The joy-blood came bounding back to Leonard’s heart. He returned the ardent pressure of Peter’s hands.
“Oh!” cried Peter, “I want to do naething else noo but just lie doon and dee.”
“Don’t talk of dying, my dear Peter. Where are they?”
The old man wiped his streaming eyes as he answered,—
“At Grayling Cottage, St. Abbs. And you have na heard? Come in, come in, and I’ll tell you all.”
About three hours after this the two young men had once more left Glen Lyle, and were journeying straight, almost as the crow flies, for the cottage by the sea.
On the evening of the second day, having been directed to the house, they were walking slowly along the beach.
It was the gloaming hour.
Yonder in the horizon just over the sea shone the gloaming star.