He seized her hand. It had all come on so suddenly that poor Elspie was quite unprepared for it. She turned as if to fly, but Daniel put his arm round her waist and detained her.
“Elspie, dearest Elspie, it must be settled now—or—.” He would not—could not—say “never.”
“O Daniel, don’t!” entreated Elspie.
But Daniel did.
“Bray-vo!” exclaimed the bo’s’n with enthusiasm, for he was a sympathetic man, though unprincipled in the matter of eavesdropping.
That cut it short. They retired precipitately from the weather gangway abaft the main shrouds, and sought refuge in a sequestered nook near the companion-hatch, which was, in name as well as in every other way, much more suited to their circumstances. The steersman had his eye on them there, but they fortunately did not know it.
Apologising for this reminiscence, we return to the thread of our story.
Mrs Davidson was seated at breakfast one morning, with all her family around her in Prairie Cottage. She had named it thus because, from one of the windows, there was to be had a peep of the prairies lying beyond the bushes by which it was surrounded.
Old McKay had named his cottage Ben Nevis, either because the country around was as flat as a pancake, or out of sheer contradictiousness.
“Have they found out anything more about the murder of that poor fellow Perrin?” asked Mrs Davidson. “More than four months have passed since it happened.”