In the morning she took the trinkets with her to Dr. Balloch’s. She laid them before him one by one, telling when, and how, they had 254 been offered and refused. “All but this,” she said, bursting into childlike weeping, and showing the battered, tarnished baby coral. “He brought this for his child, and I would not let him see the baby. Oh, can there be any mercy for one so unmerciful as I was?”
“Daughter, weep; thy tears are gracious tears. Would to God poor Jan could see thee at this hour. Whatever happiness may now be his lot, thy contrition would add to it, I know. Go home to-day. No one is in any greater trouble than thou art. Give to thyself tears and prayers; it may be that ere long God will comfort thee. And as thou goes, call at Snorro’s house. See that the fire is out, lock the door, and bring me the key when thou comes to-morrow. I promised Snorro to care for his property.”
“Where hath Snorro gone?”
“What did he say to thee?”
“That he was going to Wick. But how then did he go? There was no steamer due.”
“Lord Lynne took him in his yacht.”
“That is strange!” and Margaret looked steadily at Dr. Balloch. “It seems to me, that Lord Lynne’s yacht was at Lerwick, on that night; thou knowest.”
“When Skager and Jan quarreled?”
She bowed her head, and continued to gaze inquisitively at him.