Jean looked at her father in a strangely moved way which he remembered afterwards, but she said nothing.
“I mind ye were ay fond o’ sea-heroes; and all his friends will need to make much o’ him when he wins safe home.”
They were drawing near the cottage by this time. Mr Dawson would not let Jean go in because of the fever, and she sat down on the dyke at the house end. But her father did not keep her waiting long. John had fallen into a sleep which might be the saving of him yet, and must not be disturbed, and promising, if it were possible, to see him to-morrow, he came quickly out to Jean.
They had little to say to each other as they turned homewards. Jean acknowledged herself tired with her walk, and when she said she had promised to go back again to her aunt’s to walk home with Mrs Calderwood, her father bade her wait there, and the pony carriage, when George and Marion returned, should be sent for them both.
Mr Dawson pursued his homeward way alone, but he had not gone very far before he met a messenger and turned back again.
“Good news! good news!” shouted young Robbie Saugster as soon as he was within hearing distance. “The ‘Ben Nevis’ is safe in port, and Captain Calderwood is here in Portie, I saw him mysel’ at the station, and I told him that his mother was at Miss Jean’s, and then I ran on to Saughleas with the news; but there was naebody there to hear it but Phemie and Ann. And I’m glad to see you, sir, anyway.”
“Good news!” That it was, well worth the half crown which Mr Dawson put into the hand of the astonished laddie. He had heard no news so good for many a day, he said, as he turned toward the town again. But when he came to his sister’s house, and went softly in, he was not so sure of its being the best of news to him.
For the first sight he saw was his daughter Jean lying on her aunt’s sofa with a face as white as death, and her bright hair tossed and wet falling down to the floor. Leaning over her, but not touching so much as a finger, was a sailor in rough sea clothes; and though he neither moved nor spoke, there was no mistaking the tale told by his working face and his eager eyes. Mrs Calderwood stood beside him with her hand on his shoulder.
“Willie,” she entreated, “you must come away. She must not see you when she comes to herself. She was startled, and you have no right—”
“No, mother. I know I have no right—except that I have loved her all my life—”