He raised himself somewhat; and scanned the southern horizon, as well as the heaving and breaking billows would allow.
"Aw, no, mem, the Sirène is not in sight at ahl—not in sight at ahl now," he said.
She uttered a stifled little cry, as of despair.
"Archie," she said, "could you not follow down to Loch Torridon?"
"Aw, God bless us, mem, the boat would not live long in a sea like this—it is getting worse and worse every meenit——"
"Very well," said she, wearily, "very well. You have done what you could, Archie: now there is nothing but to get away back home again."
But that was not at all Big Archie's intention.
"Indeed no, mem," said he, with decision, "I am not going aweh back to Lochgarra, and you in such a state, mem, when there is a good shelter close by, ay, and a house. It is into Heimra Bay that I am going; and there is the house; and Martha will hef your clothes dried for you, mem, and give you warm food and such things. And mebbe the gale will quiet down a little in the afternoon, or mebbe to-morrow it will quiet down, and we will get back to Lochgarra; but it is not weather for an open boat at ahl."
She made no answer. She did not seem to care. She sate there with eyes fixed and haggard: perhaps it was not the cliffs of Heimra she saw before her, but the wild headlands of Wester Ross, and a lurid and thundering sea, and a small phantom-grey yacht flying for shelter. She appeared to take no notice as they rounded the stormy point with its furious, boiling surge, and as they gradually left behind them that roaring waste of waves, escaping into the friendly quietude of the land-locked little bay. She was quite passive in Archie's hands—getting into the small boat listlessly when the lugger had been brought to anchor; and when she stepped ashore she set out to walk up to the house, he respectfully following. But she had miscalculated her strength. For one thing, she had not tasted food since the middle of the previous day; nor had she once closed her eyes during the night. Then she was dazed with the wind and the rain; her clothes clung to her and chilled her to the bone; the feverish anxiety of the morning had left her nerves all unstrung. Indeed, she could not drag herself up the beach. She went a few steps—hesitated—turned round as if seeking for help in a piteous sort of way—then she sank on to the rocks, and abandoned herself to a passion of grief and despair, from sheer weakness.
"I cannot go up to the house, Archie," she said, in a half-hysterical fashion, amid her choking sobs, "and—and why should I go—to an empty house? It—it is empty—you—you let the Sirène sail away—but—but never mind that—it is all my fault—more than you know. And I want you to leave me here, Archie—go away back to Lochgarra—there is no one cares what becomes of me—what does it matter to anyone? I do nothing but harm—nothing but harm—there is no need to care what becomes of me——"