"Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all."
TENNYSON.
The funeral was very quiet. By Colonel Keith's considerate arrangement
the attendants met at Timber End, so that the stillness of the Parsonage
was not invaded, a measure the more expedient, as Alick was suffering
from a return of his old enemy, intermitting fever, and only was able to
leave his room in time to join the procession.
Many were present, for poor Bessie had been a general favourite, and her
untimely fate had stirred up feelings that had created her into a saint
upon earth; but there was no one whose token of respect she would have
more esteemed than Colonel Hammond's, who in all the bustle of the
remove to Edinburgh had found time to come to Bishopsworthy to do honour
to the daughter of his old commanding officer. A flush of gratitude came
over Alick's pale face when he became aware of his colonel's presence,
and when the choristers' hymn had pealed low and sweetly over the
tranquil meadows, and the mourners had turned away, Alick paused at the
Parsonage gate to hold out his hand, and bring in this one guest to hear
how near to Bessie's heart the father's Highland regiment had been in
all the wanderings of her last moments.
The visit was prolonged for nearly an hour, while recollections of
Alick's parents were talked over, and Rachel thought him more cheered
and gratified than by any other tribute that had been paid to his
sister. He was promised an extension of leave, if it were required on
account of Lord Keith's state, though under protest that he would have
the aguish fever as long as he remained overlooking the water meadows,
and did not put himself under Dr. M'Vicar. Through these meadows
Colonel Hammond meant to walk back to the station, and Alick and Rachel
conducted him far enough to put him into the right path, and in going
back again, they could not but go towards the stile leading to that
corner of the churchyard where the sexton had finished his work, and
smoothed the sods over that new grave.
Some one was standing at the foot--not the sexton--but a young man
bending as with an intolerable load of grief. Rachel saw him first, when
Alick was helping her down the step, and her start of dismay made him
turn and look round. His brow contracted, and she clutched his arm with
an involuntary cry of, "Oh, don't," but he, with a gesture that at once
awed and tranquillized her, unclasped her hold and put her back, while
he stepped forward.
She could hear every word, though his voice was low and deep with
emotion. "Carleton, if I have ever been harsh or unjust in my dealings
towards you, I am sorry for it. We have both had the saddest of all
lessons. May we both take it as we ought."