“I will tell her, but I wanted you here. Does she ken that the ship is in?”
“She must ken, I think. But it is no’ like her to go out among the throng. She’s just waiting. God help her, poor woman!”
“Ay, mother, ye ken.”
“But, Willie—I must say one word. George Dawson? He sailed with you?”
“Yes, mother, but—”
A voice from within bade them enter, and there was time for no more. We shall not enter with them. The first tears of a childless widow suddenly bereaved, must not be looked upon by eyes indifferent. There was much to be told—much that must have made her thankful even in her bitter sorrow. But it was a painful hour to the returned sailor, and there were tears on his cheeks when at last he came out to clasp his joyful only sister at the door.
But he could not linger long. He had more to do before he returned to the ship.
“I must go to Saughleas,” said he, as they paused at the corner where his sister must turn towards home.
“To Saughleas? Oh! Willie let me go with you,” she cried clinging to him. “Mother will maybe bide with Mrs Horne a’ nicht. Oh, Willie, let me go! I’ll keep out o’ sicht, and naebody will ken. If ye maun go, let me go with you.”
“I maun go. I promised Geordie.”