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Page 33
Suddenly, she heard a long, deep-drawn sigh. She saw the head of the
sufferer turn gently on one side, pressing the pillow. A color--the
faintest in the world, stole over the features. The countenance
gradually settled into a calm, natural expression. The respiration
became stronger and more regular. In a few moments, he slept as softly
as a little child.
Ad�le's heart gave one bound, and then for a moment stood still. She
uttered a sigh of relief, but sank back in her chair, wearied by
excess of emotion. She felt instinctively, that the crisis had been
safely passed, that there was hope for the invalid.
Then, for a long time, her mind was occupied with thoughts respecting
death and the beyond.
Suddenly a shadow, flitting across the curtained window recalled her
to the present scene.
Ah! what a mercy, she thought, that Aunt Patty did not kill him,
before I discovered her beautiful mode of nursing sick people. No
wonder he has been crazed all this time, with those strange manoeuvres
of hers!
On the previous, night, Ad�le had been the last of the family to
retire. Stealing noiselessly past the door of the sick-room, which was
somewhat ajar, her steps were arrested by hearing Aunt Patty, whose
voice was pitched on a very high key, singing some old Scotch song.
Thinking this rather a strange method of composing the nervous system
of a delirious patient, she stood and listened. Up, far up, into the
loftiest regions of sound, went Aunt Patty's cracked and quavering
voice, and then it came down with a heavy, precipitous fall into a
loud grumble and tumble below. She repeated again and again, in a most
hilarious tone, the words--
"Let us go, lassie, go,
To the braes of Balquhither,
Where the blaebarries grow.
'Mang the bonnie Highland heather".
In the midst of this, Ad�le heard a deep groan. Then she heard the
invalid say in a feeble, deprecating tone--
"Ah! why do you mock me? Am I not miserable enough?"
Mrs. McNab stopped a moment, then replied in a sharp voice, "Mockin'
ye! indeed, it's na such thing. If ye had an atom o' moosic in ye, ye
wad ken at ance, its a sweet Scotch sang I'm singin' to ye. I've sung
mony a bairn to sleep wi' it".
There was no reply to this remark. All was quiet for a moment, when
Ad�le, fancying she heard the clinking of a spoon against the side of
a tumbler, leaned forward a little and looked through the aperture
made by the partially opened door. The nurse was sitting by the fire,
in her huge headgear, wrapped in a shawl and carefully stirring, what
seemed, by the odor exhaled, to be whiskey. Her face was very red and
her eyes wide open, staring at the coals.
The sufferer uttered some words, which Ad�le could not distinguish, in
an excited voice.
"I tell ye, there isna ony hope for ye", said Mrs. McNab, who, for
some reason, not apparent, seemed to be greatly irritated by whatever
remarks her patient made.
"There isna ony hope for thum that hasna been elected. Ye might talk
an' pray a' yer life and 'twould do ye na gude, I dinna ken where
you've been a' yer life, not to ken that afore. With a' yer furbelowed
claithes and jewelled watch and trinkets, ye dinna ken much aboot the
gospel. And then, this new preacher a' tellin' the people they can be
saved ony minut they choose to gie up their hearts to the Lord! Its a'
tegither false. I was taught in the Kirk o' Scotland, that a mon might
pray and pray a' his days, and then he wadna be sure o' bein' saved.
That's the blessed doctrine I was taught. If ye are to be saved, ye
will be. There noo, go to sleep. I'll read the ward o' God to ye".
Alas! for the venerable church of old Scotia, had she many such
exponents of her doctrine as Mrs. McNab.
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