Though he was on his bed Andrew did not forget
his proselytising and Duncan and Jean were brought into the bedroom
every night while Marcella read the New Testament, and her father
prayed. He prayed for her soul and the souls of Duncan and Jean;
Marcella would kneel between the two of them, with the smell of the
fish from Duncan and the scent of the byres from Jean's shoes and her
clothes stealing round her while her father prayed. She was bewildered
by him: very often, when he prayed long and she was falling asleep after
her wakeful night, she would feel impatient with him, especially when he
prayed loud and long that she might be brought to a conviction of sin.
He puzzled her unendurably; sometimes her old docility to his autocracy
made her feel that she really must be the miserable sinner he pictured
her. Sometimes her common sense told her she could not be. Then, on top
of the impatience and revolt, would come aching pity for his weakness,
his tenderness to God, the apologies he made for God who was so hard, so
just in His dealings with him.
He seemed often to resent his illness bitterly; he had never known
anything but an almost savage strength. Now he lay watching his illness
with a curious mixture of fierce resentment and proprietorial pride. He
spent a good deal of his time trying to think of ways in which he could
circumvent the choking sensation that often came to him.
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