But she was powerless in the arm he put about her, though the arm was trembling a little, and she fell on her knees beside the chair and cried into his coat; and then Ewen dried her eyes by a method which he had just discovered.
“I am neither thin, nor ill, nor lame, nor hungry, and I have all I want. Open your eyes and look at me like that again!”
His dear voice, at least, was not altered. “I shall tell Madame Grévérend, when she returns, to make ready——”
“How concerned are women with food! I have no wish to eat at present; I only want to be sure that I am here,” said her husband, half laughing. “If you go away to give orders, m’eudail, I may perhaps fancy I am back on the sea again, or . . . back on the sea,” he repeated rather hastily, turning his head a moment aside.
“You are here,” said Alison earnestly, as if he really needed the assurance; “you are here, Ewen, heart’s dearest, and I always knew that you would come!”
Long, long afterwards, that is to say, when Philippe and the pigeons had gone to roost, and the windy day had flamed itself out in a royal sunset, Alison, in her husband’s arms, where she had been clasped for fully five minutes without stirring or speaking, fingered the back of his hand and said half-dreamily, “How came you by this strange ring, dear heart?”
Ewen moved abruptly; something like a shudder ran through him. “I will tell you some time,” he said hesitatingly, “but not yet. Oh, Alison, I cannot speak of it yet. . . .”
Some dreadful remembrance of the defeat, she thought pitifully, then, seeing how pale he had become, slipped off his knee, and, bending over him, drew his head with a lovely gesture to her breast. And Ewen hid his eyes there like a child.
But leagues on leagues away the tide from the Outer Isles was beginning to fill the silver cup of Morar, and he stood there once again, helpless and heartbroken, looking down at Lachlan’s handiwork. Not even Alison, whose arms held him close, whose cheek was pressed on his hair, not even Alison could stand with him in that place, where Keith Windham had come to the last of their meetings, and the bitter grief of Angus’s prediction had reached its real fulfilment.