Left alone, for young Rowly was in bed with a foot sprained on the shore the night before, the two women dropped the subject like a split egg, and wondered in silence, the mother glad and relieved, the girl resentful, though longing. She knew now how the dead ache of parting had weighed her down, but she had no welcome for the knowledge. She did not want him back, to begin the struggle again, yet hungered for the sight of his face. Thinking he could not leave her, she despised his weakness, yet fretted because, having returned, he had nevertheless stayed at the last mile.
He would not come in as he had come with Michael so often, wet but cheery out of the night, filling the house with a sense of safety, and stealing the fear from the storm. Yet it might have been, if she had not willed it otherwise. She might have sat in another house, too, listening and longing for her man, and have had Lup come back to her and her alone. But that also she had rejected. She had put the dream from her for always, but to-night it came every hour, passionately and insistently real, though never in all her life was it to come true on the Northern marsh.
Going to the window, as the two of them had gone by turn for the last hour, she saw blinding lights climb up the dark to the porch. They were too strong and too low-set for the lights of the trap, as she thought after the first instant, and even as she called to her mother, Brack burst in at the door. He looked distraught enough in truth as he stood with his shoulder to the panel, the rain shining on his tossed, uncovered hair, his brilliant, frantic eyes scouring the kitchen as he asked for Lup.
Mrs. Dockeray exchanged a puzzled glance with her daughter.
“Lup? Ay, Michael said he was back, setting all Witham gaping, but he’s never got the length of Ladyford. He’s to bide with Denny, isn’t he, after the supper at the ‘Duke’? We’re not looking for him to-night. Whatever’s set you seeking him here?”
“I thought he’d sure come right out.” Brack turned as if to go. “No, I’ve never put eyes on him myself. I just reckoned I’d look in on the chance.”
“Have you heard what’s brought him?” she asked curiously, and he shook his head impatiently. There was scant time for talk, and less use. She pressed him to a warm drink before leaving, but he refused; then turned again, blurting out quick speech.
“Guess I’ll trot on to the Pride! It’ll be bad going, but I reckon I can get the car most there, even to-night. She’ll come back smart enough, anyway! I promised Lup I’d keep an eye on his folks, and I’ve heard say the old woman used to funk the tide something cruel. Guess she’ll be scared out of her skin, to-night! If I can get them to move, will you take them in?”
She stared again. This was not like Brack—this unnecessary consideration and struggle for others. She was amazed, too, at his agitation, the terror-stricken eyes that would not meet her own, and the ghostly echo of lightness over hollow fear.
“Why, Whinnerahs need never go wanting as long as there’s Dockera’s, that’s certain! But they’ll be to bed a while since, lad. You’ll never stir them. They’ll not feel the wind over yon like us here. The Lugg’ll break it a good bit. You’re never really feared o’ the Lugg, as they make out? What, it stood yon storm as tore up the front at Bytham, an’ t’other as broke Cunswick Pier, ay, an’ many more! It’ll stand to-night an’ all.