, without either of them being prepared for the meeting.
“I don’t feel at all sure that we are right in this arrangement,” Elspie had said; but Dan and Fergus, and Mrs Davidson and Jessie had thought otherwise, so she was overruled.
Archie was deputed to attend upon Duncan junior, and Little Bill obtained leave to push the chair of old McKay. The younger man was wheeled under the shade of a tree with his back to the house, and left there. Then the family retired42 out of the way, leaving Archie to attend the invalid.
A few minutes after young Duncan had been placed, Little Bill pushed his charge under the same tree, and, wheeling the chair quickly round, brought father and son suddenly face to face.
The surprise was great on both sides, for each, recollecting43 only the man that had been, could hardly believe in the reality of the ghost that sat before him.
“Father!” exclaimed Duncan at last.
But the old man answered not. Some strong feeling was evidently surging within him, for his mouth was tightly pursed and his features worked strangely. Suddenly he burst into tears, but the weakness was momentary44. With an effort that seemed to concentrate the accumulated energy of all the McKays from Adam downwards45, he again pursed his mouth and looked at his younger son with a stern persistent46 frown, worthy47 of the most rugged48 of Highlanders in his fiercest mood.
Duncan was inexpressibly touched.
“Father,” said he again, “I’ve been a baad, baad son to you.”
“Tuncan,” retorted the old man, in a husky but firm voice, “I’ve been a baad, baad father to you.”
“Let us shake hands—whatever,” said the son.
The two silently grasped each other’s hands with all the little strength that remained to them. Then old McKay turned suddenly to his henchman.
“Little Bill,” said he, in a tone that was not for an instant to be disregarded, “shove me down to the futt of the garden—you rascal49!”
With a promptitude little short of miraculous50 the Highlander was wheeled away, and thus the momentous51 meeting was abruptly52 brought to a close.
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1
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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7
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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8
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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9
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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11
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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12
promulgated
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| v.宣扬（某事物）( promulgate的过去式和过去分词 )；传播；公布；颁布（法令、新法律等） | |
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13
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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14
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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15
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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21
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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narratives
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| 记叙文( narrative的名词复数 )； 故事； 叙述； 叙述部分 | |
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23
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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28
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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29
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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30
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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31
facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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32
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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33
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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35
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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37
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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38
malefactor
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| n.罪犯 | |
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39
reviled
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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42
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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43
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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44
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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45
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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46
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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47
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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48
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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49
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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50
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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51
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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52
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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