“Don’t go home then; stop with me.”
Leslie looked at the quaint old man in rather an amused way, and then stopped with him to watch the tumbling billows off the point where his companion so often fished.
Chapter Seventeen.
The News.
The day wore on with the storm now lulling slightly, now increasing in violence, till it seemed as if the great rolling banks of green water must end by conquering in their attack, and sweeping away first the rough pier, and then the little twin towns on either side of the estuary. Nothing was visible seawards, but in a maritime place the attention of all is centred upon the expected, and in the full belief that sooner or later there would be a wreck, all masculine Hakemouth gathered in sheltered places to be on the watch.
Van Heldre and Leslie came into contact again that afternoon, and after a long look seaward, the merchant took the young man’s arm.
“Come on to my place,” he said quietly. “You’ll come too, Luke Vine?”
“I? No, no,” said the old fellow, shaking his head. “I want to stop and watch the sea go down.”