As he waited there came to him a sudden clear remembrance of Willie Calderwood’s face when he came that night with tidings of his son. Oh! the joy of it! Had he not been grateful to God for His goodness then. Was there any thing which he possessed that he would have grudged as a thank-offering that night! God did seem near to him then.
“I had an inkling that night of what Jean may mean when she speaks o’ the blessedness o’ them that rest themselves on God.”
But as to grudging! He was not so sure. Even before he saw his son, had he not been afraid lest, being “a changed man,” as his friend had called him, George might have other aims and other plans of life than he had for him, and disappoint him after all? True he had hated himself for the thought, but it had been there that first night. And afterwards he had looked on with something like anger, as day by day he had seen him giving ten thoughts to the helping of others in their cares and their troubles, where he did not give one to the winning the place and the honour that his father coveted for him among men.
That had all passed away long ago; not, however, because he had ceased to grudge, but because, as the father put it, “it had answered well.” George stood higher to-night in the respect and esteem of those who knew him, than he would have done had his aims and plans and expectations been those of his father, who saw all things too clearly not to acknowledge it.
George was a man among a thousand, he said to himself with a little movement of exultation, half forgetting his fears, till the wind, as he turned again, dashed the heavy drops of another shower in his face, and he saw that the clouds had gathered close again over all the sky. Unless they had already landed, the fog and the darkness which had kept them last night might keep them still. How could he bear another night of such suspense?
Another night! It might be days and nights, for all that he could tell. He turned with a sinking heart towards the town again.
“O! Geordie! Oh! my son!”
He did not know that he spoke the words aloud, but they were heard, and a hand was laid on his in the darkness.
“Miss Jean thinks you should come into the house, for you must be cold and wet,” said Marion Calderwood. “Winna ye come with me, Mr Dawson? And, dear sir, there has been word of a boat that landed in the gloaming at C— Only John Fife, who brought the word, hadna heard that there were any fears for any one, and he came away without asking any questions. But it is sure to be them. And, Mr Dawson, winna ye come with me to Miss Jean?”
He had eaten little all day, and he was weary with his long wanderings up and down the sands. He scarcely caught the meaning of her words, but he knew that she was saying something hopeful, and he frankly grasped the hand she had laid on his.