“Miss Elliott,” whispered Charlie, eagerly, “who is the new partner, do you think? Did I ever tell you my half-brother’s name? It is Allan Ruthven.”
Graeme gave neither start nor cry, but she came forward holding out her hands to the tall figure who came forward with an arm thrown over Harry’s shoulder. They were clasped in his.
“I knew you would come. I was quite sure that some time we should see you again,” said Graeme, after a little.
“And I—I had quite lost hope of ever finding you,” said Allan. “I wonder if you have missed me as I have missed you?”
“We have been very happy together since we parted from you,” said Graeme, “and very sorrowful, too. But we never forgot you, either in joy or sorrow; and I was always sure that we should see you again.”
They went into the house together. Rose, roused from the sleep into which she had fallen, stood very much amazed beneath the chandelier.
“You’ll never tell me that my wee white Rose has grown into a flower like this!” said Allan.
It was a bold thing for him to do, seeing that Rose was nearly as tall as her sister; but he clasped her in his arms and kissed her “cheek and chin” as he had done that misty morning on the deck of the “Steadfast” so many years ago.
“Rose,” said Graeme, “it is Allan—Allan Ruthven. Don’t you remember. I was always sure we should see him again.”
They were very, very glad, but they did not say so to one another in many words. The names of the dead were on their lips, making their voices trembling and uncertain.