THE BROWN LETTER.
At length the time arrived when Robert would make a further attempt, although with a fear and trembling to quiet which he had to seek the higher aid.His father had recovered his attempt to rush anew upon destruction.He was gentler and more thoughtful, and would again sit for an hour at a time gazing into the fire.From the expression of his countenance upon such occasions, Robert hoped that his visions were not of the evil days, but of those of his innocence.
One evening when he was in one of these moods--he had just had his tea, the gas was lighted, and he was sitting as I have described--Robert began to play in the next room, hoping that the music would sink into his heart, and do something to prepare the way for what was to follow.Just as he had played over the Flowers of the Forest for the third time, his housekeeper entered the room, and receiving permission from her master, went through into Andrew's chamber, and presented a packet, which she said, and said truly, for she was not in the secret, had been left for him.He received it with evident surprise, mingled with some consternation, looked at the address, looked at the seal, laid it on the table, and gazed again with troubled looks into the fire.He had had no correspondence for many years.Falconer had peeped in when the woman entered, but the moment she retired he could watch him no longer.He went on playing a slow, lingering voluntary, such as the wind plays, of an amber autumn evening, on the ?olian harp of its pines.He played so gently that he must hear if his father should speak.
For what seemed hours, though it was but half-an-hour, he went on playing.At length he heard a stifled sob.He rose, and peeped again into the room.The gray head was bowed between the hands, and the gaunt frame was shaken with sobs.On the table lay the portraits of himself and his wife; and the faded brown letter, so many years folded in silence and darkness, lay open beside them.He had known the seal, with the bush of rushes and the Gaelic motto.
He had gently torn the paper from around it, and had read the letter from the grave--no, from the land beyond, the land of light, where human love is glorified.Not then did Falconer read the sacred words of his mother; but afterwards his father put them into his hands.I will give them as nearly as I can remember them, for the letter is not in my possession.
'My beloved Andrew, I can hardly write, for I am at the point of death.I love you still--love you as dearly as before you left me.
Will you ever see this? I will try to send it to you.I will leave it behind me, that it may come into your hands when and how it may please God.You may be an old man before you read these words, and may have almost forgotten your young wife.Oh! if I could take your head on my bosom where it used to lie, and without saying a word, think all that I am thinking into your heart.Oh! my love, my love! will you have had enough of the world and its ways by the time this reaches you? Or will you be dead, like me, when this is found, and the eyes of your son only, my darling little Robert, read the words? Oh, Andrew, Andrew! my heart is bleeding, not altogether for myself, not altogether for you, but both for you and for me.Shall I never, never be able to let out the sea of my love that swells till my heart is like to break with its longing after you, my own Andrew? Shall I never, never see you again? That is the terrible thought--the only thought almost that makes me shrink from dying.
If I should go to sleep, as some think, and not even dream about you, as I dream and weep every night now! If I should only wake in the crowd of the resurrection, and not know where to find you! Oh, Andrew, I feel as if I should lose my reason when I think that you may be on the left hand of the Judge, and I can no longer say my love, because you do not, cannot any more love God.I will tell you the dream I had about you last night, which I think was what makes me write this letter.I was standing in a great crowd of people, and I saw the empty graves about us on every side.We were waiting for the great white throne to appear in the clouds.And as soon as I knew that, I cried, "Andrew, Andrew!" for I could not help it.
And the people did not heed me; and I cried out and ran about everywhere, looking for you.At last I came to a great gulf.When I looked down into it, I could see nothing but a blue deep, like the blue of the sky, under my feet.It was not so wide but that I could see across it, but it was oh! so terribly deep.All at once, as Istood trembling on the very edge, I saw you on the other side, looking towards me, and stretching out your arms as if you wanted me.You were old and much changed, but I knew you at once, and Igave a cry that I thought all the universe must have heard.You heard me.I could see that.And I was in a terrible agony to get to you.But there was no way, for if I fell into the gulf I should go down for ever, it was so deep.Something made me look away, and I saw a man coming quietly along the same side of the gulf, on the edge, towards me.And when he came nearer to me, I saw that he was dressed in a gown down to his feet, and that his feet were bare and had a hole in each of them.So I knew who it was, Andrew.And Ifell down and kissed his feet, and lifted up my hands, and looked into his face--oh, such a face! And I tried to pray.But all Icould say was, "O Lord, Andrew, Andrew!" Then he smiled, and said, "Daughter, be of good cheer.Do you want to go to him?" And Isaid, "Yes, Lord." Then he said, "And so do I.Come." And he took my hand and led me over the edge of the precipice; and I was not afraid, and I did not sink, but walked upon the air to go to you.
