And so the nights passed and the long days, and even Jean's heart sprang
up to meet the next news that came.
The ship "Ben Nevis," Captain Calderwood, supposed to be lost, had been
spoken at sea by a vessel homeward bound. Her latitude and longitude
were given, and it was said that considering her condition, she had made
good progress since the time her boats had left her. She lay low in the
water and laboured heavily, but her captain and crew were in good heart,
and with fair wind and such weather as they might hope for now, they
were sure soon to reach an English harbour.
So hopes were raised and courage renewed. Mrs Calderwood would fain
have remained in London to meet her son when he came; but the time of
his coming was uncertain, and he might even put in to some nearer port,
and her daughter needed her. So she returned home to Portie with George
again.
And when they came it was to find Marion the joyful mother of a son.
The news had been duly telegraphed to London as soon as possible after
the event, but they had left before that time. It was Mr Dawson
himself who met them at the station with the news, and passing by George
without a word, it was to Mrs Calderwood that he told it with a
trembling but triumphant voice. There were tears in the eyes that she
had always thought so cold and hard, and these tears washed away the
last touch of pained and angry feeling from the heart of the mother of
poor dead Elsie.
If any thing could have added to the old man's pride and delight in his
grandson, the fact that he had drawn his first breath in Saughleas would
have done so. Not that either his pride or his delight was made very
evident to the world in general. He answered inquiries and accepted
congratulations with as much composure as was compatible with the
satisfaction that the occasion warranted, it was thought, and perhaps
with rather more. But even the world in general began to acknowledge
that he was growing to have gender and more kindly ways than he had once
had, and folk agreed with Mrs Cairnie, that it had done him good to get
his own will.
As for George, he took his new happiness soberly enough to all outward
appearance. There was still so much anxiety as to the fate of the "Ben
Nevis" as to temper the joy of the young father and mother over their
firstborn, and to make them quiet and grave in the midst of it. But
their hopes for their brother and those who had stayed with him were
stronger than their fears, and even Mrs Calderwood took heart and did
not shrink from the hearing of her son's name. Her care for her
daughter and her grandson left her little time to brood over her fears,
and she felt that to do so, would be "to sin against her mercies," since
her daughter had been spared to her and was growing stronger every day.
As Marion grew strong, and Mrs Calderwood devoted herself to her, Jean
had more time for herself, spent much of it in the wood or on the shore,
or in her aunt's parlour, which, during those days, she found to be as
good a place as either the wood or the shore for the indulgence of her
own thoughts. For Miss Jean troubled her with few words; but sat
silent, seeing without seeming to see, that all was not well with her
niece.
It was a rest for Jean to sit there in the quiet room, and it is not to
be wondered at that there were times when she forgot to keep guard over
her face, as even before her aunt she had done of late. At such times
her aunt regarded her anxiously. She had become thin and white, and her
eyes had grown large and wistful; as her mother's eyes had been, before
she had resigned herself to the knowledge that she must leave them all.
"A word or two might do her good, if I could ken the right word to say,"
thought Miss Jean, as she sat one day watching the stooping figure and
averted face. The suspense about the "Ben Nevis" would soon be over,
but Miss Jean's thought was that the ending of this suspense would not
be the ending of her bairn's troubles. However her first words turned
that way.
"It canna be long ere we hear now."
"No. It canna be long," said Jean, recalling her thoughts and taking up
her work again.
"And they all seem to be in good heart about the ship. They may come
any day. It has been a long time of suspense to his mother, and to us
all."
"Yes. It has been a long time."
"It will soon be over now in one way or another. And even if he should
never come, it will only be like a longer voyage, that will be sure to
have a happy ending in a peaceful haven, where the mother and son are
sure to meet."
"And she will have him for her own at last."
Neither spoke for a long time after this. Jean's head drooped lower,
and though her eyes were on the sea, it was not the harbour of Portie
that she saw, but a wide waste of ocean with a labouring ship, making
for her desired haven, it might be, but bringing no one home to her.
She rose and moved restlessly about the room.
"I wish you were able to go for a little walk, auntie. Dinna ye think
it might do ye good to take a turn or two up and down by the sea?"
"No' the day, my dear. But if ye would like to go out, never heed me.
I think myself that a walk would do you good, or a fine long seam, such
as your mother used to give you to do, when your restlessness was ower
muckle for yourself and others. But the walk would be more to your
mind, I dare say." Jean laughed.
"But then, I have the long seam ready to my hands," said she, sitting
down again and taking up her work resolutely. By and by, when she
forgot it and her face was turned seaward again, her aunt laid down hers
also and said softly, with a certain hesitation,--
"Jean, my dear, did you and Willie Calderwood part friends?"
Jean sat absolutely motionless for a minute or two. "Yes, aunt, we were
friends always. As to parting--"
"Weel--as to parting?"
"We had no parting. He went away without a word."
"That was hardly like a friend on his part," said Miss Jean gravely, and
then in a little she added,--
"And, Jean, love, were ye never mair than friends?" Then Jean rose, and
turning looked straight in her aunt's face.
"No. Never more than friends. You surely havena been thinking ill
thoughts of Willie, auntie?"
"That's nae likely. But whiles I ha'e wondered--and now that he is
coming hame--" Jean stood a moment irresolute, and then coming forward
she sat down on a hassock at her aunt's feet, as she often did, and
leaned her head upon her hand.
"Jean, my dear, have ye nothing to say to me?"
"No, aunt. There is nothing. I have no more right to grieve or to be
glad for Willie Calderwood than any one of his many friends in Portie."
"Grief or gladness is whiles no' a question o' rights," said Miss Jean
gently.
Jean said nothing. She was too weary and spent to be very angry with
herself for the weakness which had betrayed her secret. But she had
strength and courage to shut her lips on the words that rose to them.
And before her aunt had time for another word they heard Mrs Calderwood
speaking to Nannie at the door. Except for a sudden bright colour that
had risen to her cheeks, Jean was just as usual when she came in.
"There's nae news?" said Miss Jean.
This had long been her first salutation to any one coming in.
"No, there is nothing more," said Mrs Calderwood.
"Weel, we maun just have patience."
Jean brought forward an easy chair for her aunt's friend, and carried
out some tea for Nannie to make a cup to refresh her after her walk.
But she did not sit down again.
"I'll go now. I have something to get in the town. Shall I come round
this way again, Mrs Calderwood, so that we may walk home together? or
will it be too long for you to wait?"
It would not be too long. There was no haste, Mrs Calderwood said.
George had gone home already and was to take Marion out for a little
while, and they might come round this way to get a sight of Miss Jean.
So Jean promised to return, and then she went out, not quite knowing
where she was to go, or what she was to do. But it was settled for her.
For as she turned into the High-street she met her father.
"I was going to your aunt's to say that I am going to John Stott's. I
canna say just when I may be home, and you are not to wait for me."
"Is John worse, papa? Let me go with you. I needna go into the house."
"I doubt he is near as bad as he can be, and be living. I doubt it is
ower far."
"Ower far! No' for me, if it's no' ower far for you. And I have
nothing to do that canna be put off. And it is a long time since we
have had a walk together."
So, well pleased, they set out John Stott was a labourer who had long
been in Mr Dawson's employment. He had been for days ill with fever,
and was now supposed to be dying. They spoke of him a little, and of
the helpless family he would leave, and of the best manner of helping
them without making their help seem like alms. For John had long been a
faithful servant, and Mr Dawson meant to set his heart at rest about
those, he was leaving; indeed this was the reason of his visit at this
time.
Then after a little he spoke, not quite so hopefully as usual about the
"Ben Nevis," saying they must hear soon now, or they would have to give
her up altogether. Then he went on to say how well it was that Marion
had grown so strong before any particular excitement either of joy or
pain had come to disturb her.
"She is very well," said Jean. "George is going to take her out in the
pony carriage this afternoon, her mother told us. I left her at Aunt
Jean's."
"I doubt that is venturesome of him. I hope he'll take the best of the
afternoon to it. And that is near over already. He'll be thinking of
taking her back to the High-street again, I suppose," said he
discontentedly, "unless we can persuade them to bide at Saughleas
altogether."
Jean was silent a minute or two.
"There are just two things that would be likely to prevent them," said
she.
"Weel, let us hear of them."
"One is that except for a while, Mrs Calderwood would not easily be
persuaded to think of Saughleas as her home; and both George and Marion
wish her to remain with them."
"Which is but right. George is no' a man to let himself be vexed with
his mother-in-law, even were she a more difficult person. But why
should she not live with them at Saughleas?"
But as he asked the question he saw that such a thing would seem
impossible to Mrs Calderwood. It was not a matter for discussion,
however.
"And what is the other reason?"
"It is not a very good reason. Both George and Marion think that I
should be the mistress of Saughleas, while I am there. They think, and
other folk think, that I would not like to--to be set aside. And I
might not like it. But if it were the best way for all, my not liking
it would be a small matter."