“Well! I hear he is very good-looking; and I hear you think so, too.”
She glided to him and looked in his face. He gave a meaning smile. The poor girl looked quite perplexed. Suddenly she gave a violent start.
“Christie! where is Christie?” had cried a well-known voice. He had learned on the pier who had saved him—he had slipped up among the boats to find her—he could not find his hat—he could not wait for it—his dripping hair showed where he had been—it was her love whom she had just saved out of Death's very jaws.
She gave a cry of love that went through every heart, high or low, young or old, that heard it. And she went to him, through the air it seemed; but, quick as she was, another was as quick; the mother had seen him first, and she was there. Christie saw nothing. With another cry, the very keynote of her great and loving heart, she flung her arms round—Mrs. Gatty, who was on the same errand as herself.
“Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent; Hearts are not flint, and flint is rent.”
The old woman felt Christie touch her. She turned from her son in a moment and wept upon her neck. Her lover took her hand and kissed it, and pressed it to his bosom, and tried to speak to her; but all he could do was to sob and choke—and kiss her hand again.
“My daughter!” sobbed the old woman.
At that word Christie clasped her quickly; and then Christie began to cry.
“I am not a stone,” cried Mrs. Gatty.
“I gave him life; but you have saved him from death. Oh, Charles, never make her repent what she has done for you.”