“But it seems to me,” Johnny said, with some warmth, “that you are as unfair to her as to yourself in not giving her a chance. You don’t know how willing she may be to overlook everything that is past.”
“If she were, I am not fit to go near her. I couldn’t have the cheek to try, Johnny.”
“But what more can you be than sorry for what is past,” said the younger fellow, persistently. “And you don’t know how pleased it makes a good woman to give her the chance of forgiving anybody. And if we were all to set up for being archangels, and if there was to be no sort of getting back for us after we had made a slip, where should we be? And in place of going to her and making it all right, you start away for the Sound of Islay; and, by Jove! won’t you find out what spending a winter under these Jura mountains means! I have tried it and I know.”
A flash of lightning, somewhere down among the Arran hills, interrupted the speaker, and drew the attention of the two young men to the fact that in the East and Southeast the stars were no longer visible, while something of a brisk breeze had sprung up.
“This breeze will take us back splendidly,” Johnny said, getting ready again for the run to Tarbert.
He had scarcely spoken when Lavender called attention to a fishing-smack that was apparently making for the harbor. With all sails set she was sweeping by them like some black phantom across the dark plain of the sea. They could not make out the figures on board of her, but as she passed some one called out to them.
“What did he say?” Lavender asked.
“I don’t know,” his companion said; “but it was some sort of warning, I suppose. By Jove, Lavender, what is that?”
Behind them there was a strange hissing noise that the wind brought along to them, but nothing could be seen.
“Rain, isn’t it?” Lavender said.