The widow sat down on the threshold of her cottage awaiting the minister. Her heart throbbed. A blessing might be in store at the end of this weary day. Good might come out of evil. She might now have an opportunity of appealing to her minister--of opening her heart to him about the cares which she needed to share with him, and which should have been his cares as pastor. She trusted she should be enabled to speak freely and calmly.

She prayed that she might; but her body was exhausted, so that she could not overcome to her satisfaction the agitation of her mind. It did not mend the matter that she was kept waiting very long; and when Mr Ruthven came out at his own door, it was with some difficulty that Annie rose to make respectful way for him.

"Be seated," said Mr Ruthven, in a tone of severity; "I have much to say to you."

Both seated themselves. Mr Ruthven cleared his throat, and said--

"It is the most painful part of a pastor's duty to administer reproof, and more especially to members of his flock whose years should have brought them wisdom and self-control."

Annie clasped her hands on her knees, and looked meekly in his face.

"I should have hoped," Mr Ruthven went on, "that a Christian woman of your standing, and one who is blest, as you yourself have been known to acknowledge, with a life of peace, would have had compa.s.sion on a most suffering sister, and have rather striven to alleviate her sorrows, and to soften her occasional self-reproach for what she amiably calls her infirmities of sensibility, than have wounded and upbraided her, and treacherously cut off her frail chance of release from a most unjust captivity."

"I!--I wound and upbraid Lady Ca.r.s.e!"

"Now, do not compel me to remind you of what you ought to know full well--the deceitfulness of the human heart. Listen to me."

Again Annie looked gently in his face.

"I left that poor lady, already overwhelmed with misfortune, prostrated anew by your attack of this afternoon. I left her dissolved in tears-- shaken by agitation; and I resolved that my first act of duty should be to remonstrate privately--observe, I say privately--against the heartlessness which could pour in drops of bitterness to make the already br.i.m.m.i.n.g cup overflow. Now, what have you to say?"

"I should wish to know, sir, what part of my conduct it is that is wrong. If I knew this, I am sure--"

"If you knew! My good woman, this blindness and self-satisfaction appear to show that this life of peace, which you yourself acknowledge yours has been, has gone somewhat too far--has not been altogether blessed to you. If you are really so satisfied with yourself as to be unable to see any sin within you--"

"Oh, sir! Do not think me impatient if I make haste to say that I never harboured such a thought. It makes me sink with shame to think of my ever having possibly such a thought. What I asked for, sir, was to know my sin towards Lady Ca.r.s.e, that I might make reparation if I could, and--will it please you, sir, to tell me--"

"Tell me, rather, what sin you are conscious of; and we shall then get at the bottom of this last offence. Come, let me hear!"

Annie looked down, hesitated, blushed deeply, and said she supposed it was owing to her not being accustomed to the blessing of having a pastor that she found it so difficult to open her heart now that the blessing was given for which she had so often prayed. She would strive to overcome the difficulty. After a pause she said her chief trouble about her state of mind was that some of her trust and peace seemed to have left her.

"Ah! the moment it is put to the test!" said Mr Ruthven.

"Just so, sir; that is what I said to myself. As long as I lived alone, out of the sound of any voice but Rollo's, I thought my peace was settled, and that I was only waiting for the better peace which is to come hereafter. Then, when Rollo was away, and my mind was searching doubtfully after him, where he might be, and whether safe or killed, I could always find rest, and say to myself that he was in G.o.d's hand, to die _now_ or to live to close my eyes. But now, sir, there is a sadness come over me; though I am obliged to your dear children for many cheerful hours--I would not forget that. But as for my own child, when I hear his voice merry from behind your garden wall, when I have been longing for days to see his face--or when your children tell me things that he has said, just while my ear is pining for his voice, I find myself less settled in mind than I was--much less settled, sir, than I think a Christian woman ought to be."

"And this indicates more than you tell me," observed Mr Ruthven. "What can you have done to drive your son from his home and from his mother's side? Some mistake there must be, to say the very least--some fatal mistake, I will call it, for I would not be severe--some awful mistake.

Eh?"

"Perhaps so, sir." And she smothered a sigh.

The minister then gave her, at some length, his views on education, insisting much on the duty of making young people happy at home; ending with saying that no young man could, he thought, expect much comfort in the society of a mother who could be so reckless of anybody's peace as she had shewn herself that afternoon. He hoped she would take what he said in good part. It was not pleasant to him to deal rebuke but he must not shrink from it; and he rose to go.

"Certainly, sir," said Annie, rising too, and holding by the bed to steady herself. "But, sir, if you would please to tell me particularly what you think I have done so wrong to-day--Sir, you would not have me let my son be made a smuggler?"

"You should--Nothing can be clearer than that you should--I wonder you need to be told that you should have spoken to me. Instead of which, you went quietly and told Macdonald."

"I am sure, sir, I thought you knew all about it."

"What of that? I am here at hand, to be your adviser--not to be treated with disrespect. I leave you now to think over what I have said. I trust the result will be that you will make what reparation you can to Lady Ca.r.s.e: though it is foolish to talk of reparation; for the mischief done is, I fear, irreparable. I leave you to think of this. Good evening!"

Annie thought of all that had pa.s.sed; and of a few other things. She thought that while it was clear that a pastor might take a wrong view of the state of mind and conduct of one of his flock, it was a privilege to know, at least, what view he took. He was faithful, as far as plain speaking went: and that was much. And then, it is so rarely that any censure is uttered for which there is absolutely no foundation, that it is usually profitable to receive it. While feeling that "it is a small thing to be judged of man's judgment," it may be a great thing to know a man's unfavourable opinion of us. She would soon recover from this conversation; and then, if she had obtained any wisdom from it, it would be, after all, the marking blessing of this day. She was not aware of another: that Mr Ruthven had been somewhat touched by what she had said of Rollo--his eyes somewhat opened.

Once more her mind rested on the idea now become so prominent with her.

"The sabbath is coming round again," she thought. "It pleases G.o.d to give us a complete blessing then. It is His word that is spoken then-- His judgment that we are judged by. Nothing comes between us and Him then. There is always the sabbath now to think of."

Tired as she was, or as she thought herself till she found herself enjoying the repose of the moonlight sh.o.r.e, there was one more walk necessary before Annie could try to sleep.

The sea was calm, and there was scarcely any wind. If the smuggling vessel had approached the island in any part, it could hardly have got away again. She had not seen it from her hill-side; but she must be satisfied that it was not on the northern sh.o.r.e. The western was safe enough, from its being overlooked from Macdonald's farm.

Annie had just reached the longest and widest stretch of beach when the large moon rose out of the still waters. There was not even the slightest veil of mist obscuring the horizon; and the fluctuation of the water-line was distinct upon the clear disk of the moon. The gush of quivering light which instantaneously reached from the horizon to her feet illumined Annie's heart no less than the scene around her. The ripple of the little waves which played upon the pebbles was music to her ear. In a tranquil and hopeful spirit she thought of her errand, and looked steadily over the whole expanse of the sea, where, under the broad moonlight, and a sky which had at this season no darkness in it, there was certainly no vessel in sight.

Pursuing her walk northwards, she perceived a small dark object lying on the silvery sands. When she reached it, she found it was a little cask, which the smell declared to contain rum. By the smell, and the cask being light, it was clear that some of the spirit had been spilled.

Annie found a small hole, beside which lay a quill. She feared that this told too plainly of the neighbourhood of smugglers, and her heart sunk. She went on, and immediately saw another dark object lying on the beach--a person, as she thought. It was a woman, in the common country clothing, sound asleep. Annie hastened to wake her, thinking it unsafe to sleep under the moon's rays. To her extreme surprise she found it was Lady Ca.r.s.e.

She could imagine the lady to have come down in hope of meeting a smuggling vessel. She would not have wondered to meet her wandering among the coves; but that on such an errand, at such a time, she should be asleep, was surprising.

Annie tried gentle means to rouse her, which would enable her to slip away as the lady awoke, sparing her the pain of her presence. She rattled the pebbles with her foot, coughed, and at last sang--but all without causing the lady to stir. Then the widow was alarmed, and stooped to look closer. The sleeper breathed heavily, her head was hot, and her breath told the secret of her unseasonable drowsiness. Annie shrank back in horror. At first she concluded that much of Lady Ca.r.s.e's violent pa.s.sion was now accounted for. But she presently considered it more probable that this was a single instance of intemperance, caused by the temptation of finding a leaking cask of spirit on the sands, just in a moment of disappointment, and perhaps of great exhaustion. This thought made Annie clear what to do.

She went back to the cask, made the hole larger with a stone, and poured out all the rum upon the sand. The cask was now so light that she could easily roll it down to the margin of the tide, where she left it, half full of sea-water. Having thus made all safe behind her, she proceeded to the coves, where she found, not any signs of a vessel, but one of Macdonald's men on the watch. From him she learned that Macdonald had gone out to look for the smuggling boat; had seen it, and turned it back; and that the smuggling crew had been obliged to throw overboard some of their cargo to lighten their vessel for flight. Macdonald thought they would hardly venture hither again for some time to come.

This was good news; but there was better; Rollo was not with the smugglers. He was out fowling this afternoon. Perhaps by this time he might be at home.

Annie's errand was finished; and she might now return and rest.

Macdonald's man spoke of his hope of some goods being washed up by the next tide. Annie told him nothing of the cask, nor of what she had done with the rum. She commended him to his watch, and left him.

Lady Ca.r.s.e was still sleeping, but less heavily. She roused herself when spoken to, started up, and looked about her, somewhat bewildered.

"I took the liberty, madam, of speaking to you, to waken you," said Annie; "because the moon is up, and was shining on your head, which is considered bad for the health."

"Really," said Lady Ca.r.s.e, "it is very odd. I don't know how I could think of falling asleep here. I suppose I was very tired."

"You look so now, madam. Better finish your sleep at home. And first, if I may advise you, you will throw some salt water on your head, and drink some fresh at the spring, when we come to it. The people here say that bathing the head takes away the danger from sleeping under the moon's rays."

Lady Ca.r.s.e had no objection to do this, as her head was hot; and now Annie hoped that she would escape detection by the Ruthvens, so that she alone would know the secret. Both drank at the spring, and after that it might be hoped that there would be little more smell of spirits about the one than the other.

When they pa.s.sed the cask, now beginning to float in the rising tide, Lady Ca.r.s.e started. It was clear that she now remembered what had made her sleep. "There is a cask!" said she, in her hurry.

"Yes, a cask of sea-water," Annie quietly observed. "I emptied out the bad stuff that was in it, and--"

"You did! What right had you?"

"It was contraband," said Annie. "Macdonald saw the cargo thrown over: n.o.body would have claimed it, and plenty would have helped themselves to what is unfit to drink. So I poured it out upon the sand."

"Very free and easy, I must say," observed Lady Ca.r.s.e.

"Very," Annie agreed; "but less of a liberty than some would have taken, if I had left it to tempt them. I threw away only what is some man's unlawful property. Others would have thrown away that which belongs to G.o.d, and is very precious in His eyes--the human reason, which he has made but a little lower than the glory of the angels."

Lady Ca.r.s.e spoke no more--not even when they reached their own doors.

Whether she was moody or conscience-stricken, Annie could not tell. All the more anxious was she to do her part; and she went in to pray that the suffering lady might be saved from this new peril--the most fearful of the snares of her most perilous life. Annie did not forget to pray that those who had driven the sufferer to such an extremity as that she could not resist even this means of forgetting her woes, might be struck with such a sense of their cruelty as to save their victim before it was too late.