Part 26 (2/2)

”I have only one fear, lest the joyful expectation of having her brother home again, may make May wish to delay her marriage.”

”As to that--if he come at once he will be here long before the first.

And if he should delay--no, I do not think that that ought to be allowed to interfere with your plans.”

”Thank you,” said Mr Manners. ”Oh, he will be sure to be here in time.”

”Wha kens?” said Mr Dawson. ”It seems beyond belief that I should ever have my son back again. I never can in one sense. He is a man now, and changed. I wouldna seem unthankful; but, oh, man! if ye had ever seen my George, ye would ken what I mean.”

He was greatly moved. If he had tried to say more, daylight as it was, and on the open road, his voice must have failed him. They walked on in silence for a while--for what could Mr Manners say?--and before they reached the High-street, he was himself again.

There were many eyes upon him as they went down the street, for by this time it was known through all the town that George had sailed in the ”John Seaton.” But ”the old man took it quietly enough,” some said, and others, who saw him in the way of business through the day, said the same. The sailors in the ”John Seaton,” when later he and Mr Manners went down to the pier, saw nothing unusual in his rough, but kindly, greetings. There was not one of them but would have liked to say a kindly and admiring word of ”Geordie”; for ”Geordie” he had been to them all, through the long year; and doubtless it would have pleased the father to hear it. But he heard nothing of it there.

It did not surprise these men to see that he took it quietly. Their own fathers and mothers took quietly the comings and goings of their sons.

But it would have surprised them to know that the old man kept silence because he was not sure whether his voice would serve him if he should try to speak. He turned back again for a minute when Mr Manners and the mate came on deck, when all had been said that was necessary on that occasion, and it would have surprised them to know that it was to shut himself into the little cabin where George had so long served and comforted the dying captain, and that he there knelt down and thanked G.o.d for His goodness to his son.

He seemed to take it quietly as far as people generally saw during the next ten days; but Jean put away all remorseful thoughts as to the silence she had kept during the last long year.

”He never could have borne the long suspense,” she said to herself, as she watched him through the days and heard his restless movements through nights of sleepless waiting. He never spoke of his son, or his anxiety with regard to him; but Jean took pains to speak of her brother to others in his hearing; and sometimes she spoke to himself, and he listened, but he never made reply.

”He will grow morbid and ill if this continues long,” she said one day to her aunt.

”It will not continue long,” said Miss Jean.

”No, he will come soon, if he is coming.”

”Oh, he is coming! ye needna doubt that. He is no seeking his ain way now. He'll come back to his father's house.”

And so he did, and he found his father watching for him. He did not go all the way to Portie, but stopped, as his father knew he would, at a little station two or three miles on the other side of Saughleas, and walked home. It was late and all was quiet in the house. Summer rain was softly falling, but Mr Dawson stood at the gate as he had stood for many nights; and George heard his voice before he saw him.

It might have been said--if there had been any one there to see--that Mr Dawson ”took it quietly” even then. There were not many words spoken between them, and they were simple words, spoken quietly enough.

How it happened neither of them could have told,--whether the father followed the son, or the son the father,--but instead of turning to the terrace, where the drawing-room window stood open to let them in, they turned down the walk, past the well into the wood; and whatever was said of confession or forgiveness was said by the grave of the lad's mother, in the stillness of the summer midnight, in the hearing of G.o.d alone.

No one but Jean knew that night that George had come home, and Jean did not go to her brother till she had heard her father shut himself into his room. Mr Dawson himself brought food to his son, and wine, and watched him as he partook of it. But when he would have poured out the wine, he staid his hand.

”I promised Tam Saugster--we promised one another--not to touch or taste before he comes home to Portie.”

”It is for his sake then?”

”And for my own,” said George gravely.

His father was silent. Strangely mingled feelings moved him.

”Is he so weak that he cannot refrain? Is he so strong that he can resist?”

Even in the midst of his joy in having his son back again, ”clothed and in his right mind,” he was more inclined to resent the implied weakness, than to rejoice in the a.s.sured strength. But he uttered no word of his thoughts then or ever, though George did not release himself from his vow even when Tam Saugster came home to Portie ”a changed man” also.

When the house was quiet again, and the lights were out, Jean stole softly to her brother's room, for one embrace, one kiss, a single word of welcome. But she would not linger.

<script>