Margot laughed. “Ay,” she said, “for Tamson’s wife. Naebody blamed him. Anne Tamson has a parfectly unruly tongue, and her husband, Watty, got the licking for what she said anent Frazer and his wife. I wouldna fear the man mysel’, and the maist o’ our women could gie him as much—and mair—than he sends.”
So they talked until the cottage was reached, and 112 the day was over. Christine went gladly to her room. A crusie was burning on the table, and she removed her gown and uncoiled her long, brown hair. Then all was still, and she let herself think, and her decision was, “if Angus had wanted to come, he would have done so.
“It isna my place,” she continued, “to tak’ care on the subject. I’ll no mak’ mysel’ and ithers miserable anent him, forbye Angus Ballister is clear outside me, and my life.”
Then she rose and took a large copy book from a drawer, and sitting down at the table, took pen and ink and wrote:
November second. I was a little troubled all day about Angus. He didna come, and he didna send, and there was neither sign nor sight o’ him. Weel, my warld went on wanting the lad, and the school talk filled the day, and at night I went wi’ Mither to the meeting about it. From this hour I begin to forget Angus. I will ask God to keep my heart from all love’s care and sorrow.
Then she put the book away, turned out the light and lay down. But the old mysterious, hungering sound of the sea had an angry sough in it; and she went to sleep fearing it, and thinking of it as a deep starless darkness, hanging over the dreamlike figures of dead sailors and fishers. At midnight she awoke, the storm her father had predicted was roaring over the great waters. She went to her little window and looked out—darkness, wildness, desolation—and she 113 hasted and put plenty of peats on the fire, and carried her mother an extra quilt.
“I hae made up the fire, Mither dear,” she said, “and if ye want to get up, you’ll be warm, and I’ll come and sit by you.”
“Will I waken your feyther?”
“Whatna for? There’s naething to fear. Norman and Eneas are doubtless at hame. Most o’ our men are. Few would start after the dance. They would see the storm coming.”
“Will it be a bad storm?”