“No signs of him!”
Leslie shook his head and spoke in a whisper.
“I’ll be off again as soon as I can get a fresh crew, and search till I do find him. For Heaven’s sake, sir, do take them home!”
It was a kindly whisper, but Louise heard every word, and shuddered as she turned, and hid her face in her father’s breast. For she knew what it meant; it was to spare her the agonising sight, when the sea, according to its wont, threw something up yonder among the rugged stones, where, to use the fishermen’s words, the current bit hardest on the shore. She fought hard to keep back the wild cry that struggled in her breast; but it was in vain, and many a rough fellow turned aside as he heard the poor girl’s piteous wail out there in the sunshine of that glorious morn.
“Harry! brother! what shall I do?”
George Vine’s lips parted as he bent down over his child. “The Lord gave, and—”
His voice failed, but his lips completed poor old stricken Job’s words, and there was a pause. Then he seemed to draw himself up, and held out his hand for a moment to Duncan Leslie.
“Luke!” he said then calmly and gravely. “Your arm too. Let us go home.”
The little crowd parted left and right, and every hat was doffed in the midst of a great silence, as the two old men walked slowly up the rough pier, supporting the stricken girl.
Duncan Leslie followed, and as they passed on through the narrow lane of humble, sympathising people of the port, these turned in and slowly followed, two and two, bare-headed, as if it were a funeral procession.