Thornly watched the men, in stern silence, until they passed from sight; then he went back to the easel.
"Pimpernel," he whispered brokenly, "poor little wild flower, out of place among us all!" He drew a heavy cloth over the radiant face, and with reverent hand placed the canvas against the wall in the darkest corner of the room.
Late that afternoon Billy's boat put off for the Station in the teeth of a rising gale and amid ominous warnings of thunder.
Susan Jane grew more irritable and nervous as the storm rose. She feared storm and lightning.
"Janet, ain't that Billy's sail crossin' the bay?" she said. Janet came to the window.
"Yes, it is," she faltered; "and he's going on!"
"Well, what do you suppose? Ain't he got t' get back by sundown? 'T would be a pretty pass if he'd come off at sundown."
"But he's been off all day, likely as not!" Janet's lip quivered.
"Well, s'pose he has. Are you goin' t' be one of them tormentin' women who is always naggin' a man about what he's doin' an' what he ain't a-doin'? Where's David?"