“Ay! Him. Master Mort’n. I see him plain.”
No one spoke, but Linnell involuntarily took off his hat, and Barclay did the same, while Morton stood for a few moments looking down at the rapt countenance of his sister, as with eyes closed and face upturned to heaven she knelt there, apparently unconscious of the presence of others, her lips moving and slowly repeating the thanksgiving flowing mutely from her heart.
No one moved as they stood there in the broad sunshine at the edge of the chalk cliff, with the clear blue sky above their heads, the green down behind, and the far-spreading glistening sea at their feet. Then Morton Denville softly bent his knee by his sister’s side, and to Richard Linnell the silence seemed that of some grand cathedral where a prayer of thanksgiving was being offered up to God.
“And may I be forgiven, too,” he muttered, as he looked down on that worn upturned face with the blue veins netting the temples, and the closed eyes, “forgiven all my cruel doubts—all my weak suspicions of you, my darling! for I love you with all my heart.”
Claire rose slowly from her knees, taking her brother’s hand, and a slight flush came into her cheeks as she saw the reverent attitude of all around.
She looked her thanks, and then turned to Miggles, catching his broad rough hand in both of hers, and kissing it again and again.
“May God bless you!” she whispered. “You have saved my father’s life.”
She let fall the hand, which Miggles raised and thrust in his breast, in a strange, bashful way. Then, turning quickly to Morton, she took his arm and looked at Barclay.
“Mr Barclay, will you do what is necessary at once? My brother and I are going over to the gaol.”