XXXII
Donald, trembling on the brink of Beyond, not from his disease butfrom the exhaustion incident to it, was conscious when his fatherentered the room and sat down beside his bed.
"Well, lad," he greeted the boy with an assumption of heartiness hewas far from feeling, "and have you no good news for your old fatherthis morning. Tell me you're feeling better, lad."
"Read the telegram," Donald whispered, and old Hector, seeing atelegram lying on the bed, picked it up. It was dated from New Yorkthat morning, and the Laird read:
Due Port Agnew Friday morning. Remember the last line in the fairy-tale. Love and kisses from your
SWEETHEART.
"God bless my soul!" The Laird almost shouted.
"Who the devil is 'Sweetheart'?"
"Only--have one--Scotty. Sorry--for you--but do you--happen toknow--last line--fairy-tale? Tell you. 'And so--they--weremarried--and lived--happy--ever--after.'"
Fell a long silence. Then, from The Laird:
"And you're going to wait for--her, my son?"
"Certainly. Foolish die--now. I'll try--to wait. Try hard."
He was still trying when Nan Brent stepped off the special train atPort Agnew on Friday morning. She was heavily veiled, and because ofthe distinctly metropolitan cut of her garments, none recognized her.With her child trotting at her side, she walked swiftly to the companyhospital, and the nurse, who had been watching for her, met her at thedoor. The girl raised a white, haggard face, and her sad blue eyesasked the question. The nurse nodded, led her down the hall, pointedto the door of Donald's room, and then picked up Nan's child andcarried him off to the hospital kitchen for a cookie.
The outcast of Port Agnew entered. Hector McKaye sat by the bed,gazing upon his son, who lay with closed eyes, so still and white andemaciated that a sudden fear rose in Nan's mind. Had she arrived toolate?
The Laird turned and gazed at her an instant with dull eyes, thensprang to meet her.
"Well, lass," he demanded, and there was a belligerent and resentfulnote in his voice, "is this playing the game?" She nodded, her blurredeyes fixed upon his son, and old Hector's face softened with atenderness almost paternal. "Then," he whispered, "you didn't meanthat--about the last line of the fairy-tale?"
Her head moved in negation, but she did not look at him. She had eyesonly for the wreck of the man she loved.
"I heard you needed me--to save him, Mr. McKaye. So I'm here--to savehim, if I can--for you--nothing more."
He bowed to her, deeply, humbly, as if she were in truth the grandestlady in the land, then left the room hurriedly. Nan approached thebed and leaned over Donald, gazing at him for several minutes, for hewas not as yet aware of her presence. Suddenly she commenced to singsoftly the song he loved: "Carry Me Back to Old Virginny," and herhand stole into his. The little grin that crept over his bearded facewas ghastly; after the first bar, she bent and laid her cool cheekagainst his.
"Well, old shipmate," she murmured in his ear, "I'm back."
"'God's in--his heaven,'" he whispered. "'All's right--withthe--world.'"