After a few minutes’ investigation, she went back to the cottage, and stood in the open doorway, with her head leaning against the lintel. Her mother had begun to prepare the evening meal; fresh fish were frying on the fire, and the oat cakes toasting before it. Yet, as she moved rapidly about, she was watching her daughter and very soon she gave words to the thoughts troubling and perplexing her motherly speculations.
“Christina,” she said, “you’ll not require to be looking for Andrew. The lad is ben the house; he has been asleep ever since he eat his dinner.”
“I know that, Mother.”
“Well then, if it is Jamie Logan, let me tell you it is a poor business. I have a fear and an inward down-sinking anent that young man.”
“Perfect nonsense, Mother! There is nothing to fear you about Jamie.”
“What good ever came through folk saved from the sea? Tell me that, Christina! They bring sorrow back with them. That is a fact none will deny.”
“What could Andrew do but save the lad?”
“Why was the lad running before such a sea? He should have got into harbour; there was time enough. And if it was Andrew’s duty to save him, it is not your duty to be loving him. You may take that much sense from me, anyway.”
“Whist, Mother! He has not said a word of love to me.”
“He perfectly changes colours every time he sees you, and why so, if it be not for love of you? I am not liking the look of the thing, Christina, and your brother is not liking it; and if you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll be in a burning fever of first love, and beyond all reasoning. Even now, you are making yourself a speculation to the whole village.”