“No. There was time for few words, and there were other people there to see them off—the Petries, and Maggie Saugster, and some others.”
“Was James Petrie there? Then his answer has been to his mind, or maybe he hasna asked the question. I dare say he was as wise.”
To this George made no reply whether he understood or not, and in a little he left the room. But his father’s first words went back to the same subject.
“It is no’ so unwise a thing in James Petrie as it looks, because—”
“His wisdom has to be proved,” said George gravely. And then he held out a letter to his father.
“I don’t believe in bringing business to Saughleas, as a rule, but I thought it as well to let you see this to-night.”
His father took it and read it. It was a business letter—important, but still it might have waited till morning.
“It is because he doesna wish to hear about James Petrie and his hopes. It is of her sister dead and gone that he is thinking,” said his father with a sigh. “His is a true and tender heart, and oh! I wish that I could do him a pleasure.” Suddenly there returned to him the thought that had been with him during his long wanderings over the wet sands that weary time of waiting.
“There is nothing which I possessed, that I would not have given for a thank-offering that night. And there is nothing that I would not give now.”
And when George came into the room after a long hour or two, his father was pondering the same matter still.