“What?—the quivering sensation, my boy?”
“Yes; it is just as if the water was shaking the stones all loose.”
“Yes, but it is only the vibration caused by the water rushing through the open sluices on either side; they are open as wide as they will go, and have just been large enough to do their work well and keep the flood down. I fully expected to find it foaming over the top. What are you looking at?”
“Don’t take any notice, father. I’m going to look away. Just turn your eyes quietly up to the old stone bench on the top there by the lookout.”
There was a pause of a moment or two, during which the mill-owner stooped to pick up a piece of sodden, dead wood, to throw it outward into the current tearing through one of the open sluices. Then turning right away, he said, quietly—
“Yes, there’s someone’s face looking over from the back. Who can it be?”
“Can’t you see, father?”
“No; unless it’s James.”
“It is, father; I saw his face just now quite clear. What does he want there? Does he want to speak to you about coming back?”
“Hardly so soon as this, my boy,” said Will’s father, rather sadly. “Brought here by curiosity, I suppose, like our other friends—a good sign, Will. He takes an interest in the old mill, after all.”