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CHAPTER XXVIII.
“What for?” said Lauderdale. “I’ll no say but what it’s an interesting study, if life was long enough to allow such indulgences; but—take you my word for it, callant—it’s awfu’ hard to see a life wearing out like that, drop by drop. It’s not only that you might get to be fond of the poor lad himself, and miss him sair when he was gone,” said the philosopher, who had not just then perfect command of himself; “but it raises awfu’ questions, and you are not one of those that can take things as they come and ask no reason. What should you bind yourself for! I see a’ that would happen as clear as day. You would go into a bit country place with him, only to watch him die; and, when he was gone, you would be left with the bit bonnie sister, two bairns together—and then—but you’re no destitute of imagination,” said Lauderdale, grimly; “and I leave you to figure that part of the business to yoursel’.”

“This is foolish talk,” said Colin. “The sister, except that I am very sorry for her, has nothing in the world to do with it. If we could manage as well beside them as anywhere else, one should be glad to be of some use to one’s fellow-creatures. I am not afraid of anything that might happen,” the young man added, with a slight additional colour. “As for responsibility, it is strange to hear you warning me against that—you who were willing to take upon yourself all the responsibility of travelling with me when you thought I was dying—”

“No such thing,” said Lauderdale, hotly. “I’m fool enough, no doubt, but no such a fool as that. Callants of your age canna keep a medium. When you have a sore finger you take thoughts of dying; but I’m a man of some experience in this world. I’m travelling for my own pleasure and no for you, nor no man. As for this lad, I’ve seen the like before. He’s no singular, though I’ve little doubt he thinks he is. It’s awfu’ hard work to stop short just when you’ve come to the brow of the hill, and see a’ the fair prospect before you,” said Colin’s guardian, whose countenance was overcast and cloudy. “When the mind’s no very strong, the like of that sets it off its balance. I’ve seen them that came out of the trial as calm as the angels of God,” he went on, after a little pause, with a strain in his voice which showed unusual emotion; “and I have seen them that battled with Him that made them, to make Him render a reason; and I have seen{223} them that took it with a high hand, and turned into preachers like this one. ‘A Voice from the Grave,’ did she say? But you’re a’ babies that ken no better. How are the like of you to know that there’s men like me—ay, and women more than men—that would give a’ their living, and would not grudge life itself, no for a voice only, but for two or three words—for one word and no more.” He put down his face in his hands for a moment as he spoke, though not to conceal tears; for Lauderdale’s sorrows, whatever they might have been, were wrapped in the deadly stillness of that past grief with which no stranger intermeddles; and his young companion watched him sorrowfully, sympathetically, but in ignorance, and with the timidity of youth, not knowing what to say.

“Him, and the like of him,” said Lauderdale, going on more softly when he found that Colin made no reply, “their voice from the grave is like a Halloween ghost to frighten the unwary. Whisht, callant! I’m no laughing at the poor dying lad. There’s nae laughing in my head one way or another; but it’s so little you know. You never think, with your warnings and your terrors, of us that have sat by our graves for years, and been confounded by the awfu’ silence. Why can they no speak nor we hear? You’ll no tell me that Heaven and the presence of God can take the love out of a living soul. I wish you would not disturb my mind with your vain thoughts; it’s no a question I dare go into. If love’s no everlasting, I’ve no desire to be everlasting myself; and, if I’m to be no more hereafter to them that belong to me, than to legions of strange angels, or a haill nation of fremd folk!—Whisht, callant! you’re no to say such things to me.”

Colin said nothing at all to interrupt this monologue. He let his friend wear himself out, pacing up and down the narrow little cabin, which it required but two of Lauderdale’s strides to traverse from end to end. He had known a chance word to produce similar results before, but had never been made acquainted with the real history of his friend’s life. He waited now till this excitement was over, knowing by experience that it was the best way; and, after a while, Lauderdale calmed down and came back to his seat, and resumed the conversation where he had left it, before his heart within him was roused to make brief utterance of its unknown burden.

“The short and the long of it is,” said Lauderdale, “that you’re making up your mind, by some process of your own—I’m no saying what it is—to give up our own plan and tack yourself{224} on to a poor failing callant that has not above a month or two to live?”

“How do you know he has not above a month or two to live?” said Colin. “You thought the same of me a few weeks ago. One hears of the climate working wonders; and, if he had some one by him to amuse and interest him, and keep him off that book, as—as Miss Meredith says—”

“Oh, ay, no doubt, no doubt,” said Lauderdale, drily. “He has one nurse already bound to him body and soul, and maybe, if he had another to undertake the spiritual department—! But you’re no old enough, callant, to take him in hand, and you’re no strong enough, and I cannot say, for my own part, that I see any special qualification for such an office in ye,” said the merciless critic, looking at Colin in a seriously contemplative way, with his head a little on one side. After he had shown any deep emotion, Lauderdale, like a true Briton, despised himself, and made as great a leap as was practicable on the other side.

“No,” said Colin, who was a little piqued in spite of himself; “I don’t suppose I am good for much; and I never thought of being his nurse. I............
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