Chapter Thirteen.
A Discovery.
In the beginning of April May came home—“bonnier than ever,” as Jean told her father, as she met him at the door. He laughed when he heard her say it, but he agreed with her, and told her so when a day or two had passed.
He could hardly make it clear to himself, nor could Jean, in what she was different from her former self. It was because she was growing to be more like her mother as she grew older, he said. And Jean by and by came to the conclusion that something had happened to her sister while she was away—something to make her hopeful and happy, and at the same time graver and more thoughtful; yet she was very merry and sweet, and it was oh! so pleasant to have her home again. They made holidays of these first days of her home coming, and Jean was able to forget, or put aside, her sad and anxious thoughts for a while.
But there came a day when she well knew they would not be forgotten or put aside.
“May,” said she one morning, “let us go down to the Tangle Stanes to-day. This is the tenth, ye ken.”
“Well, let us go. It is a bonny day. But what about the tenth. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Have you forgotten? The ‘John Seaton’ sailed on the tenth,” said Jean gravely.
May’s colour changed a little. So did Jean’s. But while May reddened, Jean grew pale.