But the opening of the windows of heaven, and the unspeakable rush of life through channels too narrow and banks too weak to hold its tide, caused a terrible inundation: the red flood broke its banks, and weakened all the land.
Arctura sent for Mr. Graeme, and commissioned him to fetch the family lawyer from Edinburgh. Alone with him she gave instructions concerning her will. The man of business shrugged his shoulders, laden with so many petty weights, bowed down with so many falsest opinions, and would have expostulated with her.
"Sir!" she said.
"You have a cousin who inherits the title!" he suggested.
"Mr. Fortune," she returned, "it may be I know as much of my family as you. I did not send for you to consult you, but to tell you how I would have my will drawn up!"
"I beg your pardon, my lady," rejoined the lawyer, "but there are things which may make it one's duty to speak out."
"Speak then; I will listen--that you may ease your mind."
He began a long, common-sense, worldly talk on the matter, nor once repeated himself. When he stopped,--"Now have you eased your mind?" she asked.
"I have, my lady."
"Then listen to me. There is no necessity you should hurt either your feelings or your prejudices. If it goes against your conscience to do as I wish, I will not trouble you."
Mr. Fortune bowed, took his instructions, and rose.
"When will you bring it me?" she asked.
"In the course of a week or two, my lady."
"If it is not in my hands by the day after to-morrow, I will send for a gentleman from the town to prepare it."
"You shall have it, my lady," said Mr. Fortune.
She did have it, and it was signed and witnessed.
Then she sank more rapidly. Donal said no word about the marriage: it should be as she pleased! He was much by her bedside, reading to her when she was able to listen, talking to her or sitting silent when she was not.
Arctura had at once told mistress Brookes the relation in which she and Donal stood to each other. It cost the good woman many tears, for she thought such a love one of the saddest things in a sad world. Neither Arctura nor Donal thought so.
The earl at this time was a little better, though without prospect of even temporary recovery. He had grown much gentler, and sadness had partially displaced his sullenness. He seemed to have become in a measure aware of the bruteness of the life he had hitherto led: he must have had a glimpse of something better. It is wonderful what the sickness which human stupidity regards as the one evil thing, can do towards redemption! He showed concern at his niece's illness, and had himself carried down every other day to see her for a few minutes. She received him always with the greatest gentleness, and he showed something that seemed like genuine affection for her.
It was a morning in the month of May--The naked twigs were shivering all for cold--when Donal, who had been with Arctura the greater part of the night, and now lay on the couch in a neighbouring room, heard Mrs. Brookes call him.
"My lady wants you, sir," she said.
He started up, and went to her.
"Send for the minister," she whispered, "--not Mr. Carmichael; he does not know you. Send for Mr. Graeme too: he and mistress Brookes will be witnesses. I must call you husband once before I die!"
"I hope you will many a time after!" he returned.
She smiled on him with a look of love unutterable.
"Mind," she said, holding out her arms feebly, but drawing him fast to her bosom, "that this is how I love you! When you see me dull and stupid, and I hardly look at you--for though death makes bright, dying makes stupid--then say to yourself, 'This is not how she loves me; it is only how she is dying! She loves me and knows it--and by and by will be able to show it!'"
They were precious words both then and afterwards!
With some careful questioning, to satisfy himself that, so evidently at the gate of death she yet knew perfectly her own mind,--and not without some shakes of the head revealing disapprobation, the minister did as he was requested, and wrote a certificate of the fact, which was duly signed and witnessed.
