The door was pulled open, and the two young men, vainly endeavouring to choke down their laughter, rose to receive Miss MacAllister, her father, and the captain.
The two men did not remain long. Mr. MacAllister wanted to take Captain Whiteley to see some of the damage wrought by the shells. A few minutes after they left McLeod suddenly remembered that there were some duties connected with discharging or taking cargo which he had to attend to at once. Almost before they knew, Sinclair and Miss MacAllister were left alone.
For some moments neither spoke. Ordinarily both were good conversationalists, able to acquit themselves with credit in any company. But now, left to each other's company, each seemed suddenly bereft of speech. Sinclair probably never thought so quickly on any other occasion in his life. But with all his thinking he entirely failed to think of anything to say. If he had thought of anything, it is doubtful if he could have said it. His heart was pounding so hard and fast that he experienced a slight suffocating sensation. But he didn't open the door. He had that much presence of mind. He didn't open the door to let the outside air or any one else in. Though speechless, he was not bereft of reason.
It was Miss MacAllister who first recovered.
"Dr. Sinclair," she said, "I want you to forgive me."
Then Sinclair began to wonder what she had done that he should forgive. Could she ever have done anything for which she needed to ask his forgiveness?
"But, Miss MacAllister," he stammered, "what—what am I to forgive? You never did anything——"
"Oh, Dr. Sinclair, you know that I did. Last Thursday; you remember. I acted shamefully, and"—there was a little break in her voice—"I nearly caused you to be killed.... Can you ever forgive me?"
"I could forgive you anything."
"But you were very angry. You went away angry, and when I tried to call you back you wouldn't stop to speak to me. I wanted to ask your forgiveness then."