CHAPTER XXV -- And the Last
Enough has been said in the preceding pages to show that Elkanah Sisumwas a man of excellent birth and superior culture. He possessed moderatewealth, and when admitted to the bar his prospects could not have beenbrighter, but misfortune seemed to have marked him for its own. Itdelivered the first crushing blow by taking away the beloved wife of hisyoung manhood, and leaving him an only child,--Ruth, who was as theapple of his eye. At eighteen she married a worthy young man who wasadmitted as a partner in the law firm and displayed brilliant ability.Unto the couple was born also a single daughter, named for its mother.
Sisum never remarried, but lavished his affection upon his daughter andespecially the grandchild Ruth, whom it may be said he loved more thanhis own life. Thus things stood until the little one was nearly fiveyears old, when she showed alarming signs of sinking into a decline. Herparents decided to take her on a long sea voyage in the summer time. Theunderstanding was that they were to be gone for several months, but theynever returned. Their steamer was not heard of again.
It was years before the grandfather gave up hope. The long brooding overhis grief and the final yielding to despair,--slow but final,--produceda strange effect upon his mind. Only his most intimate friends saw thathis brain was affected; others met and talked with him daily with nevera suspicion of the fact. He had come to the gradual but fixed beliefthat although his dear ones had left him for the land of shadows, yetsomewhere and at some time in this life his grandchild would come tohim. She might not remain long, but she would reveal herselfunmistakably before Uncle Elk himself passed into the Great Beyond. Itwas the centering of his thoughts and hopes upon this strange fancy thatwas actual monomania. Scout Master Hall detected it, though none of theBoy Scouts dreamed of anything of the kind. As the delusion fasteneditself upon the old man, he formed a distaste for society, which ofitself grew until it made him the hermit we found in the Maine woodsduring this summer. There he spent his hours in reading, and in studyinganimal and bird life,--trees and woodcraft. He never lost his gentleaffection for his fellow men, and at long intervals visited his formeracquaintances; but, though he left his latchstring outside and gavewelcome to whoever called, he preferred to make his abiding place farfrom the haunts of men.
What mind can understand its own mysteries? While the current of lifewas moving smoothly with the old man, Doctor Spellman put up his summerhome on the shore of the lake not very distant from the cabin of UncleElk. The latter set out to call upon them almost as soon as he learnedof their arrival. While too far for the couple to see him, he caughtsight of them sitting in front of their structure, the doctor smokingand the wife engaged in crochet work. Their child was playing with adoll indoors, and Uncle Elk saw nothing of her, nor did he learn of herexistence until several days later, when occurred the incident that willbe told further on.
It was that sight of the man and woman that gave a curious twist to thedelusion of the hermit. He was startled by the woman's strikingresemblance to his own daughter who had been lost at sea years before.He formed a sudden and intense dislike of the man who had presumed tomarry a person that resembled his child, and it was painful to look uponthe wife who bore such a resemblance. No brain, except one alreadysomewhat askew, could have been the victim of so queer a process. Such,however, was the fact and of itself it explains a number of incidentsthat otherwise could not be explained.
It will be noted that thus far Uncle Elk had not seen the little childwho was the image of her mother, and since the parents quickly learnedof his strange antipathy and took care to avoid meeting him, it isunlikely that in the ordinary course of events he ever would have comeface to face with the little one.
Now nothing is more evident than the absurdity of my trying to describethe mental ordeal through which this man passed on that last and mostmemorable night of his life. I base what I say upon that which DoctorSpellman told me as the result of his painstaking investigation, duringthe succeeding months, of the most singular case with which he was everconcerned, and even the brilliant medical man could not be absolutelycertain of all his conclusions. However, they sound so reasonable that Inow give them.
Throughout the afternoon, Uncle Elk was depressed in spirits, as issometimes true of a person who is on the eve of some event or experienceof decisive importance to himself. He was subject to a peculiar physicalchilliness which led him to kindle a fire on his broad hearth, in frontof which as the night shadows gathered, he seated himself in hiscushioned rocking chair. As time passed he gave himself over tomeditation of the long ago with its sorrowful memories.
He had sat thus for some time when he was roused by the twitching of thelatchstring. He turned his head to welcome his caller, when he was sostartled that at first he could not believe what his eyes told him. Alittle girl, of the age and appearance of the one who had gone down inthe depths of the fathomless sea, stood before him.
"Good evening," called the child in her gentle voice; "how do you do?"
"Who are you? What's your name?" faltered the astounded old man.
"I am Ruth," she replied, coming toward him with the trusting confidenceof childhood.
This was the name of the loved one who had left him in the long ago. Theresemblance was perfect, as it seemed to him. _It was she!_
He rose to his feet, reached out, clasped her hand and touched his lipsto the chubby cheek.
"God be praised! You are my own Ruth come back to me after all theseyears!"
That poor brain, racked by so many torturing fancies, accepted it all astruth.
"I am so tired," said the wearied little one, "I want to rest myself."
He tenderly lifted her in his arms and carried her behind the curtains,through which the firelight shone, laid her on the couch with her headresting on the pillow, and drew the coverlet over her form. At the endof the few moments thus occupied he saw that she had sunk into the softdreamless sleep of health and exhaustion.
He came back to the sitting room. The outer door stood ajar, as it hadbeen left by the infantile visitor. As he closed it he did anunprecedented thing,--he drew in the latchstring. He wanted no intrudersduring these sacred hours. Then he seated himself as before and gavehimself up to musings and to wrestling with the problem which was reallybeyond his solution.
There must have been moments when he glimpsed the truth. That which hehad lifted in his arms was flesh and blood and therefore could not bethe Ruth who had stepped into the great unknown many years before. Yetshe looked the same, and bore her name. Could it not be that heaven hadpermitted this almost incomprehensible thing?
He sat in front of the fire, which was allowed to smoulder all throughthe night. It is probable that he rose more than once, drew the curtainsaside and looked upon the little one as revealed in the expiringfirelight.
"Whatever the explanation, it means that _my_ Ruth and I will soon betogether. If it is not she who has come to me, I shall soon go to her."
Unlocking a small drawer of the table, he drew out a large, unsealedenvelope, unfolded the paper inside, glanced at the writing, returned itto the enclosure and laid it on the stand where it could not fail to beseen by any visitor, and then resumed his seat.
"By this time," said Doctor Spellman, "the brain which had been cloudedprobably became normal. He knew that my Ruth could not be his Ruth. Hemust have seen that she was the child of the man whom he intenselydisliked because I had presumed to marry a woman who resembled thedaughter whom he had lost."
When daylight returned, Uncle Elk after a time aroused himself. He didnot renew the blaze on the hearth, but once more drew the curtain aside.Ruth Spellman still slept. As gently as he had laid her down, he raisedand carried her back to his chair where he resumed his seat, with thecurly unconscious head resting upon his breast, and after a time, heclosed his own eyes, never to open them again.
In the presence of death all was hushed. The Boy Scouts bowed theiruncovered heads, and as they stood in the crowded room gazed in awe uponth
e gray head and inanimate form in the chair. Even the overjoyed motherwho had clasped her loved child and lifted her from the lifeless armssuppressed her glad croonings, while the bewildered Ruth gazed upon thestrange scene with hardly a glimmering of what it all meant.
For the moment, Doctor Spellman was the professional expert. In a lowvoice he addressed the Scout Master and the young friends who lookedinto his face and listened.
"Uncle Elk passed away several hours ago,--his death from heart failurewas so painless that it was like falling asleep, as was the case withour child. This looks as if he had left a message for us."
As he spoke, the doctor picked up the large unsealed envelope and heldit up so as to show the address,--"To be opened by whosoever finds itafter my death."
Drawing out and unfolding the sheet, the physician read aloud:
"It is my wish to be buried on the plot between my cabin and the brook.Over my grave a plain marble stone is to erected with the inscription,'Elkanah Sisum. Born January 23, 1828; died ----' Add nothing to thedate of my death. Inclosed are enough funds to pay the expense. Whateverremains, which is all the money I possess, I desire to be presented tothe Sailors' Snug Harbor, New York."
Having finished the reading, the physician added:
"The coroner must be notified and the proper legal steps taken. Weshould get word to Boothbay Harbor as soon as possible."
"I will attend to that," said George Burton, "and start at once."
The wishes of Uncle Elk were carried out in spirit and letter. Theclergyman who came from Boothbay Harbor preached a touching sermon, anda score of men who had known the old man for years came out to the cabinto pay their last respects. The evidence of Doctor Spellman was all thecoroner required, and there was no hitch in the solemn exercises.
Mike Murphy, when he could command his emotions, sang "Lead, kindlyLight," with such exquisite pathos that there was not a dry eye amongthe listeners. The grave had been dug by the Boy Scouts, who stood withbared heads as the coffin was slowly lowered into its final restingplace. A few days later all departed for their homes, carrying memoriesof their outing in the woods of Southern Maine, which will remain withthem through life.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends