“But your place will be cheerless and bare to-night.”
“Cheerless! Bare! You don’t know what you are talking about. If you only knew the longing I have to be once more in my own bed, listening to wind and sea. No, thank you.”
“But, uncle, for to-night do stay.”
“Now that’s unkind, Louie, after all the time you’ve made me be away. Well, I will, as a reward to you for rousing yourself up a bit. One condition though; will you come down to-morrow and talk to me while I fish?”
She remained silent.
“Then I don’t stop to-night.”
“I will come to-morrow, uncle.”
“Then I’ll stop.”
The train glided on as they watched in silence now for the lights of the little town. First, the ruddy glow of the great lamp on the east pier of the harbour appeared; then, glittering faintly like stars, there were the various lights of the town rising from the water’s edge right up to the high terrace level, with the old granite house—the erst peaceful, calm old home.
The lights glittered brightly, but they looked dim to Louise, seen as they were through a veil of tears, and now as they rapidly neared a strange feeling of agitation filled the brain of the returned wanderer.