It was not that Jean was ill-pleased, but she was disturbed at the thought of trouble that might be before them.
“My father will never listen to a word about Willie Calderwood. And unless May is very firm—”
And she could not but have serious doubts of May’s firmness in withstanding the will of her father.
“But at least he will not force her to many any one else. I could help her to stand out against such a thing as that. And I will too,” said Jean.
But a greater surprise than her father had given her at home, awaited her at the Tangle Stanes. May sat on the lower ridge of rock where she had sheltered herself that day, while Jean watched for the “John Seaton.” This was a very different day from that. There was no wind to-day and the sun shone and the air was soft and warm. The sea was calm and blue as the sky—with only here and there a touch of white where the tiny wavelets broke on the half hidden rocks beyond the Tangle Stanes. Jean stood still, and looked out upon it, pondering many things, then her eye fell on her sister.
She was singing softly to herself, as she plucked at the dried stalks of last summer’s weeds that still clung to the sheltered side of the rock, or gathered the broken bits of stone, and threw them down into the sea. She was looking neither sad nor anxious, she was smiling, at her own thoughts, Jean fancied, as she stood still a minute or two looking down upon her. Then May turned and saw.
“Such a bonny day?” said she.
“Yes—a bonny day indeed. Where is Hugh?”
“He’s not far away. I told him that we would wait for him here. Will you come down, or shall I come up to you?”
“I’ll come to you. Some one might join us if we were to stay up in sight, and I have something to say to you. Or rather I have a question to ask you about some one.”