"
Those watching believed that they saw the black shadow of a cross laid
over his bowed shoulders. But then, like Andrew, they were Kelts who
could see with eyes that were not apparent. Andrew was carried home to
his bed, and Dr. Angus, the same doctor he had driven forth in violence
from his wife's sickness, came to him.
Thorough in body as in soul, Andrew seemed called upon to bear all the
woes of the world. Sometimes, watching him lying there with closed eyes
and lips that moved faintly as he prayed for courage, Marcella wished
she could see him once again come tearing into the room in a passion
of destruction. His gentleness, his pathos, and the way he talked so
quietly to God with his beautiful voice, almost tore her in two with
pity.
Many nights his illness made it impossible for him to lie down, and then
he would stand, wrapped in a blanket--for his dressing-gown had long
since been torn to shreds--his hands clutching the post of his ancient
bed, his eyes gazing deeply at the faded sun in splendour on the
tapestry back of the bed while he read slowly the old boastful motto,
"By myself I stand." And the girl, lying on a little couch where she
took turns with Aunt Janet in nursing him through the night, would hear
him talking to God by the hour.
"Not by myself, O Lord, but in Thy might.
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