The Twa Miss Dawsons Part 26

Mr Dawson's thoughts went back to the time of his sister's trouble, when she had become "a changed woman." All the anger and vexation, that had then seemed natural and right, because of her new ways, had pa.s.sed out of his heart, a score of years and more. It was as though it had never been. He glanced up at her placid face, and said to himself, as he had said before many times, "A woman among a thousand." But he remembered the old pain, though it was gone, and he shrank from the thought that he might have to suffer again through his son.

"He is a man now, and must go his ain way," he said to himself, moving uneasily on his chair and sighing. "We canna begin again where we left off. Ungrateful? Yes, I dare say it would be so called; but, oh!

Geordie, my lad! I doubt your way and mine must lie asunder now."

Miss Jean too had some thoughts which she would not have cared to tell, but they were not about George; for him she was altogether joyful. If Willie Calderwood's words about him were true, and he were indeed "a changed man," nothing else mattered much in Miss Jean's esteem. The "good," for which he had G.o.d's promise as security would be wrought out in him whether by health or sickness, by joy or sorrow, by possession or loss, and through him might be brought help and healing, higher hopes, and better lives to many. The Master who had chosen him would use him for His own work, and that implied all that was to be desired for any one to Miss Jean.

But in the midst of her joy for him, she could not forget Jean's silence, and Willie Calderwood's averted eyes. And though she told herself that possible pain and disappointment could work good to her niece as well as to her nephew, she could not but shrink beforehand from the suffering that might be before her. But it was not a trouble to be spoken about.

Neither had spoken for a long time, when the door opened and Jean came in. She was wrapped in her dressing-gown, over which her long hair hung, and her face looked pale and troubled.

"Are you here still, Auntie Jean? No, don't go, papa," said she as he rose. "I have something to tell you."

"It maun be late. I thought you had been in your bed this hour and more," said her father.

"Yes, papa, I was in bed, but I couldna sleep."

"For joy, I suppose?" said he smiling.

"Yes, for joy and--because--papa, I knew that my brother had sailed in the John Seaton."

"You knew! And never spoke?"

"Would it have been better if I had spoken? Would you have suffered less? But I did not know it till after the s.h.i.+p had sailed, and I thought it would break your heart to know that he could have been here and gone away again, without a word. I tried to tell you afterwards, and you, Auntie Jean, as well. I longed to tell you. I could hardly bear the doubt and fear of the last few weeks. But I thought if it was so terrible to me, what would it be to you!"

Mr Dawson did not answer for a moment. He was thinking of the stormy nights of last winter, and the dread in her eyes as they looked out over the angry sea.

"No wonder that you were anxious often, and afraid."

"Ought I to have told you? But you are not angry now, papa?"

"There is no good being angry--and you did it for the best."

And then Jean told them about the note that Robbie Saugster had brought too late to let her see her brother before the s.h.i.+p sailed. Miss Jean said it had doubtless been wisely and kindly ordered, that the lad would come home and be a better son, and a better man for the discipline of the time. And then when they went upstairs together, she added a few joyful words to Jean, about the change that had come to her brother, and about the peace that would henceforth be between his father and him.

But she would not let her linger beside her for any more talk.

"Ye need your rest, my dear, and we'll baith ha'e quieter hearts, and be better able to measure the greatness of the mercy that has come to us.

And other things will take a mair natural look as well."

Though Mr Manners had only one more day at Saughleas at this time, he accepted Mr Dawson's invitation to walk with him to Portie in the morning. Mr Dawson wished to show him the "John Seaton," and Mr Manners wished to see again the fine young fellow, who might, if he chose, henceforth have the command of the s.h.i.+p. Mr Dawson had something to say to him on the way.

"You will get a scanter portion with your wife than you would have gotten if--we had heard no news."

"Oh! My wife! My bonny May," said Mr Manners with smiling eyes. "But then I shall have a brother--I who never had one--and I shall have a right to my share of the family joy."

Mr Dawson did not speak for a moment.

"There will be something at once," and he named a sum, "and there will be something more at my death."

Then he went on to mention certain arrangements that were to be made, and Mr Manners, of course, seemed to listen with interest; but when he ceased speaking, he said gravely,--

"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.