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 I stood 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 I gave 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,