CHAPTER V. — A PARTING.
“Each on his own strict line we move
And some find death ere they find love,
So far apart their lives are thrown
From the twin soul that halves their own.”
“Oh, nearest, farthest! Can there be
At length some hard-earned heart-won home,
Where—exile changed for Sanctuary—
Our lot may fill indeed its sum,
And you may wait and I may come?”
About twelve o’clock the wind rose, there was a rattling breeze and a tossing sea all night; and David did not return until the early morning tide. Allan was roused from sleep by young Johnson singing,
“We cast our line in Largo Bay.”
and soon after he heard David greet Maggie in an unusually cheerful manner. He was impatient to tell him the good news, and he dressed hurriedly, and went into the house place. Maggie was scattering the meal into the boiling water for breakfast; and David, weary with his night work, sat drowsing in his father’s big chair. Maggie had already been out in the fresh, wet breeze, and she had a pink kerchief tied over her hair; but she blushed a deeper pink, as she shyly said, “Gude morning, sir.”
Then David roused himself—“Hech, sir!” he cried, “I wish you had been wi’ us last night. It was just a joy to feel the clouds laying their cheeks to the floods, and the sea laying its shouther to the shore; I sat a’ night wi’ the helm-heft in my hand, singing o’er and o’er again King David’s grand sea sang—
“The floods, O Lord, hae lifted up
They lifted up their voice;
The floods have lifted up their waves
And made a mighty noise.
But yet the Lord, that is on high,
Is more of might by far
Than noise of many waters is,
Or great sea-billows are.”
[Footnote: Psalm 93. Version allowed by General Assembly of the Kirk of Scotland.]