And then she lifted her eyes and met those of John Beaton. She did not start, nor grow red, nor turn away. But her whole face changed. There came over it a look which cannot be described, but which made it for the moment truly beautiful—a look hopeful, trustful, joyful.
Allison was saying to herself:
“Oh, Willie! if I might only dare to speak and bid him go to you.”
Chapter Thirteen.
“She wakened heavy-hearted
To hear the driving rain,
By noon the clouds had parted,
And the sun shone out again.
‘I’d take it for a sign,’ she said,
‘That I have not prayed in vain.’”
That night while Mrs Beaton and her son sat by the fireside, exchanging a word now and then, but for the most part in silence, a knock came to the door. Allison had given herself no time to reconsider the determination to which she had come when she met John’s eyes in the kirk, being bent on abiding by it whatever might befall.
It had not come into her mind that her courage might fail her at the last moment. It was not that her courage was failing, she told herself, as she stood waiting. It was because she had run down the lane so quickly that her heart was beating hard. It was like the thud of a great hammer against her side; it frightened her, and she was tempted to turn and run away. But she did not.
“I would be sorry when it was too late,” thought she, and knocked again.