He was greatly moved. If he had tried to say more, daylight as it was, and on the open road, his voice must have failed him. They walked on in silence for a while—for what could Mr Manners say?—and before they reached the High-street, he was himself again.
There were many eyes upon him as they went down the street, for by this time it was known through all the town that George had sailed in the “John Seaton.” But “the old man took it quietly enough,” some said, and others, who saw him in the way of business through the day, said the same. The sailors in the “John Seaton,” when later he and Mr Manners went down to the pier, saw nothing unusual in his rough, but kindly, greetings. There was not one of them but would have liked to say a kindly and admiring word of “Geordie”; for “Geordie” he had been to them all, through the long year; and doubtless it would have pleased the father to hear it. But he heard nothing of it there.
It did not surprise these men to see that he took it quietly. Their own fathers and mothers took quietly the comings and goings of their sons. But it would have surprised them to know that the old man kept silence because he was not sure whether his voice would serve him if he should try to speak. He turned back again for a minute when Mr Manners and the mate came on deck, when all had been said that was necessary on that occasion, and it would have surprised them to know that it was to shut himself into the little cabin where George had so long served and comforted the dying captain, and that he there knelt down and thanked God for His goodness to his son.
He seemed to take it quietly as far as people generally saw during the next ten days; but Jean put away all remorseful thoughts as to the silence she had kept during the last long year.
“He never could have borne the long suspense,” she said to herself, as she watched him through the days and heard his restless movements through nights of sleepless waiting. He never spoke of his son, or his anxiety with regard to him; but Jean took pains to speak of her brother to others in his hearing; and sometimes she spoke to himself, and he listened, but he never made reply.
“He will grow morbid and ill if this continues long,” she said one day to her aunt.
“It will not continue long,” said Miss Jean.
“No, he will come soon, if he is coming.”
“Oh, he is coming! ye needna doubt that. He is no seeking his ain way now. He’ll come back to his father’s house.”
And so he did, and he found his father watching for him. He did not go all the way to Portie, but stopped, as his father knew he would, at a little station two or three miles on the other side of Saughleas, and walked home. It was late and all was quiet in the house. Summer rain was softly falling, but Mr Dawson stood at the gate as he had stood for many nights; and George heard his voice before he saw him.