“Ay. We’ll gang in to Jean,” said he.
He leaned on her strong young arm more heavily than he knew as they drew near the house. There was light streaming from the windows and from the open door, but before they reached it a voice said cheerily,—
“All’s weel, Mr Dawson. They’re coming hame safe enough.”
“Glad tidings of great joy.” That was what came into Marion’s mind when she heard the words.
They had come already. At Miss Jean’s door Marion was clasped in the arms of her brother, and George wrung his father’s hand and brought him in to the light.
“The Lord is ay kind, George,” said Miss Jean.
But Mr Dawson said nothing. He was too deeply moved for words for a little while, and indeed so were they all.
Nannie, notwithstanding her fears, had made great preparations for the entertainment of the wanderers, and though it might have been wiser for George and Mr Dawson to go home at once, there was no time to decide the matter before the supper was on the table, and they all sat down together. Afterwards they were glad of this, for Mr Dawson did not see either Marion or her brother again before they went away, and George only saw them for a moment, just as they were setting out.
They lingered a good while at the table, though even Willie owned himself tired enough to wish to rest. They had been in no special danger. The misfortune was that the small compass, to which they were to trust should the night be foggy and the stars invisible, had been left in the ship in the pocket of George’s coat, and so they had had no means of directing their course during the night, and indeed as little during the day. They had been farther out at sea than they supposed, and when, as day began to decline, they got a glimpse of the sun they had to row hard to get sight of land before the darkness fell.
“And I canna say that I am proud o’ mysel’ on this occasion,” said Willie laughing.