"Pure? Aye, pure as thy Mother's quenchless love! Pure as the Blood of thy Saviour! Pure as God is pure! Pure, so pure, art thou to me, who knew thee best; and I am coming, to crown thee before them all!" One appeal she made, and only one. The three loving Women and I insisted upon sitting beside her all night, if she would persist in keeping watch over her Son's remains till the morrow. But she pled with us, if we loved her, not to deprive her of that one and last satisfaction. Her heart must be alone with him for this one night, and then peace would come, perfect peace! Her preternatural calmness disarmed us; and her stedfast purpose silenced all our objections. About midnight we all retired; the three Good Women remaining at Campie Linns, and I wending my sorrowful way towards Tinlie Tower, with the saddest heart my life had yet known, and feeling as if I had suddenly become an aged and broken man! Marjory Saunders, still preternaturally calm, had taken candle in one hand, and Bible in the other, and seated herself beside her Son, at the stroke of Twelve o' Clock. It was Campie Phil's own Room, where he had read and studied and prayed all through his years at Home; and where, whenever he was absent at College, or at his Parish, his Mother always said her own prayers, and thought of her Son. It was the Bed Room as well, wherein since Boyhood he had slept; and there he lay once again on that very Bed, wherein she had tucked him warmly as a Child, and whereon he never once before lay down till his Mother had first kissed him and blessed him. Marjory Saunders lived all that life over again with a mighty heaving at her heart, while pacing the little Room, and seeing that everything was orderly and neat. Then she gently unfolded the shroud, uncovered the white face, gazed long and steadily at the noble brow, played tenderly with the black curly hair, kissed the lips so pallid and bloodless yet ever dear, folded back again the silken napkin on the face, smoothed down the shroud over all, and replaced for the last time the Coffin lid. Finally, she drew her Chair, Campie Phil's Study Chair, as close to the bedside as she could, planted the Candle on a little table in front of her, opened her Bible at John Seventeenth, and began reading, in a soft and reverent voice, the Intercessory Prayer of Jesus. Something of all this the three Good Women knew; and at last they were reconciled, and went to bed. Marjory was bearing up nobly! But Angell Jenn could not sleep. Either her sorrow was too great, or her sympathy too keen. Very early, therefore, while the first grey of Dawn was piercing the Dark, she found herself slipping along the Entry to Campie's Room. She noiselessly opened the door. Marjory, overcome with sleep at last, had laid her head over against the Coffin of her Son, and was leaning on the Bible in her hand as a pillow, to all appearance sweetly resting. Angell Jenn thanked God, and softly withdrew. But five o'clock came, and there was no sign; six o'clock, and still there was silence. Having once more arrived on the scene, I urged 1 them to awaken Marjory and persuade her to take food, as, to my strong suspicion, she had eaten nothing since I parted with her in search of Campie Phil. Angell Jenn, on revisiting the Room, startled us with a great cry of sorrow, so unlike her usual calm ways. We were all at her side, together, and in less than a moment. Her only words were, "Let Marjory sleep on! giveth His Beloved sleep." Her sleep is sweet! He Her Bible lay against the head of his Coffin; her head was pillowed against the Bible; but the hand that held it was cold in death. The high-strung and preternatural look of yesterday was all smoothed away now. The peace of God was on her brow. We saw again the face of the Marjory of seven years ago, when she was at once the proudest and the meekest Woman in Castlebraes, and when Campie Phil was the darling of us all! We laid them, duly, and loving together in the Auld Kirk Yaird; and there sleeps Campie Phil, within reach of his dear Mother's arms, till the Resurrection Day. I erected over the sacred spot a small Iona Cross of pure white marble; and I caused to be inscribed, under his name, the enigma of his life, "KILLED BY CONSCIENCE." |