"Hide me, oh my Saviour hide Till the storm of life is past"
the dying man suddenly interrupted: "That'll do," he said, his voice barely audible, "that's the bit--that's enough--that, an' the place ye marked."
We were soon all standing by his bed. The struggle was quickly over. Suddenly his face assumed an expression of peace so deep that I thought the harbour had been really won. But his eyes opened wide and both hands went feebly out; Nancy took one in hers, the other clasped by little Tim.
"The anchor holds," he murmured; "Nancy, the anchor holds."
A moment later his wife turned from the bed, her apron to her face, groping her way with bitter outcry towards the adjoining room. Tim followed; and through the open door I could hear the boy's shaking voice:
"Don't cry, mammy; oh, mammy, don't cry so hard. Dad got in, mother--the preacher got him in."
I sat up till Gordon got home that night, for I had much to discuss with him. The precious document, with its wizard tidings of mining shares, was still before me as he entered; and I broke out with some word about what Mr. Bradwin had said. But when I looked up and saw the far-off look of peace on Gordon's face, I knew it was sprung from some other source than this.
"You seem so happy, Gordon," I said; "what makes it?"
He told me; but when he spoke about that last scene--he has called it the anchor scene ever since--his voice faltered so he could hardly go on.
"We'll put these away to-night," I said, picking up the papers. "But what do you intend to do with--with the money, Gordon?"
"I hadn't thought of it," he answered calmly. Then, after a pause; "but I think we'll enlarge the chapel. It needs it, you know--and this seems like a glorious chance to do it."
I wonder if my face showed my dissent. At any rate, I took the mighty charter and restored it to the desk. "There's one thing we'll do first, Gordon," I said in a voice that implied finality, "and you won't dispute it, either."
"What is it, Helen?" his words full of wonder.
"We'll pay that--that debt of Harold's," I said, my face averted as I leaned over the desk.
He was silent for long. "Yes, Helen," he answered quietly at length; "yes, we'll do that first--that's as holy as the other. Oh, Harold, my son, my son--I wonder where Harold is to-night," the words ringing with a nameless pain.