They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake;But haud me fast, let me not pass, Gin ye would be my maik.
They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and an aske;They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, A bale that burns fast.
They'll shape me in your arms, Janet, A dove, but and a swan;And last, they'll shape me in your arms A mother-naked man:
Cast your green mantle over me--And sae shall I be wan.
Scotch Ballad: Tamlane.
As soon as Hugh had left the house, Margaret hastened to Euphra.
She found her in her own room, a little more cheerful, but still strangely depressed. This appearance increased towards the evening, till her looks became quite haggard, revealing an inward conflict of growing agony. Margaret remained with her.
Just before dinner, the upstairs bell, whose summons Margaret was accustomed to obey, rang, and she went down. Mrs. Elton detained her for a few minutes. The moment she was at liberty, she flew to Euphra's room by the back staircase. But, as she ascended, she was horrified to meet Euphra, in a cloak and thick veil, creeping down the stairs like a thief. Without saying a word, the strong girl lifted her in her arms as if she had been a child, and carried her back to her room. Euphra neither struggled nor spoke. Margaret laid her on her couch, and sat down beside her. She lay without moving, and, although wide awake, gave no other sign of existence than an occasional low moan, that seemed to come from a heart pressed almost to death.
Having lain thus for an hour, she broke the silence.
"Margaret, do you despise me dreadfully?"
"No, not in the least."
"Yet you found me going to do what I knew was wrong.""You had not made yourself strong by thinking about the will of God.
Had you, dear?"
"No. I will tell you how it was. I had been tormented with the inclination to go to him, and had been resisting it till I was worn out, and could hardly bear it more. Suddenly all grew calm within me, and I seemed to hate Count Halkar no longer. I thought with myself how easy it would be to put a stop to this dreadful torment, just by yielding to it--only this once. I thought I should then be stronger to resist the next time; for this was wearing me out so, that I must yield the next time, if I persisted now. But what seemed to justify me, was the thought that so I should find out where he was, and be able to tell Hugh; and then he would get the ring for me, and, perhaps that would deliver me. But it was very wrong of me. I forgot all about the will of God. I will not go again, Margaret. Do you think I may try again to fight him?""That is just what you must do. All that God requires of you is, to try again. God's child must be free. Do try, dear Miss Cameron.""I think I could, if you would call me Euphra. You are so strong, and pure, and good, Margaret! I wish I had never had any thoughts but such as you have, you beautiful creature! Oh, how glad I am that you found me! Do watch me always.""I will call you Euphra. I will be your sister-servant--anything you like, if you will only try again.""Thank you, with all my troubled heart, dear Margaret. I will indeed try again."She sprang from the couch in a sudden agony, and grasping Margaret by the arm, looked at her with such a terror-stricken face, that she began to fear she was losing her reason.
"Margaret," she said, as if with the voice as of one just raised from the dead, speaking with all the charnel damps in her throat, "could it be that I am in love with him still?"Margaret shuddered, but did not lose her self-possession.
"No, no, Euphra, darling. You were haunted with him, and so tired that you were not able to hate him any longer. Then you began to give way to him. That was all. There was no love in that."Euphra's grasp relaxed.
"Do you think so?"
"Yes."
A pause followed.
"Do you think God cares to have me do his will? Is it anything to him?""I am sure of it. Why did he make you else? But it is not for the sake of being obeyed that he cares for it, but for the sake of serving you and ****** you blessed with his blessedness. He does not think about himself, but about you.""Oh, dear! oh, dear! I must not go."
"Let me read to you again, Eupra."
"Yes, please do, Margaret."
She read the fortieth chapter of Isaiah, one of her father's favourite chapters, where all the strength and knowledge of God are urged to a height, that they may fall in overwhelming profusion upon the wants and fears and unbelief of his children. How should he that calleth the stars by their names forget his people?
While she read, the cloud melted away from Euphra's face; a sweet sleep followed; and the paroxy** was over for the time.
Was Euphra insane? and were these the first accesses of daily fits of madness, which had been growing and approaching for who could tell how long?
Even if she were mad, or going mad, was not this the right way to treat her? I wonder how often the spiritual cure of faith in the Son of Man, the Great Healer, has been tried on those possessed with our modern demons. Is it proved that insanity has its origin in the physical disorder which, it is now said, can be shown to accompany it invariably? Let it be so: it yet appears to me that if the physician would, like the Son of Man himself, descend as it were into the disorganized world in which the consciousness of his patient exists, and receiving as fact all that he reveals to him of its condition--for fact it is, of a very real sort--introduce, by all the means that sympathy can suggest, the one central cure for evil, spiritual and material, namely, the truth of the Son of Man, the vision of the perfect friend and helper, with the revelation of the promised liberty of obedience--if he did this, it seems to me that cures might still be wrought as marvellous as those of the ancient time.
