“But except for the fright that we have given you all, I canna say that I shall ever regret the day and the night we have been on the deep,” he added after a moment. George said nothing, but his eyes and his smile assented to the words of his friend.
The brother and sister had many people to see and many things to do during the day that remained, so it happened that neither George nor Mr Dawson saw them when they called next day at Miss Jean’s, and George only saw them a moment at the station as they were going away. There were a good many other people there to see them off as well as he. James Petrie was there, looking a little anxious and uncertain, and not so ready with just the right word to say, as he generally supposed himself to be. His sisters were there also, and some other of Marion’s friends, and she was monopolised by them during the two or three minutes that remained after George came.
And it was Willie that George came to see, they thought. For he stood with his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and the face of each was grave enough as they said their last words to one another.
But George got the last touch of Marion’s hand, and the last glance of her sweet eyes, and the last words which Marion heard, George spoke, and they were words that she had heard him say before—
“My dear little sister.”
Mr Dawson had to wait a good while for the return of his son that night, and he watched him rather anxiously from the window when at last he came in sight George moved slowly, with a graver face than usual, and though his eyes were wandering over the pleasant green of the lawn and gardens, his father knew that his thoughts were not with his eyes.
“How little I am in his life besides what he is in mine!” thought the old man with a sigh. “But so it ay maun be between father and son, and he is a good son to me—a good son. And it’s no’ for what I have to give him,” added he with a sudden movement of both pleasure and pain at his heart. “Though bonny Saughleas were in other hands, and all my gold and gear were swept into the sea, he would be sorry doubtless, but he would be a good son still. And he would not be unhappy, for his portion—that which he has chosen for himself in life would still remain to him.”
The old man’s heart grew soft and a little sad, but he spoke just as usual when George came in. “Ye’re late the nicht.”
“Yes. I went round by the station to see the Calderwoods off. And I think I have taken longer time than usual for the walk home. I must be tired, I suppose.”
“And no wonder. And so they are gone. And was nothing said about their coming back to Portie again?”