An Orkney Maid by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (best sci fi novels of all time .TXT) 📕

shall have faculties capable of fuller and higher pleasures; faculties that without doubt "will be satisfied." For in all hearts that have suffered, there must abide the conviction that the Future holds Compensation, not Punishment.

But without forecast or remembrance, the Ragnors that night enjoyed their highly mentalised meal, and after it was over and the table set backward, and the white hearth brushed free of ashes, they drew around the fire, and Ragnor laid down his pipe, and said:

"I left London last Monday, and I was in Edinburgh until Wednesday morning. On Tuesday I called on Dr. Macrae. I had a letter to give him from Ian."

"Why should Ian have written to him?" asked Rahal, in a tone of disapproval.

"Because Ian has a good heart, he wrote to his father. I read the letter. It was all right."

"What then did he say to him?"

"Well, Rahal, he told his father that he was leaving for the front, and he wished to leave with his forgiveness and blessing, if he would give it to him. He said that he was sure that in their life-long dispute he must often have been in the wrong, and he asked forgiveness for all such lapses of his duty. He told his father that he had a clear plan of success before him, but said that in all cases--fortunate or unfortunate--he would always remember the name he bore and do nothing to bring it shame or dishonour. A very good, brave letter, dear ones. I give Ian credit for it."

"Did thou advise him to write it?" asked Rahal.

"No, it sprang from his own heart."

"Thou should not have sanctioned it."

"Ian did right, Rahal. I did right to sanction it."

"Father, if Ian has a clear plan of success before him, what is it? He ought to have told us."

"He thought it out while we were at sea, he asked me to explain the matter to you. It is, indeed, a plan so simple and manifest, that I wonder we did not propose it at the very first. You must recollect that Ian was in the employ of Dr. Finlay of Edinburgh for three years and a half, and that during that period he acquired both a large amount of medical knowledge and also of medical experience. Now we all know that Ian has a special gift for this science, especially for its surgical side, and he is not going to the trenches or the cavalry, he is going to offer himself to the Surgical and Medical Corps. He will go to the battlefield, carry off the wounded, give them first help, or see them to the hospital. In this way he will be doing constant good to others and yet be forwarding the career which is to make his future happy and honourable."

"Then Ian has decided to be a surgeon, Father?"

"Yes, and I can tell thee, Thora, he has not set himself a task beyond his power. I think very highly of Ian, no one could help doing so; and see here, Thora! I have a letter in my pocket for thee! He gave it to me as I bid him good-bye at Spithead."

"I am so happy, Father! So happy!"

"Thou hast good reason to be happy. We shall all be proud of Ian in good time."

"Did thou give Ian's letter to his father's hands, or did thou mail it, Coll?"

"I gave it to him, personally."

"What was thy first impression of him?"

"He gave me first of all an ecclesiastical impression. I just naturally looked for a gown or surplice. He wanted something without one. He met me coldly but courteously, and taking Ian's letter from me, placed it deliberately upon a pile of letters lying on his desk. I said, 'It is from thy son, Doctor, perhaps thou had better read it at once. It is a good letter, sir, read it.'

"He bowed, and asked if Ian was with me. I said, 'No, sir, he is on his way to Scutari.' Then he was silent. After a few moments he asked me if I had been in Edinburgh during the past Sabbath. 'You should have been here,' he added, 'then you could have heard the great Dr. Chalmers preach.' I told him that I had spent that never-to-be-forgotten Sabbath under the blessed dome of St. Paul's in London. I said something about the transcending beauty of the wonderful music of the cathedral service, and spoke with delight of the majestic nave, filled with mediaeval rush-bottomed chairs for the worshippers, and I told him how much more fitting they were in the House of God than pews." And Ragnor uttered the last word with a new-found emphasis. "He asked, quite scornfully, in what sense I found them more fitting, and I answered rather warmly--'Why, sir, sitting together in chairs, we felt so much more at home. We were like one great family in our Father's house.'"

"Are the chairs rented?" asked Rahal.

"Rented!" cried Ragnor scornfully. "No, indeed! There are no dear chairs and no cheap chairs, all are equal and all are free. I never felt so like worshipping in a church before. The religious spirit had free way in our midst."

"What did Macrae say?"

"He said, he supposed the rush chairs were an 'Armenian innovation'; and I answered, 'The pews, sir, they are the innovation.'"

"Did thou have any argument with him? I have often heard Ian say he plunged into religious argument with every one he met."

"Well, Rahal, I don't know how it happened, but I quickly found myself in a good atmosphere of contradictions. I do not remember either what I had been saying, but I heard him distinctly assert, that 'it was the Armenians who had described the Calvinists, and they had not wasted their opportunities.' Then I found myself telling him that Armenianism had ruled the religious world ever since the birth of Christianity; but that Calvinism was a thing of yesterday, a mere Geneva opinion. Rahal, the man has a dogma for a soul, and yet through this hard veil, I could see that he was full of a longing for love; but he has not found out the way to love, his heart is ice-bound. He made me say things I did not want to say, he stirred my soul round and round until it boiled over, and then the words would come. Really, Rahal, I did not know the words were in my mind, till his aggravating questions made me say them."

"What words? Art thou troubled about them?"

"A little. He was talking of faith and doubt, especially as it referred to the Bible, and I listened until I could bear it no longer. He was asking what proof there was for this, and that, and the other, and as I said, he got me stirred up beyond myself and I told him I cared nothing about proofs. I said proofs were for sceptics and not for good men who _knew_ in whom they had believed."

"Well then, Coll, that was enough, was it not?"

"Not for Macrae. He said immediately, 'Suppose there was no divine authority for the scheme of morals and divinity laid down in this Book,' and he laid his hand reverently on the Bible, 'where should we be?' And I told him, we should be just where we were, because God's commands were written on every conscience and that these commands would stand firm even if creeds became dust, and Matthew, Mark, Luke, John and Paul, all failed and passed away. 'Power of God!' I cried, as I struck the table with my fist, 'it takes God's tireless, patient, eternal love to put up with puny men, always doubting Him. I believe in God the Father Almighty, the Maker of heaven and earth!' I said, 'and I want no proofs about Him in whom I believe.' By this time, Rahal, he had me on fire. I was ready to deny anything he asserted, especially about hell, for thou knows, Rahal, that there are hells in this world and no worse needed. So when he asked if I believed in the Calvinistic idea of hell, I answered, 'I deny it! My soul denies it--utterly!' I reminded him that God spoke to Dives in hell and called him son and that Dives, even there, clung to the fatherhood of God. And I told him this world was a hell to those who deserved hell, and a place of much trial to most men and women, and I thought it was poor comfort to preach to such, that the next world was worse. There now! I have told you enough. He asked me to lunch with him, and I did; and I told him as we ate, what a fine fellow Ian was, and he listened and was silent."

"Then you saw Ian's mother and sister?" asked Thora.

"No, I did not. They had gone for the winter to the Bridge of Allan. Mrs. Macrae is sick, her husband seemed unhappy about her."

Rahal hoped now that her home would settle itself into its usual calm, methodical order. She strove to give to every hour its long accustomed duty, and to infuse an atmosphere of rest and of "use and wont" into every day's affairs. It was impossible. The master of the house had suffered a world change. He had tasted of strange pleasures and enthusiasms, and was secretly planning a life totally at variance with his long accustomed routine and responsibilities. He did not speak of the things in his heart but nevertheless they escaped him.

Very soon he began to have much more regular communication with his sons in Shetland, and finally he told Rahal that he intended taking his son Robert into partnership. Such changes grew slowly in Ragnor's mind, and much more slowly in practice, but Rahal knew that they were steadily working to some ultimate, and already definite and determined end in her husband's will.

The absent also exerted a far greater power upon the home than any one believed. Ian's letters came with persistent regularity, and the influence of one was hardly spent, when another arrived of quite a different character. Ian was rapidly realizing his hopes. He had been gladly taken into a surgical corps, under the charge of a Doctor Frazer, and his life was a continual drama of stirring events. Generally he wrote between actions, and then he described the gallant young men resting on the slopes of the beleaguered hill, with their weapons at their finger tips, but always cheerful. Sometimes he spoke of them under terrible fire in their life-or-death push forward, followed by the surgeons and stretcher-bearers. Sometimes, he had been to the trenches to dress a wound that would not stop bleeding, but always he wondered at seeing the resolute grit and calmness of these young men, who had been the dandies in London drawing-rooms a year ago and who were now smoking placidly in the trenches at Redan.

"What is it?" he asked an old surgeon, on whom he was waiting. "Is it recklessness?"

"No, sir!" was the answer. "It is straight courage. Courage in the blood. Courage nourished on their mother's milk. Courage educated into them at Eton or Rugby, in many a fight and scuffle. Courage that lived with them night and day at Oxford or Cambridge, and that made them choose danger and death rather than be known for one moment as a cad or a coward. It was dancing last year. It is fighting in a proper quarrel this year. Different duties, that is all."

Every now and then