"Would it pain you to tell me your story?" she said.
"No, Miss, it may do me good to tell it. It is a short and sad one. Two years ago my two brothers, Robbie and Gideon, both younger than I am, went away from here on a whaling expedition. There was a fine crew of fifty, half of them Shetlanders and the rest English. There were one or two gentlemen's sons amongst the crew, and as nice a set of fellows altogether as a seaman could wish. They set sail in good spirits, and it was from the headland yonder that we heard their cheers, as they sailed out on their whaling expedition. From that day to this no word has come of them, and we fear that all are lost. It has been a heavy blow to us. When they went away it seemed as if the light had gone out of the old home, for they were young and merry and clever. The long waiting to hear from them has been as bad as the fear that they have perished."
"God comfort you, Eric," said Madeleine, tenderly, as she wiped away her tears. "God comfort you. No words of mine can help to heal this wound."
"Thank you, Miss," said Eric. "I see you feel for us, and that helps—better than words, sometimes."
CHAPTER X.
IN THE STORM.
The next morning, as Howard and Martin were coming up from the beach, where they had been taking a swim, they saw Maurice and Eric standing on the edge of a cliff looking out seaward, and they had not walked far before Eric came hastily toward them.
"You've never seen a Shetland storm, young gentlemen," he said, "but you may see one to-day and to-morrow, too, for I doubt if you will get away from here as soon as you expected. I see the ladies coming out; it might be well to go and tell them."
"Come along, Madeleine! Hurry, Ethel!" cried Martin; "you will soon see the sight we have longed for—a storm at sea. Eric says there is one brewing."