“For joy, I suppose?” said he smiling.
“Yes, for joy and—because—papa, I knew that my brother had sailed in the John Seaton.”
“You knew! And never spoke?”
“Would it have been better if I had spoken? Would you have suffered less? But I did not know it till after the ship had sailed, and I thought it would break your heart to know that he could have been here and gone away again, without a word. I tried to tell you afterwards, and you, Auntie Jean, as well. I longed to tell you. I could hardly bear the doubt and fear of the last few weeks. But I thought if it was so terrible to me, what would it be to you!”
Mr Dawson did not answer for a moment. He was thinking of the stormy nights of last winter, and the dread in her eyes as they looked out over the angry sea.
“No wonder that you were anxious often, and afraid.”
“Ought I to have told you? But you are not angry now, papa?”
“There is no good being angry—and you did it for the best.”
And then Jean told them about the note that Robbie Saugster had brought too late to let her see her brother before the ship sailed. Miss Jean said it had doubtless been wisely and kindly ordered, that the lad would come home and be a better son, and a better man for the discipline of the time. And then when they went upstairs together, she added a few joyful words to Jean, about the change that had come to her brother, and about the peace that would henceforth be between his father and him. But she would not let her linger beside her for any more talk.
“Ye need your rest, my dear, and we’ll baith ha’e quieter hearts, and be better able to measure the greatness of the mercy that has come to us. And other things will take a mair natural look as well.”