It was some time before another word was spoken, then Mr Dawson said,—
“I did but what I thought my duty. I did but what her mother was as keen to do as I was. I tried to prevent my son from doing a foolish thing. And I dare say she thinks that I killed her sister.”
“No, it is not that. But ye ha’e ay been kind to her, and she thinks the sight of her must give you pain, and she is not at her ease. And so she is unhappy, for she has a grateful nature. Well, she will soon be away now, and whether she’ll come back again with young Mr Petrie—I canna say. He’ll hardly have the courage to ask her this time.”
“I wouldna promise. There are few things that seem to him to be beyond his deserts—though I canna say I’m of his opinion.”
Miss Jean knew that her brother was angry and that he was trying to restrain himself as he rose to go.
“A thoughtless word does great ill whiles, but I doubt this has done most ill to his ain cause, if he but kenned it. And it is a pity—” added Miss Jean.
“He’ll get through it. It winna be the first time,” said Mr Dawson angrily.
“Are ye awa’? I think we need hardly expect those lads till morning. They’ll be enjoying the sail this bonny nicht,” said Miss Jean.
“It depends on several things—the light and the tide and the wind. It was rather a foolish thing to undertake, though it was myself who first spoke of it. But we needna expect them till we see them.”
And then he went away. He paused a little when he was outside the door, looking up into the sky, and over the sea, thinking whether he might not as well wait a while, rather than go home alone. It was not so fine a night as Miss Jean had supposed, nor as it had promised to be earlier. There were heavy banks of clouds on the horizon in two directions, and the moon which showed faintly through a dull haze, had a heavy ring around her and not very far away—sure token that a storm was near.